The Citadel +/- Sun IC

[Syekate]

THE SUNLESS CITADEL


WELCOME, YE ADVENTURERS

The five of you have entered a little town called Oakhurst, which lies in the human nation of Brucktree. It is the beginning of December by the standard calendar, and the surrounding plains are covered in drifts of snow. The town itself is of fair size, having many of the basic amenities of a small city without the sprawling urban population. Along the New Road, a main highway for the region, you'll find the Mayor's office adjoined to the town jail and home of the local constable, a general store, healer's cottage, the home base of the Merchants Hucrele, and finally, the Ol' Boar Inn, where you have put in for the night.

It is morning now, and as you awaken, the inn's barkeep, Garon, washes glasses behind the bar while his son, Klip, scurries about cleaning tablets from the previous evenings' patrons. The four of you met either on the road or last night in the tavern, and have decided to band together, realizing that you each have invested interest in solving some of the mysteries surrounding this little hamlet.

Each of you has a separate tidbit of information to follow up with. Feel free to roam about town today expanding what you know. Time to flex those roleplay muscles! If you'd like to make gather information, local knowledge, or other checks, roll the appropriate die in a spoiler in your post and I will respond in kind. Ready? Set? Go!

[Pessoptimist]

I've recently arrived to the continent from overseas. Current goal is to learn more about the Sunless Citadel, which I had read about in an old book my father kept. It's supposed to be near Oakhurst, so I headed that way and on my way came upon what appeared to be the tracks of a band of kobolds wheeling something heavy in a cart. Falling snow covered their tracks, but it seemed as though they were also heading for Oakhurst.

Upon my arrival in the city I arranged for lodging at the Ol' Boar Inn for the night then walked about the city, learning what I could about local customs, what folks know about the Sunless Citadel, and whether anyone has seen kobolds around lately - figured I'd help rid the city of the vermin while I'm in the area. It would please Kord for me to squash the little dragon-gnats, and maybe having done the city a favour folks will be more willing to talk with me.

Gather Information for local customs [roll0], info about Sunless Citadel [roll1], and wherabouts of any kobolds [roll2].

Do I already know how people of Oakhurst feel about half-orcs, or am I learning on the way?

[Syekate]

Based on your "gather information" scores, most people are not terribly interested in dealing with you.

Garon watches the defeated Fernweh enter the tavern. All day in her attempts to learn about the little town of Oakhurst and their customs, she has been greeted with nothing but frightened crying children, over protective mothers, and sullen angry stares. Her 'friendly smiles' are misinterpreted as menacing grimaces, and the townsfolk in general would have nothing to do with her as she tromped about. Luckily for her, Garon is a little more understanding.

"Oy, lady beast! Scuttlebutt 'round town is there be some monster stealing babies from their cribs. Don't s'pose you'd know anything 'bout that?" He spits on the glass he's shining for a good polish and gives Fernweh a toothy grin. "Lucky for you I'm used to seein' strange folk come through these parts. Don't worry, you don't scare me none, though you might drive business away while yer here. Good thing I got other patronage from out of town, help keep the books happy." With one last buff, he sets that glass down and picks up another. "So, I hear you been asking about a troop of kobolds came through these parts. OY! KLIP!"

The gangly lad of 13 comes running down stairs, mop and bucket in hand, near about tripping over his own feet. "Yeh pa!"

"Were you not tellin' me 'bout some kobolds come through of late just the other night?"

"Yeh pa!"

The barkeep watches his son for a few seconds, and then realizing he isn't getting an answer, "Well, out with it boy!"

"'Right! 'Twere two, three weeks back, pa. Whole bunch o' the bast-"

"Language, Klip, lest you want I should soap yer mouth out!"

"Yeh pa. Had a big cart, they did, an' it were shaking like something were trapped in it! Headed down to the old ravine, they were."

Garon turns back to Fernweh with a smile. "Now how's that fer a smart young lad, eh? KLIP! What're ya doing, ya daft ignoramus! Back to work!"

[Svithrir]

Up in our room at the Ol' Boar Inn, I finish buttoning and straightening my jacket. "We'd do well to pay the Hucrele household a visit this morning," I say to Cyril, "to formally answer their call for help finding their niece and nephew. Hopefully they'll have some information to put us on the right track." I strap on my sword belt, then pull on my gloves and shake out my cloak. "I thought I'd try finding that Garac character we met last night and asking it along, as well. It cut a clean enough figure, and showing the Hucreles some strength might inspire them to put faith in our party. What do you think?"

[DannyBoy]

"Yes, rather. The Hucrelii," I begin, gently correcting Casimir's pronunciation of that august house's plural form, "would be a valuable ally and it would not be in our best interests to keep them waiting too long; although it would not do for a representative of the House of Gold--even one as minor as myself--to appear too eager to please. Our best course of action, if you will excuse my saying so, would be for me to make our preliminary introductions. I can lend the credibility of my house to your services, and besides, I have some ongoing business dealings with the fiscal adviser to the lady Kerowyn, and have lost a friendly but not insignificant sum to her ladyship's consort at dice these past months--so I am known to the family and can provide a more personal introduction. Having made this introduction, I trust that you will be able to observe the formalities with sufficient grace on your own if I absent myself to pursue this matter with his ladyship's man?" I reach out to brush a speck of dust off Casimir's gilt brocade collar before adding, with a small smile of uncharacteristic honesty and affection, "After all, Miri, I can't always be there to keep you from making an ass of yourself."

"Oh, and as for that creature, bring it if you must, but under no circumstances should it speak. A show of force is one thing, but it will prove a liability if we do not keep it firmly in hand. An elf who can't keep lesser races in their place is no elf at all..."

Patting Casimir on the shoulder, Cyril glides from the room, calling over his shoulder as he descends the stairs "I'll go order that filthy stableboy to have the horses sent round. Make sure to fasten your cloak with that brooch I gave you. It will make a good impression. And in the name of the dark one fix your hair!"

[Svithrir]

"I'll feel a great fool hiring out horses just to ride a few blocks down the road!" I call out after him. Muttering to myself, I pull off my gloves and run my hand through my hair a few times in the small steel mirror in our room. "M'hair looks fine. Wind'll knock it out of place again as soon as I'm outside anyway." I grab my hat and gloves in one hand, throw my cloak over one arm, and head downstairs, still muttering. "Hucrelii, is that what they told him, or some game he made up? Nonsense either way… some kind of bastardized attempt at applying an elven pluralization to a name in Common…"

I put three gold coins in a neat little stack on the bar. "For last night's room and board, Garon. We're not checking out yet, but you've a business to run, and I'll not spend my first day in Oakhurst a debtor.

"Say, do you know where I might find that, ah, that golem-looking person I was talking to last night?"

[cute_fuzzy]

Garac is not hard to find. I spent the evening and night outside by the stables. It was a logical arrangement: I do not require sleep, and therefore do not require accommodation. But the innkeeper (Garon; human, male) said that my presence made other patrons feel unsafe. And as travelers filled the tavern room in the early evening, it was apparent that my presence at a table was illogical: they came to eat, but I do not eat, so the space was better used by them. The Garon was not hostile, and offered that I stay near the stables to guard other travelers' horses. He did not ask payment for allowing me to stay there.

Garac inclines its head as the Casimir (elf, male) approaches. "Casimir. It is the morning. I hope your meditation was pleasant. Where is your companion? I hope his meditation was also pleasant."

Garac spent some time yesterday evening asking the tavern patrons about the healing apples of Oakhurst. Today it hopes to visit the healer to find out more. It does not consider this time-sensitive, so it will go with Casimir and Cyril if that's more pressing.

[Syekate]

Your gathering of information has proved fruitful. Locals tell you that every year a tribe of goblins ransom off an apple at the summer solstice. This apple is capable of healing any ailment, and will do so even when split into quarters. Little is known of the origin of this miraculous fruit.

Garon hears Cyril as he descends the steps. "KLIIIIIP! Get yer buggered arse over to the stables and fetch these good men their horses!" He gives a respectful nod to Casimir when he is paid and directs the elf to the stables, where he is bound to find Garac and a few readied mounts. The three gold pieces covers the cost for a night's room and some morning transportation. Once the elf and his partner are out of the inn he directs his attention to the despondent half-orc. "Oy, lady beast. You might try following those fellas. The Hucreles got a lot of say in this town, and I heard their kids say they were off for that Sunless Citadel. Sunless Citadel.... now there's a name I ain't heard since some fella came through o'er a decade ago. Had a pet frog, he did. Never did like me much frogs. Or badgers. Mother got bit by a badger once, near took her leg off. 'Course, now she ain't needin' no leg, seein' as she's dead. Dead is as dead does, I say..." he rambles on without pause.

When Casimir and Cyril make it to the stables, a pair of horses are ready for them, with Klip standing next to them chewing on a glob of something and spitting occasionally. The beasts are flea-bitten and look to be in their aged years, but well muscled enough to carry riders.

[Pessoptimist]

Following Garon's welcome advice, I accompany Klip as he heads to the stables to ready horses for the fanciest gentlemen I ever did see. Klip's a quiet lad, apparently in the habit of speaking when spoken to, judging by his interactions with Garon. He steals intermittent and inquisitive sideways glances in my direction, obviously trying not to stare. At one point I catch him, wait a few beats, then offer a close-lipped smile. Klip quickly returns his gaze to his own footsteps.

"Ever see a half-orc before?" I ask.

"No ma'am."

"Scared?" I ask.

"No ma'am."

"Good. No reason to be."

When we arrive at the stables I place myself on a stool in a shadowed corner opposite where Klip is readying the horses and await the fancy gentlemen. In the opposite corner I notice the great metal orc that calls itself Garac. We give each other a quiet nod. Though much larger than myself, the Garac does not seem to engender as much fear in the people around it. I decide to observe the creature to learn more.

The Garac immediately engages one of the fancy gentlemen in conversation upon his entering the stable. The other fancy gentleman follows shortly thereafter. As they are talking, I approach the gentlemen gingerly so as not to frighten them, for they look quite fragile.

"Sirs, you are headed to the Hucrele homestead?"

Upon hearing a sonorous voice behind them, the gentlemen turn to see a tall, broad-shouldered, leather-armoured figure standing about 2 meters away. Deep olive skin with eyes to match, and jet black hair pulled up in a top knot. She has 11 small 8-pointed stars tattooed on her face – a black star at her forehead, a white star above each eyebrow, three red stars diagonally across the bridge of her nose, a blue star on each cheek where dimples would be if she had any, and three black stars running vertically down the side of her face starting from her right temple.

"Might I accompany you? To ask them about their children's visit to the Sunless Citadel. I also wish to visit this place, and would like to know how to get there. A troop of kobolds has been seen recently in these parts. I can see to it that they do not bother you. I am quite capable on the battlefield.”

[Svithrir]

"Quite, thank you, Garac. Ah, and here's Cyril with the horses." Casimir slips a silver piece to Klip and mounts his horse. "We're just on our way across town to call upon Kerowyn Hucrele. Her niece and nephew, Sharwyn and Talgen, were part of an adventuring party that has gone missing, and I intend to find them for her. If you're still interested in campaigning with us, as we discussed briefly last night, then I'd like you to join us for the visit." Casimir glances quickly at Cyril, then turns back to Garac. "I, ah, must ask, of course, that you not speak unless spoken to while in Madame Hucrele's presence. She's a very important merchant in this area, and we mustn't waste her time with idle banter. Also, there appear to be only two horses. I hope you're alright walking."

At this point, Fernweh approaches. Casimir stares for just a moment before answering her.

"Oh! Ah. A Sunless Citadel, you say? Well, we're off to see Madame Hucrele, yes. If you'd care to follow along, I'd be happy to ask her whether her kin had an interest in this Sunless Citadel. Perhaps you could wait outside and, ah, mind the horses, while we speak to her.

"As for your services with a blade, have you any credentials? I am Casimir of the House of Sapphires, I can't afford to entrust my life to just anybody."

[Syekate]

Once the conditions of their business arrangements have been detailed, the four adventurers make their way down the New Road through town to the Hucrele House. They make a motley assortment; two noblemen riding run down inn ponies, a metal man the likes of which has never been seen before, and the half-orc that had been oh so popular with the townfolk previously. Needless to say, your adventuring groups gets stares of astonishment from just about every character in town. As you approach the Hucrele Household, the front door opens and a little man that looks like he's spent half his life bowing ushers you all inside.

"Quickly, get in here before the rest of town stops by to gawk. Inside! Inside! ALL of you! Don't worry, someone will be around to care for your mounts." Once all four adventurers are inside, the man says, "My name is Fletcher, doorman and bookkeeper to the Merchants Hucrele. Terribly sorry, but my mistress's household would prefer to keep their affairs more discreet. You see-"

"Enough dawdling, Fletcher, I would speak to these ruffians myself!" calls a female voice with the character of a rusty knife calls from the other room.

"Of course, mistress! Right this way, if you please," he beckons toward the office where the grating voice came from. There sits a wizened woman with quill in hand poring over a series of ledgers. "I introduce to you the Madame Hucrele, matriarch of the Hucrele household, Owner of the Merchants Hucrele. Madame, I present to you-"

"Please leave us," she tells Fletcher, who happily takes the opportunity to scurry out, closing the door behind him. The office is dark, with many bookshelves along the walls, and it has a musty feel to it. "Charmed, I'm sure," Madame Hucrele says, motioning to a couch along the wall behind the adventurers.

What do you do?

If you choose to speak during this meeting, please roll a diplomacy check.

[Svithrir]

Casimir removes his gloves so his signet ring is clearly visible. He throws a reflexive glance at Cyril, but given the no-nonsense manner in which they were ushered inside, he decides to take the initiative and introduce himself.

"Good morning, Madame. I am Casimir Alethrothanthi, of the House of Sapphires. These are my associates." He sits at the near end of the offered couch. "I'd like to extend my greatest sympathies regarding the disappearance of Sharwyn and Talgen, and offer my party's services in bringing them safely home."

Let's try it: [roll0]

[DannyBoy]

Sensing the mood in the room go icy the moment after Casimir's inexcusable forthrightness, Cyril jumps in before the Lady has a chance to respond.

"My lady," he begins, beaming and making an elegant but not excessively florid bow, "how lovely it is to be received again into your gracious presence, dreadful circumstances though they may be. It has been too long. I feel I owe you an apology for the last time you welcomed me under your roof; I certainly hope your esteemed consort" (this last bit said with a barely perceptible tone of knowing but well-intentioned condescension, deliberately added to place himself in agreement with the mild contempt the august lady has for her bumbling husband, and as a recognition of her complete superiority in the household), "has not been...improvident with the windfall I so unwisely laid at his feet. For your sake, if not my own, my lady, I feel I must improve my game before I presume to gamble with your esteemed lord" (again the subtle sarcasm.)

"In any event, I hope you will excuse my traveling companion; his forthrightness may not be quite in place at court, but I find him to be an eminently trustworthy and capable individual where such matters are concerned. And, of course, as long as I am involved, you can be assured of our complete and permanent discretion in this most troubling matter."

Diplomacy check:[roll0]

[Syekate]

Madame Kerowyn Hucrele scowls at Casimir, and is about to retort to his pompous and direct approach when Cyril cuts her off. Her scowl quickly changes from a recognizant smile, and then to downright laughter at the elf's barely subtle jabs at her husband. "At last, somebody answers my call who truly knows how to do business. I will tell you all that I know. As you are aware, my niece and nephew went on an expedition not a month back, and have not returned. Sharwyn was a dear... quite adept at magic, a wizard in training, and the most wonderful head on her shoulders. A girl after my own heart. Talgen took more after his father; he enrolled in a school of combat at a young age, and had more interest in beating monsters bloody than learning anything pertinent to his family's business. I have no doubt that he pushed Sharwyn into accepting this mad quest. They were recruited by two other men, a ranger named Karakas and a paladin of Pelor named Ser Bradford, both outsiders to our little town. Ser Bradford was fond of showing off his pretty sword; Shatterspike he called it."

She arranges a few papers before she continues. "They were off to find the Sunless Citadel, a rumored place of import to some ancient dragon cult. When they left, they took the Old Road to the ravine. It lies seven miles east of town. Nobody has heard from any of them since then. The most frustrating part is that their wild goose chase was over these ridiculous apples that the goblins ransom off to the village once or twice a year. I choose not to dabble with them, but the healer, Dem Nackle, she has obtained a fair few over the years. Anyway, your charge, should you choose to accept, is to find Sharwyn and Talgen and let me know of their whereabouts."

The matriarch sets down her quill and papers and looks each of them in the eyes. "Make no mistake. These were capable people that set out, and there is no doubt in my mind that their deaths are a significant possibility. Each member of the House Hucrele wears a gold signet ring, as such," she says holding forward her own hand for inspection. "These rings, as well as being identifiers for my lost family, are a major liability for my company. You can imagine the fraud one could enact with such a symbol in her possession. Our accounts will pay 125 gold pieces for each ring returned." She looks back down to her papers and begins scribbling and calculating in her mind. "For each of you. Double to bring my niece and nephew back alive. That will be all. Fletcher!"

As the adventurers are being ushered out by Fletcher, Kerowyn looks up and calls out, "And Cyril, darling, do drop by again sometime." Her voice is almost flirtatious. Fletcher is quick to get the adventurers outside of the House Hucrele.

What do you do?

[DannyBoy]

Cyril returns the lady's flirtatious smile with an enigmatic but not unappreciative one of his own and, bowing low, allows himself and his company to be shown out the door.

The door having thus clanged behind them, Cyril's pleasant smile falls instantly off his face, and he fixes Casimir with a wordless glare.

[Svithrir]

Casimir blushes hard. "Well what was I supposed to do differently? She cuts the introductions short, and then you have the nerve to scold me for 'forthrightness'? Never mind, it's just all the more incentive for us to find Sharwyn and Talgen.

"Unless anyone has any more business in town, I'm for retrieving our equipment from the inn and then heading to the ravine as soon as possible."

[cute_fuzzy]

Garac nods. "I agree. I did not know that lives were at stake. If they are injured we must help immediately."

[Pessoptimist]

Indeed. Young Klip said he saw the kobolds I was tracking head towards the ravine as well.

[Syekate]

Having come into agreement on the nature of their quest, the four adventurers set to preparation at once. When they return to the inn to gather their things, the innkeep, Garon, states that the gold paid this morning more than covered the cost of the horses for the little time they were used. "If you want to borrow m'pack mule, Daisy, she'll haul yer things down to the ravine. Just bring 'er back in one piece, eh?" As they reconvene in the Ol' Boar's main hall, they find that Madame Hucrele has been kind enough to deliver three warm wool cloaks for the fleshy ones of the party. Attached is a note for Cyril, reading 'Think of me when you wrap this tight around you to stay warm.'

Inquiring where the Old Road is located, the adventurers learn that there is not much of a road left; once the New Road was built, the Old Road was left unused and is barely noticeable at points beneath the large snow drifts. Still, the team makes their way east, slowly, pushing through the snow and hills. The only visible structure on their way is the burnt and long-forgotten ruins of a farmhouse, nothing else of note but the low rolling hills on the ashen plains.

As the dusk is setting in, you finally find a break in the bleak white landscape. The ravine comes upon you suddenly, cutting a swathe through the Old Road. The ravine is approximately 30 to 40 feet across, and appears to run as far as you can see in the north and south directions, at least several miles. At this juncture, several broken pillars jut from the earth where the ravine widens and opens into something akin to a deep but narrow canyon. Two pillars stand straight, while most lean against the sloped earth. Others have broken, and there are several spots where it appears that pillar have fallen into the darkness-shrouded depths. A few similar pillars are visible on the opposite side of the ravine. The light is fading quickly now, and it is difficult to see farther than a dozen or so feet into the chasm.

What do you do?

A couple things, as now we're getting into the real meat of the adventure.
-Cyril, if you could price out your equipment and write out on your sheet what you character is carrying aside from weapons, that would be great.
-See the OOC forum for a post regarding rolling Initiative and Spot/Listen checks.

[Svithrir]

Casimir inspects the pillars, noting their counterparts across the ravine. "Now that is something. I wonder, was there once a bridge here, or…?" He peers into the canyon.

"There's still enough light to begin investigating the edge of the ravine, but I must admit I'm skittish about attempting any kind of descent with night almost upon us. Come to think of it, Garac, Fernweh, how well can you see in the dark? Forgive me, I'm too accustomed to the company of elves and humans as of late."

Mostly the pillars, but also a cursory look at the ravine: [roll0]

[Pessoptimist]

"I have dark vision, yes. Here, lemme take a look."

[roll0] And generally, DM: with my dark vision, am I able to tell how deep the ravine is?

[cute_fuzzy]

When Garac stops walking, he stays completely still. "My sight and hearing are slightly less sensitive than a human's. You are an elf, so your eyesight will be more sharp than my own. I will assist with the search if you desire to continue. However, it will likely be safer in the morning of tomorrow. Then the light will be greater.

"I do not require sleep, however, so I will guard you as you have your meditation."

When camp is set, Garac lights a small candle and begins to read from Races of the World and Their Religions, Customs, and Folktales. He will read about elvish meditation cycles and human sleep cycles. There is not much in the book about sleep, since it is mostly taken for granted. He wonders what "dreams" are.

[Syekate]

As they investigate the area, the group finds that the pillars are mostly worn and broken, and covered in graffiti, which appears to be written in the Dwarven alphabet. Those standing near the ravine notice a knotted rope tied to one of the pillars, hanging down into the darkness. Judging by its good condition, it can't be more than two or three weeks old. Nearby, there are older, weathered, carved handholds and footholds in the underlying rock of the cliff face.

The graffiti is mostly goblin warnings to scare away trespassers. "Eat your own filth and scram!" "Run before we slice you!" That sort of thing.

There are countless small campfires surrounding the pillars, some of them seeming as recent as within the last month. Some effort has been made to hide their evidence from casual scrutiny.

You can see just far enough that the rope appears to drop to a surface about 50 feet below.

The rope leads down to a ledge about 30 feet below. The ledge is strewn with rubble and the scattered bones of small animals. There is a staircase leading from the ledge into the depths, but you can't make out just how far down it goes.

[Pessoptimist]

To the elves: "Do you see the ledge at the end of that rope? There's a staircase. Can't tell how far it goes... Shall we descend at least as far as the ledge to see where the staircase might go? There's a lot of debris down there, so just be careful as you step down."

[Svithrir]

"A staircase, you say? Well, it couldn't hurt to investigate a bit further, then. It's still early, despite the gathering dark of winter. There's no telling how much light the bottom of the ravine gets in the daylight anyway."

To get a gist of the graffiti without speaking Goblin: [roll0]

(Will post more on Decipher Script in the OOC thread)

[Svithrir]

Need to beat DC 5 Wisdom check or draw a false conclusion: [roll0]

"I can't read the graffiti, but given they use the Dwarven alphabet, I suspect goblins. Perhaps the same ones Madame Hucrele mentioned? There are also small campfires everywhere around these pillars. It looks like this area receives some traffic, which could make camping here unwise."

[DannyBoy]

Cyril looks around at the ruins with a sinking feeling. A lurker in the shadows, derring-do is not exactly in his wheelhouse. When he had agreed to accompany Casimir on this fools errand he had had every intention of staying nice and snug by the Hucrele hearth, enjoying another pleasant game of dice with the old buffoon and keeping both ears wide open for anything and everything of interest. All the same, he makes it a principle always to flow with the stream--you never know what you might learn--and he never could seem to refuse Miri anything.

Primed as much by his own predilections as by having seen the odd machine deep in his tome of things ancient and cultural, Cyril's thoughts on their present surroundings flow naturally to a rumination on the significance of these crumbling stones...


Initiative: [roll0]
Spot: [roll1]
Listen: [roll2]
And whatever wisdom score I can do related to sociopolitical context. I don't even know where to find my character sheet anymore. I'm so bad at this.

[Svithrir]

Casimir nudges Cyril. "Oh, quit sulking. Think of how much more satisfying the brandy at the Hucrele estate will be when it's a toast being raised in our honor!" He winks and brushes snow off Cyril's new cloak. "Besides, if we run into any trouble, you've proven you can flirt your way out of it!"

He sizes up the knotted rope and, if he deems it secure, prepares to rappel to the ledge below. "Right, might as well get started then. I'll start scouting the ledge while you find somewhere safe to tie up the pack mule."

[roll0]

[Syekate]

Casimir finds it exceedingly simple to make his way down using the sturdy knotted rope. As he descends, the chasm opens considerably, to the point where the opposite wall is lost in darkness. Having no trouble at all reaching the ledge, the elf notes that the surface area is covered in fine dust and sand, as well as scattered rubble and the bones of small animals. Just as he's about to brush himself off, there is a scurry of activity coming from the rubble at the limits of his vision.

Out of the darkness, three giant rats, a few feet in length each, spring from the shadows! They gnash their teeth, salivating at the thought of the fresh meat that has unwittingly descended upon them. Two approach from the north while one attacks from the south. They are far enough away that only the southern rat is able to reach Casimir at the rope. It pounces and attempts to bite the elf with its filthy mouth.

So Casimir has one rat adjacent to him on his south side (to the right with your back against the wall). Two are approaching from the north, each about 10 feet away yet. Fernweh can see the rats from up above. The descent is approximately 50 feet; climbing at normal speed down the rope takes 6 movement actions (with a little 4 foot jump at the bottom) for those with 30 ft. movement speed. Climbing at accelerated speed takes 3 move actions. (10 and 5 if you have 20 ft. movement speed.)

The southern rat lashes out at the flat-footed Casimir:
Attack: [roll0]
Damage: [roll1]
Critical confirm: [roll2] (in case attack is natural 20)
Critical damage: [roll3]

That was the surprise round. Now real combat begins. You all go first (in any order) and then the rats, then you, etc.

[Svithrir]

Casimir curses as he dances around the rat's jaws. "Confound it! I have rats!! Cyril, there are two of them about ten feet to the north of me, see if you can knock them out!"

Casimir waits for Cyril to act before taking any action. Meanwhile, are the stairs Fernweh saw to the north (two rats) or south (one rat)? Can Casimir see what's in the other direction?

[DannyBoy]

"Oh fuss and bother," Cyril mutters to himself as he edges toward the edge as directed. Fixing the rats with the same stare he uses on troublesome guards, he turns his considerable persuasiveness toward convincing the rats that now would be a splendid time for a nap...

I move up 30 ft toward the edge of the ravine, hopefully giving me line of sight to the two rats to Casmir’s north. If so, I cast sleep on them. (Range 110 ft, 10-ft-radius burst, up to 4 HD of creatures make a DC 14 Will save or fall asleep for 1 min)

[Svithrir]

As he hears Cyril casting a spell above him, Casimir quickly weighs his chances of retreating up the rope, and finds them wanting. He'd be hard pressed to out-climb the rats should they fend off sleep and decide to give chase. He looks up and sees Fernweh standing expectantly at the top of the rope. He smiles at her. "Sod it. I'll make my stand here."

He draws his rapier and, with an arcane word and a flick of the wrist, coats it in dark red blood. He stabs at the rat next to him, then shifts out from under the rope, toward the two rats that are hopefully now sleeping.

Cast blade of blood on rapier as a swift action (empowers weapon to deal 1d6 extra damage on next hit)

Bloody rapier
Attack: [roll0]
Damage: [roll1] + [roll2]
Confirm critical (threaten on 22-24): [roll3]
Damage: [roll4]

Followed by a 5-ft-step to the north

[Pessoptimist]

Seeing my teammate's situation I shout to him "Step aside, I'm coming down!" then climb down the rope at accelerated speed and jump the remaining distance to the ledge, taking a stance back-to-back with Casimir and drawing my ax.

Unless I'm mistaken, with a speed of 40 feet, accelerated climbing should get me to the bottom of the rope in two moves. Here's a jump check just in case I need one to clear the last bit of distance.

Climb check: [roll0]
Jump check: [roll1]

[cute_fuzzy]

Garac hears the battle break out and rushes to the ledge of the ravine. The Fernweh has already started climbing down the rope. Excellent strategy; she has greater agility and is therefore better suited for such an acrobatic task. Garac does not see the stairs the Fernweh spoke of, and the distance to the ledge is great enough to cause major damage in a jump or fall. Unwise. Instead it draws its bow and nocks an arrow.

Garac will shoot the first rat it has a clear shot at, but it won't shoot one that's sleeping or one that's engaged in melee with an ally--at least, not yet.

Assuming it has a suitable target:
Shortbow: [roll0]
Damage: [roll1]
Crits on 22: [roll2]
Crit damage: [roll3]

[Syekate]

The rat attacking Casimir directly squeals as it is stabbed through the chest. It twitches in a heap on the floor as its life's blood slowly leaks out, hemorrhaging into the lung space, creating a hemothorax that, with time, will reduce the negative pressure allowing the lungs to expand with the body wall, ultimately resulting in lung collapse, atelectasis, impaired oxygen exchange, and, eventually, death. (This is what you get for gaming with a doctor.)

Of the two dire rats remaining, one passes out, succumbing to Cyril's sleep spell. The other looks a tad wobbly, until Garac's arrow catches it in the rear leg. With a howl of pain, it leaps to attack Casimir, the nearest target.

Attack: [roll0]
Damage: [roll1]
Crit Conf: [roll2]
Crit Damage: [roll3]

[Svithrir]

Casimir thrusts at the rat that just attacked him, still wary of the beast's filthy mouth but feeling much more secure now than he did just moments ago.

Rapier
Attack: [roll0]
Damage: [roll1]
Confirm critical (threaten on 22-24): [roll2]
Damage: [roll3]

[Pessoptimist]

Fernweh has a try at the rat who is attacking Casimir. She rears up her ax and brings it down:

Greatax
Attack: [roll0]
Damage: [roll1]
Confirm critical: [roll2]
Damage: [roll3]

[Syekate]

The dire rat easily dodges the point of Casimir's rapier, having seen the damage it can do, only to be cleaved in twain by Fernweh's axe. Two foes are down and one is sleeping.

[DannyBoy]

Cyril briefly considers launching an arrow at the sleeping rat's skull, but then thinks better of it. Although like any eleven child he was schooled in the art of the bow, it was only ever in the context of polite society, with hay bales for targets and tea and cakes for afterward. Even though his enemy is no more mobile than a bale of straw, he is awfully far away, and anyway Miri and that savage seem to have things well enough in hand...

Best to stick to what you do best, Cyril. Watch and wait.

[Svithrir]

"Well, that wasn't so bad! Fernweh, dispatch that last rat, won't you? Then we can think about how best to get Garac down here. He doesn't look like the most sure-footed climber."

Casimir stabs the first, dying rat once more, putting the poor wheezing thing out of its misery. He then sets to lighting his oil lantern.

Coup de grace, if necessary, on the rat with hemothorax: [roll0] damage.

[Pessoptimist]

Fernweh dislodges her ax from the rat in front of her, nudges the corpse aside with her foot, and saunters over to the one sleeping. She cox* her head and looks at the (relatively) little thing and feels somewhat bad for it. She knows there's no particular honour in killing this momentarily harmless creature. Also this is too easy. Kord will not be impressed. All the same, if not for the elf's magic, it would also be harming her teammates, which is unacceptable. Assuming a solid shoulder-width stance, she casually wheels her ax back, up, over, then down, square on top of the napping rat.

Coup de grace [roll0]

Hehehehehe...

[cute_fuzzy]

Garac does not un-nock its arrow, even as Fernweh cuts the last rat in two. Prudent; the rat would have threatened again, if it had been allowed to awaken. It peers into the ravine as best it can in the fading light. "Mister Casimir! Miss Fernweh! Are you harmed? It would be wise to return to the top of the ravine for first aid. There is more light here, and we will be better able to defend ourselves if we are not separated."

[DannyBoy]

Cyril looks over at the motionless machine. "You may not have gotten to this part in your book yet, but that is awfully disconcerting. You really ought to put that thing away. Someone might mistake you for a statue."

Which sounds like an awfully convenient skill to have, now that he thinks of it.

[Svithrir]

"We're fine, Garac! It's safe for you and Cyril to join us down here. I'm lighting my lantern now, so you'll be better able to see where you're going." To Fernweh: "I… actually don't know whether Garac can climb down on its own? If you hauled up the rope and it held tightly to the end, do you think you could lower it down to this ledge, if it came to that? Maybe tie a loop at the end to give it a surer footing. Just make sure Cyril climbs down first, or he'll demand the same treatment."

Having lit his lantern, Casimir sets it on the ground and prepares to shed a bit more light on the chasm. He conjures four pale orbs of light that glow like torches bobbing in midair, and uses them as a searchlight to make a quick assessment the terrain. He first commands them to drift along the stone stairs up to a range of about 100 feet, then sweeps them out toward the far canyon wall.

As spell-like ability, max range 110 ft, duration 1 minute. Can I see anything? (If Search or Spot would be appropriate and the DM wants to make a check for me, I have +5 in each.)

[Syekate]

The lights follow a staircase with no railings; it switches back twice on its long descent 80 feet down to a sort of courtyard below. Just at the edge of the light's range, the top of a fortress can be seen emerging from the darkness. The long structure appears long forgotten if the lightless windows, cracked crenellations, and leaning towers are any indication. All is quiet for now, no signs of life aside from those you just slaughtered. A cold breeze blows up from below, bringing with it the scent of dust and a faint trace of rot. The little lights cannot reach the opposite side of the cavern; there is only blackness in that direction.

There are human-size footprints along the ledge in the dust and sand. They do not belong to anyone in your party. The footprints head down the stairs. There are also a large number of giant rat prints, and an old ring of blackened stones that contains the accumulated ash of hundreds of fires. It looks like it hasn't been touched in years, though.

[cute_fuzzy]

Garac relaxes the bow and un-nocks the arrow as it sees Casimir's lights flit through the ravine. It turns to Cyril. "It was a logical precaution. We do not know how many animals are in the area or when they might attack. My arms do not need rest, so it was easy to keep my bow drawn in case of another emergency."

Garac pulls the rope up, ties a few knots in it, then offers it to Cyril. "If we are to explore presently, you should join Mister Casimir and Miss Fernweh first. We should be cautious about again becoming separated. I can guard the rope here until you are safely on the ledge. I will lower you if you prefer not to climb."


Strength check, in case Garac is lowering Cyril while he holds onto the rope: [roll0]
And a roll to climb down the knotted rope after Cyril is safely on the ledge: [roll1]

[Syekate]

Garac manages to effortlessly lower Cyril as the elf clings to the end of the rope. The warforged then makes his own way down with ease. As the last of the adventurers descends, so does nightfall, and everything is blackness on the little ledge and subterranean world around.

Up top, Daisy the mule haws a little and starts kicking at the snow to open a patch of grass. Her shaggy coat keeps her from experiencing the cold.

[Svithrir]

"Curious. Do you see this fire pit here? Looks like a sentry would have been stationed here to guard this entrance to the ravine. This pit looks like it's been abandoned for years, though.

"Regardless, we're on the right track. That rope and these footprints must have been left by the Hucrele party.

"We'd best move quietly, lest we attract more of those rats or worse. Garac, why don't you take the lead down the stairs? I'll be right behind you with my lantern. Fernweh, could you bring up the rear and use your darkvision to watch out for an ambush?"

[DannyBoy]

"I'll just...mind the bags, then?" asks Cyril, somewhat hopefully, when Casimir's battle order fails to take him into account.

[Svithrir]

"Oh, no, Cyril. You're marching right behind me, as I'm sure you understood full well."

[DannyBoy]

"Ahem. Well. Right. Off we go then."

[Syekate]

The four adventurers make their way carefully down the narrow worn stairs, the ground far below approaching and becoming better lit by Casimir's lantern. The stairs empty into a crumbled courtyard, apparently the top of what was once a crenellated battlement. The buried citadel they seek has apparently sunk so far into the earth that the battlement is now level with the cavern floor. The floor stretches away some 20 feet to the north and south, and beyond this the cavern floor is composed of a layer of treacherous crumbled masonry, which reaches to an unknown depth, as far as can be seen around the expanse of the fortress. Straight ahead looms the surviving structure of what must be the Sunless Citadel, a great round tower with a wooden door on level with the cavern floor just asking for adventurers to come knocking.

Who will answer the call first?

Spot and listen rolls, please.

[Pessoptimist]

"Could this be the Sunless Citadel? It is nothing like my book described..." Fernweh takes a few cautious steps towards the structure, but not getting more than a couple feet ahead of the rest of party.

Spot = [roll0]
Listen = [roll1]

[Svithrir]

Casimir holds his lantern high to light the area as best he can. "Just what is this place? Mind your step, this floor can't be very stable."

If he can still see footprints, Casimir does his best to stay near them.
Spot: [roll0]
Listen: [roll1]

[DannyBoy]

Mouth shut, ears open, can't lose

Listen: [roll0]
Spot: [roll1]

[cute_fuzzy]

Garac considers the tower. "It seems that is where we should begin the search for the Hucrele party. I am the most logical choice to open the door. We should be cautious, however. We will be forced into the tower if more hostilities are in this area, but we do not know what is inside."

Spot: [roll0]
Listen: [roll1]

No movement towards the tower yet, just hanging back with the elves for now.

[Syekate]

As the adventurers stand at the base of the stairs, the tower looming in place ahead, the sounds of rats scrabbling in the rubble around can be heard. None of the rodents seem to be taking interest in the intruders, though. As they take in the views, a chunk of rock from the cavern roof high above manages to dislodge and knocks Fernweh on top of the head, but nothing can be seen or heard to move in the darkness.

[Svithrir]

"Well, these rats seem content to leave us alone, as I am them. And I'd as soon get inside before they change their minds. But you're right, Garac, there's no telling what awaits us inside. I'll trust your judgment, if you want to open the door."

[cute_fuzzy]

About 20 feet from the tower door, Garac holds up an arm. "Please wait here. Remain alert." It steps forward over the broken ground, pauses at the door to the tower, and (if it hears nothing), shoulders it open.

Listen check at the door: [roll0]
Strength check to open door: [roll1]

[Syekate]

The machine-man takes a few steps forward, and is almost five feet from the door, when suddenly the floor gives way! A trap door opens beneath it, leaving only a foot-wide stable gang plank leading to the door. Luckily, feeling the ground fall beneath its feet, the warforged manages to stumble onto the plank, keeping from falling into the depths below. Those who look down into the pit trap can easily see a couple small skeletons, presumably of goblins, as well as one fresh goblin corpse. A dire rat is chewing on the corpse, oblivious of those above as it feasts away.

Feel free to take action against the rat if you wish. This is the first and only time I'll mention it (because it's the first time it will be relevant) but searching corpses may yield rewards.

Also, I rolled Garac's reflex. You got an 18, you lucky robot, you.

[Pessoptimist]

Fernweh walks slowly toward the edge of the pit, until she has a clear view of the rat below and prepares a weapon.

If the rat is less than 20 feet away, throw a dagger. Otherwise, use a shortbow:
Attack: [roll0] (same for either, assuming -2 range penalty on dagger)
Damage (dagger): [roll1]
Damage (bow): [roll2]

[Syekate]

Fernweh's dagger makes a squishy thunk sound as it embeds in the back of the rat's skull. It twitches for a minute, and is then still.

EDIT: The pit is only about 10 feet deep, but looks like those who go down will require a fair bit of scrambling (climb check) to get back out.

[Svithrir]

Casimir peers into the pit and smiles at having gotten the drop on the rat this time, as opposed to the other way around. "Well thrown, Fernweh! Now, let's see if these goblins have anything to tell us… oh, wait!" He pulls a coil of rope out of his backpack and hands it to Fernweh. "In case I, ah, need help climbing out of there." He jumps into the pit, retrieves Fernweh's dagger from the rat, and investigates the corpses.

Search (focusing on the fresh corpse): [roll0]
Climb to get out: [roll1]

[Svithrir]

Casimir furrows his brow. "I must be missing something here. Cyril, you have an eye for detail. Come down and help me, won't you?"

[Syekate]

The noise of Casimir jumping down into the rubble pit has attracted another nearby rat! It comes careening out of a small gap in the pit wall, biting out at the unsuspecting Casimir.

Attack: [roll0] vs. flat-footed Casimir
Damage: [roll1]
Critical: [roll2]
Crit Damage: [roll3]

EDIT: ... Luck elf.

[Svithrir]

Casimir shakes off the rat's jaws as his leather armor absorbs the force of the bite. "Augh, not this again!" He brandishes his rapier and squares off against the beast.

Melee attack with rapier:
Attack: [roll0]
Damage: [roll1]
Confirm critical (threaten on 22-24): [roll2]
Damage: [roll3]

[Syekate]

The rat squeals in pain as the blade hits home, stabbing into the beast's shoulder. The commotion appears to be causing a bit of a stir; the scrabbling you heard before in the rubble surrounding the courtyard has increased ten fold. It would appear that the countless dire rats all throughout the wreckage surrounding the keep have caught onto to the sound of battle and smell of blood. It sounds like they are mobilizing, homing in to a fresh kill on which to feed.

Casimir found a small pouch of money on the freshly dead goblin (4gp, 23sp), but there was nothing else ni the pit of particular note. I'll assume he grabbed Fernweh's dagger for her, as well.

Climbing out of the pit with the rope will be very easy, taking approximately one turn.

This is a full round of combat now, so the rest of the party may act, then the rat again if it still lives.

[Pessoptimist]

Before throwing the rope down to Casimir, Fernweh pulls out her shortbow to take (hopefully) one final blow to the injured rat.

[roll0] accounting for -4 penalty due to Casimir being in melee with the rat.

Damage = [roll1]

[cute_fuzzy]

Garac swivels its head to survey the courtyard and begins to shout tactical assessments in a flurry. "We should make for the tower. It is the most defensible point we can easily reach. The stairs are inadvisable. Rats will climb the ravine walls too easily. If we can gain the tower we can barricade the door from inside. If we cannot gain the tower we will more easily defend ourselves against a larger number of enemies with our backs to the wall."

It brings its attention back to the pit as Fernweh's arrow clinks off the wall above the wounded rat. "Mister Cyril. Please make haste to the tower door and open it. Miss Fernweh, please aid him. I will retrieve mister Casimir. We will join you presently. I am equipped to hold a portal for some time if it is necessary."

Garac grabs ahold of the rope Fernweh tossed to Casimir, to hoist the elf out of the pit trap.

Strength check to aid Casimir's climbing out of the pit: [roll0]

[DannyBoy]

"Yes, yes. In a moment," Cyril dismisses the machine with an absentminded shrug as he dredges up his childhood training again to knock an arrow and fire at the rat menacing Casimir.

Attack: [roll0]
Damage: [roll1]
Confirm critical: [roll2]
Critical damage: [roll3] + [roll4]

[Syekate]

The rat continues its attack, ignoring the arrows from above that strike naught but the rubble around. At the very edge of the lantern's glow, shapes can be seen moving in your general direction. Many of them.

Attack: [roll0]
Damage: [roll1]
Critical Attack: [roll2]
Critical Damage: [roll3]

[Svithrir]

Casimir hisses as the rat's teeth just barely penetrate his armor and break his skin. "Oh, that had better not get infected. I've had quite enough of these rats this evening. Everybody inside NOW!" He stabs once more at the filthy beast. Then, without even looking to see whether his sword struck true, he grabs the rope and makes a hasty climb out of the pit.

Rapier
Attack: [roll0]
Damage: [roll1]
Confirm critical (threaten on 22-24): [roll2]
Damage: [roll3]

Climb check to get out of the pit: [roll4]

[Syekate]

The rat takes the blow and is crippled, squealing in pain on the floor of the pit trap. This only seems to set the other rats all around into more of a fervor, the noise helping them lock in on their new targets. With assistance of Garac and the rope, Svithrir manages to stumble clumsily out of the pit.

Still in combat mode, so looking for posts from Fernweh, Garac, and Cyril before next round.

[cute_fuzzy]

Garac helps Casimir up over the edge of the pit. "Please comply, Mister Cyril. We must take cover in the tower immediately." With Casimir out of the pit, Garac readies its sword and shield.

Garac will wait for Fernweh and Cyril to open the tower door and get inside. Once that happens, it will hold action for Casimir to escort him to the tower. Garac will activate Iron Guard's Glare [-4 to all enemies' attack rolls if they attack anyone but Garac] as a swift action as soon as it takes its next turn. Assuming that move action works as planned, Garac will take its standard action inside the tower, to shut and bar the door behind the party.

If things start going badly south (Cyril is unruly and doesn't move; Fernweh and Cyril get ambushed by something just inside the tower door) and Garac needs to activate before then, I'd like that, but I don't recall the rules for how many 'trigger conditions' held actions can have.

[Pessoptimist]

"That seems a sound plan, Garac. Cyril, with me! Don't worry, Garac will bring Casimir to us." Fernweh gestures for Cyril to follow her as she makes for the tower door, throws it open, and dashes inside, glancing back occasionally on her way to be sure Cyril is behind her.

[DannyBoy]

Cyril obeys almost automatically--a fact which a small, detached part of his brain resents bitterly. He can respond with grace and poise to any stress at court, but fangs and fur are another matter entirely...

[Syekate]

With Casimir in the courtyard holding the lantern, little can be seen initially in the round tower room, though nothing leaps out of the shadows at Fernweh or Cyril. The only sound to be heard is the writhing mass of rat flesh closing in. Eight dire rodents appear in clear view on the stable courtyard floor, and are within seconds of jumping on Garac and Casimir. At the edge of the lantern glow, dozens of reflective eyes can be seen.

[Svithrir]

Casimir hustles into the tower, tense against the surrounding danger. "Go go go! Fernweh, be ready to shut the door behind us!"

Assuming I can get well into the tower with a single move action, might as well use the total defense action for +4 dodge bonus to AC for the turn first.

[Syekate]

Garac follows after Casimir, the rats hot on its heels. Luckily, the plank is wide enough that they can hurry to the door with ease, but the rats cannot cross the plank more than one at a time, though they begin filling in the pit and climbing up the other side towards the door. Garac crosses the threshold, the lead rat snapping at its heels, with an increasingly large number scrabbling behind. As soon as it makes it into the tower room, Fernweh slams the door shut-

Only to have it be stopped by the lead rat's body. A veritable wave of massing dire rats can be seen through the gap as the rat tries to squirm its way through. Seeing the inevitable danger, Garac uses its weight to slam the door closed, beheading the menacing rodent and leaving them all )except Garac) panting with fear and exertion. The rats can be heard outside, clawing at the wooden door, fighting and feasting over corpses in the pit, but the adventurers appear to be safe from their threat for the time being.

Taking stock of their surroundings, they find themselves in a round room (about 30 foot diameter) cobbled with cracked granite, upon which lay four goblins, all apparently slain in combat. One actually stands with its back against the far wall, pinned and mounted like a butterfly by a spear. The room has three wooden doors visible, counting the one you just entered through, at equilateral angles. Above, a hollow tower of loose masonry reaches about 30 feet, but the intervening stairs and floors are gone, except for a couple crumbled ledges.

[DannyBoy]

Cyril nudges one of the slain goblins with his glistening leather boot, his hand firmly clasped across his nose and mouth—partly to carch his breath, but not a small part also to fend off the stench.

I don't have my character sheet handy, but roll me whatever my spot check is for feet. Can I tell how long he's been in goblin heaven? Does he ooze at all?

[Svithrir]

Casimir sits on the floor and starts unbuckling his armor to expose the rat bite on his calf. "I don't suppose someone could take a look at this for me? I know it's not deep, but it stings more than it has a right to. Filthy creatures, those rats…" He fishes his waterskin out of his backpack and takes a quick swallow. "They'll be swarming out there for a while, but I suspect they'll have mostly cleared out by morning. In the meantime, it seems we've found the Sunless Citadel!"

[Syekate]

The goblins appear to have been dead for a good month or so, based on the rate of decomposition. The rats have nibbled here and there, but in large the bodies have been untouched for sometime. None of them have anything particularly valuable on hand, only a short sword in hand, or, in the case of the goblin skewered upright to the wall, at its feet.

There is a secret door cut into the rock wall on the north side of the room.

[DannyBoy]

"Hullo there, old friend..." Cyril thinks to himself, as he glides unobtrusively across the room and stands by the north wall of the chamber. After a lifetime of sneaking back and forth, you learn to recognize a secret door, even one as artfully hidden as this one. Byth'ears! but this is fine craftsmanship. Cyril looks with his eyes and not his hands, reflexively avoiding giving his companions any indication that anything of interest at all has caught his attention. With one eye on the company and the other on the door, he bides...

[Pessoptimist]

"Here, Casimir, let me take a look. Does anyone have any bandaging?"

[roll0], I have soap in my bag, and if anyone does have any bandaging I use it too, if necessary.

After tending to Casimir to the extent that she can, Fernweh walks over to the pinned goblin and takes the spear (because why not have a spear?), stepping back as she yanks it out to keep her distance from the body tumbling unceremoniously to the floor.

She then makes her way to the doors through which they did not enter, checking their exteriors for anything interesting*, and putting her ear to the doors to see if she hears anything on the other side.**

*[roll1]

**[roll2]

[Svithrir]

Casimir straps his leather armor back in place over Fernweh's dubious patch job. The bite is still a bit sore, but it's as clean as it's going to get under the circumstances, and he can walk off the pain easily enough. He picks up his lantern and rapier and slowly paces a tight circle in the center of the room, taking in his surroundings. "Who did in those goblins, do you think? The Hucrele party? Or has someone else been through here?" He picks one of the two doors at random and walks up to it to give a more thorough investigation.

1=left, 2=right: [roll0]
Search: [roll1]
Listen: [roll2]

[Syekate]

As Fernweh pulls out the spear the goblin corpse slumps to the ground, revealing a set of runes, deeply worn into the rock and masterly etched. The spear itself is short and ungainly in the half-orc's hands, seemingly made for a creature of smaller stature. No one finds anything of particular note regarding the wooden doors, and no noise is heard coming from behind them.

The runes read as such: Ashardalon

You notice that Cyril is standing next to a well hidden door carved into the rock wall.

[Svithrir]

Casimir reads the runes Fernweh uncovered. "Ashardalon…" He turns to Cyril as if to ask a question, but stops short upon seeing his friend. He tries to hide a wry smile behind a stern expression. "Cyril, I'm not sure which would be worse: that you do, or do not, see what I see."

[DannyBoy]

Cyril smiles at his friend like a father at an unexpected sign of precocity from a beloved son. "I wondered whether you would see it," he says, truthfully. "I was waiting for an opportune moment to bring it to your attention..."—this being only marginally true—"Would you care to inform the party of your discovery?"

[Svithrir]

"A secret door," Casimir says, tracing the hairline, dust-packed gaps in the stonework with the point of his rapier. "Now if you're done being coy, perhaps you'd care to take a closer look to see if it's trapped?"

[DannyBoy]

A slight bow at this.

I roll whatever I need to to determine whether it is trapped.

[Syekate]

After evaluating the stone door meshed into the wall, Cyril can find no signs of traps, and the area has been left untouched for a very long time.

[cute_fuzzy]

After a few long moments, the scrabbling of rat claws on the door seems to die down. Garac assesses that the door should hold for now, and turns its attention toward the room.

"Mister Casimir. I am afraid I lack advanced knowledge of battlefield medicine. Your wound seems bandaged as well as can be expected for the moment.

"However, I must warn against overextension. I will not tire, but you may require rest before we continue.

"However, it would be sensible to examine what is behind this hidden door before you rest. Shall I open it? You may stand back. I am quite durable, in the event that Mister Cyril has missed any unseen mechanisms."

[DannyBoy]

"By all means," Cyril says, stepping to the side and gesturing broadly to the secret door—a gesture he follows by taking several more discreet paces well out of harm's way.

[cute_fuzzy]

Garac steps forward and shoves the hidden door open.

[roll0]

[Syekate]

As the warforged opens the door, a pressurized needle springs forward, aimed straight for its chest. The pocket chamber is damp and cold, barely large enough to fit the three bodies that it harbors inside. These dead have reduced to naught but skeletons over the years, but they wear the tattered garb of archers, sporting quivers and broken old crossbows. The skeletons are slumped against the walls below arrow slits, now filled with rubble, where they must have been defending the tower when they died. The thick layer of dust on everything indicates that this chamber has not been touched by anyone since the undisturbed bones were laid to rest in this subterranean grave.

Reflex Save 16 DC to avoid taking 1 damage from the needle. The poison has long since evaporated from the tip, but it will still sting. Also, immunities.

[cute_fuzzy]

Garac hears the click of the spring disengaging as the hidden door swings away into the wall. As the needle shoots forward, Garac twists to interpose its shield—clink—and the needle bounces to the floor. "Indeed," Garac says, as it watches the needle roll into the far corner of the room.

Straightening up, Garac takes a small step into the hidden compartment. No other traps are forthcoming, so it steps back out and offers to let Casimir, Cyril, and Fernweh examine the remains. "These humans must have died some time ago, but perhaps their equipment is still functional."

[Syekate]

As soon as Garac takes its first step into the untouched room, small red fires burn within the eye sockets of the three skeletons. The old bones, still for hundreds of years, stir, and rise. Although garbed as archers, they forsake the old rusted crossbows and charge in fury with claw-like skeletal hands raised.

I'll make the rolls after work. Have to check who goes first, so give me a couple hours and we can get this encounter going!
Fernweh and Garac get a round each, then the skeletons, then everybody.

[Pessoptimist]

Fernweh makes her way to the hidden door entrance, taking position behind Garac and readying her ax, prepared to either take a swipe at the first skeleton that crosses her path or to step in and help if Garac becomes surrounded.

[cute_fuzzy]

"Distressing." Garac brings its shield to bear and accesses its combat training. "For enemies with rigid outer plating, blunt weapons are most effective. The warhammer, I think."

It takes the warhammer from its hip and activates the Iron Guard defense scheme. Garac's eyes flare a bright gold. "Thank you for your support, Miss Fernweh. I believe I can occupy them. Mister Casimir and Mister Cyril, additional attacks from a safe range would be most appreciated."

Here I'm assuming they're in reach since the room is so small. If not, with Iron Guard's Glare active, I will take total defense and wait for them to come to me. (IGG is a swift action, and I'm using my move action to draw the warhammer.) But assuming Garac can atttack:

[roll0]
Damage: [roll1]
Crits on 24: [roll2]
And Crit is x3 if I happen to confirm [roll3]

[Syekate]

The warhammer swings by the skeletons, missing each of them. One of the skeletons pushes past Garac through the door, attack from the warforged's right. The other two attack from within the chamber. Focusing on the cause of their disturbance, the three all focus on trying to kill Garac.

Garac gets an Attack of Opportunity against Skeleton 1 as it passes him out the door. Skeleton 2 is half-hidden from sight due to the door frame, while skeleton 3 has full access to Garac.

Skeleton 1 (if it survives the AoO)
Claw attack: [roll0]
Damage: [roll1]
Crit confirm: [roll2]
Crit Damage: [roll3]

Skeleton 2 Full Attack (Garac has cover from the wall, so +4 AC vs. this one)
Claw attack: [roll4]
Damage: [roll5]
Crit confirm: [roll6]
Crit Damage: [roll7]
Claw attack: [roll8]
Damage: [roll9]
Crit confirm: [roll10]
Crit Damage: [roll11]

Skeleton 3 Full Attack
Claw attack: [roll12]
Damage: [roll13]
Crit confirm: [roll14]
Crit Damage: [roll15]
Claw attack: [roll16]
Damage: [roll17]
Crit confirm: [roll18]
Crit Damage: [roll19]


The skeletons scrabble and scrape their claws helplessly along the metal man's adamantine plating, their brains too far gone to realize that they cannot so much as scratch it without the extremest of effort.

[Svithrir]

Casimir sheathes his rapier. There's little point trying to stab something that can't bleed. Instead, he takes a step back and uses his now-free hand to trace arcane gestures in the air. Garac seems to be weathering the skeletons' attacks quite soundly, but even so Casimir would rather not risk drawing out the encounter too long. He sets his eye on a skeleton still in the chamber—if you're going to draw attention in this scenario, best to draw it from something unlikely to be able to retaliate—and reaches through the aether to strike at the bonds between the body and its malevolent animating spirit.

Ray (ranged touch attack): [roll0]
Damage: [roll1] positive energy
(Sadly, undead are immune to critical hits, so no point rolling those)

[cute_fuzzy]

Garac's warhammer sails by all three skeletons, but as the one attempts to squeeze by to its right, the construct reverses the direction of its swing--a wide, looping arc, retaining most of the hammer's momentum.

[roll0]
Damage: [roll1]

The other skeletons' bony fingers scratch against Garac's shield and its adamantine plating, but it remains indifferent.

[DannyBoy]

"Byth'eers!" Cyril curses reflexively in terror, and hastens to add yet more distance between himself and the fighting. Unable to think through his cowardice of anything useful to do, his baser impulse to self preservation takes charge, filling his mind with a single throbbing imperative: stay alive at any cost.

I believe that's what's called in the rulebook a "total defense action."

[Pessoptimist]

Fernweh sees the one skeleton try to slip through the door, moves into a flanking position with Garac (if possible) and takes a swing:

Attack: [roll0] (that's 1d20+6+2 assuming flanking; i.e. subtract 2 from that roll if flanking is not actually an option)
Damage: [roll1]
Crunch.

[Syekate]

Crunch indeed.

The other two skeletons continue to scrabble their claws against the warforged's adamantine.


Two skeletons full attack. Garac has cover from one as previously.

Attack [roll0]
Damage [roll1]
Critical [roll2]
Crit Damage [roll3]
Attack [roll4]
Damage [roll5]
Critical [roll6]
Crit Damage [roll7]

Attack [roll8]
Damage [roll9]
Critical [roll10]
Crit Damage [roll11]
Attack [roll12]
Damage [roll13]
Critical [roll14]
Crit Damage [roll15]


... They make little progress.

[Svithrir]

Casimir scowls and begins the arcane gestures anew. The brute squad seem to have the skeletons utterly contained, but now it's a matter of pride. He will dispel that skeleton. "Fall."

Ray:
Damage: [roll1] positive energy

[DannyBoy]

If Cyril were Tordek, he would be rolling a [roll0]

[cute_fuzzy]

Garac's warhammer swings well wide of all the skeletons and knocks a small piece loose from the wall. Curious. It is not normally unbalanced in combat. Luckily, there is a resounding schthunk from behind it as Fernweh's axe takes one skeleton to pieces.

Garac sets its feet more firmly, continuing to ignore the scrabbling fingerbones, and swings again.

[roll0]
Damage: [roll1]

[Svithrir]

Casimir heaves a satisfied sigh as he watches his target fall to bones and splinters, completely scoured of malevolent energy. "Well, that's—oh. Garac, do you, ah, need help with that last one?"

[Pessoptimist]

Fernweh figures the small room must be quite awkward for the iron orc to properly fight in, but the skeleton does not seem to be harming it. Instead of stepping in the already crowded room she cheers it on, "It's alright Garac! One more swing! You'll get it!"

[cute_fuzzy]

"Thank you for your encouragement, Miss Fernweh. Mister Casimir, I am unharmed. Please remain at a safe distance."

[roll0]
[roll1]

[Syekate]

With all the bones broken, crumbled, or disintegrated, the room is again quiet, and the adventurers are free to explore again.

[Svithrir]

Casimir puts a hand on Cyril's shoulder. "Haha, calm down, old sport, the danger's passed. I promised you an adventure, didn't I? Just think of it like exploring your family's catacombs back home as children, except this time Lorelei isn't around to do the voices." His voice falters slightly at the memory of their childhood friend, but he quickly regains composure. "And of course, the remains of your great-great-so-and-sos weren't actually out to get us back then. I'd like to see them try now, though!

"Now, what do you say we see what these skeletons have in their closet? Pardon me, Garac." Casimir slips past the warforged into the secret room to investigate the once-more-inanimate archers.

Search: [roll0]

[Syekate]

Most of anything that would have been of use has broken or degraded, but the adventurers do manage to find some coin scattered from ragged pouches. While most of the bolts the former crossbowmen held in their quivers are good for little more than picking teeth anymore, each of them carried one of particularly strong quality, and these have withstood the test of time.

You find [roll0] silver, [roll1] gold, and three +1 bolts.

[DannyBoy]

Cyril straightens up, frowns, and adjusts his rumpled surcoat. "Yes, well." The pain in his friend's voice catches him too, albeit for a different reason. "If it had been my great grands, they would have given me a stuffy lecture against getting myself into these messes in the first place. 'The House of Gold hasn't stood for a hundred hundred years by sending its best and bravest to get hacked to bits on some fool's errand, Cyril.'" He snifs, frowns. "Sage advice, as it turns out."

[Svithrir]

Casimir frowns back. "Of course not. They've stood for hundreds of hundreds of years on the backs of the best and bravest of smaller, less fortunate houses. Why work for one's own fortune when one's neighbors have perfectly good coffers to pillage, secrets to sell, lives to ruin?

"Don't forget why you're here, Cyril. You've coasted on your family's privilege thus far, but their plans don't leave room for you to advance much further. You have such potential. I'd see you out from under their thumb as much as myself."

He slips the coins he picked up into the purse he found earlier, and pockets the crossbow bolts. "None of us is carrying a crossbow, are we? No matter. There's no sense dividing plunder until we return to town, so I'll just hold onto these for the time being. Now, how about those two doors? Garac, you've proven capable, why not try the one on the left? I'll feel better about securing this room for camp when I have a better idea what we're securing it against."

[cute_fuzzy]

Garac moves to the door Casimir has indicated. "As you wish. Please stand at a safe distance."

[roll0]

[Syekate]

The wooden door easily opens into a long hallway, no more than 20 feet wide. The stone walls are unremarkable until the end of the hall, where they dissolve away into the same rubble surrounding the rest of the fortress. The far end of the right wall appears to have some sort of statue emerging from it.

Spot and Listen checks as you go, please.

[DannyBoy]

"Why indeed?" Cyril thinks sullenly, nursing the sting of his friend's rebuke—a sting he would prefer not to admit to himself that he felt in the first place. It was all well and good to criticize relying on privilege when you had every natural advantage in the world; those broad, strong shoulders, that boundless energy and indomitable optimism, that fine jaw, those shapely ears...

A flood of memories rushed over Cyril just then of all the times Miri had ever stood between him and the other children of his clan, crueler and more formidable than the slight, effete slip of an elf Cyril had always been. Well, Cyril had since made himself their equal in cruelty, if not in stature. And he had made some of them pay, and pay dearly. But looking at his friend—his dear, trusting, beautiful friend—he both loved and hated him in that moment for his ability to live in the broad daylight of innocence and certainty.

Still, he thought; for all his natural gifts, Miri lacks the guile he needs to survive. He needs me in ways he would hate to admit...

Thinking this, Cyril glides closer to the party, taking up his now customary place in the rear.

[cute_fuzzy]

Garac stands back from the door. "We may wish to examine this hallway for traps. I will walk first, if I am needed, but if the floor has been weakened or if I am otherwise separated from you, I will be unable to protect you."

Garac will allow Cyril the chance to check the hallway for traps. If it becomes evident he doesn't want to (say, after five or ten seconds), Garac will take the lead down the hall.

Spot: [roll0]
Listen: [roll1]

[DannyBoy]

Rizzoll!!!

[Svithrir]

Casimir peers tentatively through the doorway and draws his rapier once more. "Does that rubble open to the outside, do you think? If so, we'd best be wary of encountering more of those confounded rats."

Listen: [roll0]
Spot: [roll1]

[Syekate]

The adventurers continue down the hall, Cyril leading with Garac close behind, taking caution as they go. No traps are found or triggered, no creatures seen or heard. As they near the far end, the statue viewed from the far end is more easily visualized; a rearing dragon in flight with open mouth carved into the stone wall.

You are all about 10 feet away from the carving, which is a few feet from the end of the hall and caved in rubble.

[cute_fuzzy]

"This appears to be a dead end. Perhaps you would search for another hidden door, Mr. Cyril? If there is nothing else here, the rubble seems to have closed off this passageway. I do not think we need to worry about enemies from this direction."

[Svithrir]

Casimir steps forward to investigate the statue set in the wall. "First draconic runes carved in the wall, and now a dragon statue," he mutters to himself. "Might this have something to tell us about Ashardalon?"

Checking out the statue: [roll0]

However, Casimir finds it a bit hard to concentrate too much on the statue, since that would require turning his back on the rubble and the vermin that might come crawling out of it at any moment.

[Syekate]

Upon closer inspection, the statue is actually a door! The carved relief was worked into the stone with expert hands, the rearing dragon curving around such that its open mouth is perfectly situated for the keyhole that is contains.

Oh, and as Casimir steps forward, he comes into range of a dire rat attack from the rubble.

Dire rat attack: [roll0]
Damage: [roll1]
Crit Attack: [roll2]
Crit Damage: [roll3]

[Svithrir]

Casimir gives a small shout of pain and surprise as the rat's teeth pierce his skin. With an almost reflexive flick of his wrist, he enchants his rapier and delivers a counterstrike, then takes a guarded step away from the rubble so his allies can interpose.

Cast blade of blood on rapier as a swift action (empowers weapon to deal 1d6 extra damage on next hit)
Bloody rapier
Attack: [roll0]
Damage: [roll1] + [roll2]
Confirm critical (threaten on 22-24): [roll3]
Damage: [roll4]

Then a 5-foot-step away from the rubble. If the rat dies, take a larger move action to get to an even safer distance.

[Pessoptimist]

Fernweh had been quietly taking in her surroundings, making mental notes of the layout of the citadel, the unfamilar runic letters, the statues... when Casimir's yelp up ahead brought her attention back to her companions.

"Oh dear, more rats. Pardons, gentlemen..."

Ax in hand, Fernweh makes her way to the rat attacking Casimir with a few quick long strides and takes a swing at the rat's neck:

[roll0]

[Pessoptimist]

[roll0]

It dead. Like, so dead...

[Syekate]

The rat is dead. SO dead. All is quiet in the hallway.

[Svithrir]

Casimir leans against the wall, breathing sharply. "Well, then. Enough of that, eh?"

He gestures toward the statue. "It's a door. You're welcome to have a go at it, Garac, but judging from the sizable keyhole in the dragon's mouth, I suspect you'll find it locked. It looks well-constructed, too." He considers the rubble. "But who knows. If that structural damage extends to the door frame, you might just be able to force it open.

"Cyril, you never did get the hang of picking locks, did you? As I recall, you were always good enough at lifting keys that you never saw fit to learn."

[DannyBoy]

"Yes; I never shall forget that time you tried to open that sweets pantry with your mouth after you overheard father telling me that a deft tongue was the surest lockpick. Never the best with metaphor, were you Miri?" Cyril meant this affectionately, but was suddenly aware that it would likely have been construed otherwise. Using that diminutive, too, in front of their new allies? Sloppy, Cyril. Very sloppy.

He added, quickly, "but no, as you so wisely pointed out, the only doors I've ever managed to go through are the ones that have been opened for me..." Ear and eye, Cyril! That's twice in as many moments. Get it together, man...

[cute_fuzzy]

"Mister Casimir. Is your arm injured? Rest is always a suitable option.

"But, if you prefer, I can attempt to move the door. Perhaps Miss Fernweh and I can move it together?"

I think Fernweh will probably have a better chance than Garac, so I'll roll to aid:

[roll0]

[Pessoptimist]

"Sure thing, Eisenfreund."

Fernweh wipes the rat's blood spatter from her hands onto her pants while stepping over to take steady stance next to Garac.

"On three?"

Knees slightly bent and full body weight leaning into the statue - "1...2...3" - she gives it a sturdy push.

[roll0]

[Syekate]

Despite some strenuous effort from both, the two manage to do little more than shake some dust off of the carvings. The stonework holds very strong with nary a budge, and is apparently of fine craftsmanship.

[Pessoptimist]

"Well, so much for that then. Suppose we should look for a key. There is another door we've yet to investigate. Shall we check there?"

[cute_fuzzy]

"It seems prudent. Perhaps I should investigate the next door? I do not want Mister Casimir to suffer more rat bites."

Garac leads the party back to the main room, and—with everyone standing a safe distance away—tries the last door.

[roll0]

[Syekate]

Back in the circular tower chamber, Garac opens the other wooden door to reveal another hallway, ten feet wide, and looking much more intact than the previous. This hall appears much more intact than the other, likely leading deeper into the citadel. In the middle of the hallway, there is a stone door to the left, a wooden door to the right, and a wooden door at the far end.

[Svithrir]

Casimir peers down the hall, considers the three doors, then motions to Garac to close the door to the hall. "Perhaps now would be a good time to rest for the night after all, while we hold a relatively defensible position and whatever's lurking in that direction is still presumably unaware of our presence. It's no good stirring up trouble when there's nowhere to retreat to but the rat-infested canyon dark."

He sheathes his rapier, loosens the buckles on his armor, and sets down his backpack. "Once we've made camp and settled in, you can trance first, Cyril. I'll keep watch with Garac. Fernweh, you're the only one of us who properly needs to sleep, so don't worry about taking a shift."

[Pessoptimist]

Assuming no objections from the rest of the party, Fernweh welcomes the respite from rat killing and contently begins to settle in for the night, setting her ax and sack down next to the wall a few feet away from the hallway door. She shakes open her bedroll and sits cross-legged beside it, rummaging through her sack to take out a large bag of trail mix and a whetstone. She eats a few handfuls of trail mix then tosses the rest of the bag toward her other party members with a shy smile, indicating that she wishes to share. She then sets to sharpening the ax’s edge while humming a lullaby her mother used to sing to her.

[DannyBoy]

It hadn't occurred to Cyril until that moment just how famished he had become. Terror will do that to you. A dainty peck at the proffered mix quickly devolved to a handful, then another—at which he stopped himself, acknowledged the gesture with a kindly nod of the head, and tossed the sack to Casimir.

This creature seems to have the rudiments at least of finer feelings, he mused; not just hacking and slashing. It may be worthwhile to know her better...

[cute_fuzzy]

"Please take care to have sufficient rest, Mister Casimir. You have sustained several bites this evening. I can remain alert until you are refreshed."

Garac takes off its pack and slowly lowers itself into a sitting position. Out of the pack come a whetstone, a block of wax, a stiff brush, and several cloths--one of drawn steel strands, and a softer wool cloth for polishing. It tends to its weapons, then brushes out dirt from between its armor plates, then begins to scour and buff each plate, one by one.

I think that takes care of action for the rest of the evening. Assuming we're not interrupted, I think Cyril will stop trancing in four hours and relieve Casimir, who will trance for another four hours. The organic party members will need to eat in the morning, but then I think we'll be ready to go in nine hours or so.

I suppose our eminent DM can make perception rolls for all of us except Fernweh to see if anything happens during the night?

[Syekate]

The cold night passes by quietly; the adventurers hear nothing aside from the occasional scrabble of rat feet on rubble or rustling of dry leaves from outside their keep. Given their underground position and the darkness all around, it is difficult to tell exactly how much time has passed, but as what they suspect is morning arrives, they awaken feeling refreshed and ready to take on the new day!

Except Casimir. Casimir does not feel terribly refreshed. He looks paler than usual and the leg bitten by the rat feels very stiff.

Casimir takes 2 points Dexterity damage, 1 point Constitution damage.

[Svithrir]

Having come out of a restless trance, Casimir grimaces as he tests his bad leg. "This is—ah—somewhat less than ideal. And clearly our first aid preparations are woefully inadequate. I hate to say it, but I think it might be best if we got me back to Oakhurst. Delving deeper into the citadel in my condition would just be inviting trouble."

[DannyBoy]

"Seconded."

Saying more would betray the fear he felt for Casimir and for himself in equal measure, and either is a sign of weakness.

[cute_fuzzy]

"I agree, it seems your condition has worsened. It is possible the rats carry some disease. I can protect you from further physical injury, Mister Casimir, but if you require healing, returning to town is wise."

Garac shoulders its pack, and takes Casimir's as well. "I have some concern for the missing Hucrele party. But it is true that after a month, the odds of their survival are not high. It is wiser to keep ourselves safe.

"I am happy to take the lead across the ravine floor, but we may wish to move quickly to avoid attracting more rats. Miss Fernweh, if you agree, perhaps we can assist Mister Casimir?"

[Svithrir]

"Thank you, Garac. I'm sure I'll be fine, assuming I'm not called upon to bleed much more than I already have. I just don't want to endanger myself nor the rest of you by delving deeper into the Citadel in my current condition. I regret delaying our rescue mission, but we're hardly returning to Oakhurst empty-handed. We've found the ruin, as well as evidence that the Hucrele party came through here. That's not nothing.

"The rats outside shouldn't be too much of a problem, I'd think. It sounds like they've calmed down, and it was only by poor luck that we whipped them into a frenzy in the first place. Still and all, let's keep out eyes peeled and not dawdle. And mind you recall the trap door just outside!"

[Pessoptimist]

Fernweh stumbled on a loose stone but easily found her footing again, unlike last time. She was becoming familiar with the place now. She’d try turning right instead of left at the end of the passageway this time. The left corridor was well lit and rich with brightly coloured finger paintings depicting stars and weapons and a redheaded warrior sitting atop a large fallen dragon. It was beautiful, but she wanted to see more. She wondered if there were paintings of the battle itself elsewhere in the cavern.

She turned right. There were no paintings. The corridor was long and pitch black until the very end, where two torches flickered just bright enough to reveal a door left slightly ajar. From outside she could hear the crackling of small fires, the deep shallow breathing of a large animal, and what sounded like someone eating.

She pushed the door open and walked in. In the center of the chamber, a large unmoving beast had chunks of flesh missing from its sides and belly. A massive redheaded warrior clad in old worn dragon skins sat atop it with a piece of flesh in hand.

Spotting Fernweh at the entryway, the warrior beckoned her to come closer. “Ah ha! We have a guest!” His voice resonated throughout the otherwise empty chamber. “Beast,” the warrior pounded down thrice on the animal on which he sat, “welcome our guest!” The beast let out a defeated sonorous wheeze. With a shudder Fernweh realized the feasted-upon animal was still alive, barely.

She fell to her knees before the warrior: “Sir, it is an honour.” She looked up and saw him cordially gesture for her to stand, her over-the-top reverence apparently unnecessary.

“How is your party?” he asked, then chomped down on a bone full of meat, tearing off a fresh piece to gnaw on while she answered.

“My party?” He means Garac and the misters Casimir and Cyril. “They are good. They are each strong and brave in their own way. None of them require sleep, so I don’t think they can see you… You can see them?”

“Are they each strong? And brave?” the warrior asked through a mouthful of greasy meat, his intonation questioning in a way that suggested there was a correct answer. Fernweh assumed he referred to Cyril who, in truth, has hidden as far back from combat as possible throughout their journey thus far.

“Mister Cyril is not as strong as the others. It would not be wise for him to be in front, and we are called upon to lead the weak, after all. Though what he lacks in combat bravery he makes up for in social bravery, which I’ve learned in my travels is important for getting around these parts.”

The warrior cleaned the last bits of meat from the bone in his hand then dropped it, letting it tumble down the animal's side onto the cavern floor. He leaned forward slightly, resting his forearms on his knees. “Don’t worry about him,” he said dismissively.

“Oh?”

“He is not hurt. He could fight if he wanted to.”

Fernweh then recalled the reason the party stopped for the night. Mister Casimir could not continue. He does not need sleep, but he does need rest. He cannot fight.

“Your party cannot continue with an ill adventurer. Miss Fernweh, if you agree, perhaps we can assist Mister Casimir.”


Fernweh startled at the sound of her name and awoke to see her party members’ attention divided between her and Casimir. She groggily made her way towards him to more closely observe his condition.

“Oh. We need to get you somewhere for that to be taken care of, friend. You don’t smell good.”

[Svithrir]

Once the party is fully assembled and prepared to leave the Citadel, Casimir strides to the door leading outside. His muscles ache badly, and his head still swims from the activity of the night before, but he finds once he's on his feet that he still feels fairly spry. "Right, we're agreed, then. Up and out of the canyon, then back to Oakhurst to regroup." He presses his ear to the door one last time and, assuming it sounds clear, nods to his companions and opens the door, taking care to use the doorframe as cover just in case.

[roll0]

Casimir will wait for either Garac or Fernweh to exit first, then follow.

[Syekate]

The previous night's commotion has calmed considerably, and the coast appears clear. The four adventurers hurry from the round tower, Fernweh in the lead holding a lantern in front. Crossing the gangplank over the pit trap single file, they hurry quietly to the staircase. The occasional scurrying of rats in rubble can still be detected all around to the keen of ear. Ascending the ancient staircase, the glimmer of a grey dawn can be discerned in a bright line above. Reaching the upper platform where they first encountered the dire rats, the adventurers climb the rest of the canyon wall one by one, using the sturdy knotted rope and footholds carved into the stone surface. The ascent is easily managed by everyone.

Fernweh, first up the rope, takes a deep breath as the winter wind whips stray snowflakes into her hair. Daisy the mule (remember her?) shakes the snow off her thick coat and happily paces over to Fernweh, looking for treats. Once the entire party is atop the cliff of the ravine, they set off, those made of flesh pulling their wool cloaks tight around their bodies. Casimir decides that, given the cold weather aggravating his already stiff leg, he might try riding Daisy back to town. She grudgingly accepts and carries the elf, who manages to stay in his saddle with all the dignity a wounded noble limping back to town on a shaggy ass can muster. Cyril takes the reins to help guide the mule's footing through the deep drifts.

Through the several hour walk back to town, the sky begins to lighten, and a few of the thick grey clouds begin to dissipate, revealing a cold blue sky above. As they approach Oakhurst, Klip, the barkeep's boy, meets them at the edge of town. The lad knows better than to ask too many questions, so he silently takes Daisy off their hands to be stabled at the Ol' Boar. Garac inquires as to where they might find the nearest hospital, and the boy points, directing them to a tidy building down the road. A fence surrounds the property, and a cobblestone path runs from the road to the front door. A sign at the front fence post reads: "Nackle's Near-Death Experience Negations," and below, in finer print, "How do you like Dem apples?" The area to either side of the path appears to be a garden; here and there a few scraggly twigs of bushes are scraping their way out of the snow-dusted lawn. Behind the small cottage the roof of a glass greenhouse can be seen. Muffled singing can be heard coming from inside.

[Svithrir]

Casimir considers the sign on Dem Nackle's fencepost. No doubt Cyril would have something to say about the attempt at wordplay. He clenches his jaw as he tests his bad leg, and sighs in resignation. "I want to say this sounds… promising? Hm. Let's inside." He pries open the gate through the snow and raps on the door.

[DannyBoy]

Cyril notes the peasant's attempt at humor, but it is beneath his comment. Let us hope simply that his medical acumen is sharper than his wit.

Cyril glides forward, his cloak billowing out elegantly behind him, to stand close beside his friend. He arranges his body to give the impression that he is speaking softly to the wounded elf, but that is just to divert attention from the arm that he sneaks under Casimir's cloak to help support his weight.

Eager to see his friend restored to health, Cyril cannot help listening intently to any noises emanating from behind the closed door.

[Syekate]

At the sound of knocking, the singing gets increasingly louder, and the lyrics can be understood. The voice is high-pitched and squeaky, but a touch flat in tone. "I'm miiiixin' in the bane! Just miiiiixing in the bane! What a glorious potion I'm-" *thump thump* "-brewing again." The door opens to reveal a female gnome, less than three feet tall, pounding a poultice with mortar and pestle. The leather smock she wears is covered in stains from the various substances she works with, and she wears a holy symbol of Pelor around her neck. She takes a glance up at the strange-looking lot of adventurers and says, "Greetings, mates. How might you all be doing this fine afternoon?"

[DannyBoy]

"Rather poorly, I'm afraid. Cyril, of the Domus Aurea, at your service." He inclined his head in lieu of a full bow. "It seems that my lord Casimir here appeals quite strongly to the murine palate—a fact which we discovered in the most inconvenient of manners—and we are in search of a restorative. Would you be so kind as to accommodate us?"

d20 or something? I'm a big lazy baby

[Syekate]

The gnome raises a suspicious eyebrow at the elf as he attempts to weave his spell with hand gestures and lyrical tongue. Her tone is a touch colder this time. "Listen up, Doofus Aurea, I wasn't born yesterday. You want to cast some fancy spell to match that mouth of yours, do it on someone else's doorstep, else I'll be calling on Constable Felosial. Now healing's my job, so if your friend needs a hand, you can come on in, but I got my eyes on you."

[DannyBoy]

Cyril looks at Casimir and shoots him an apologetic arch of the eyebrows. "You'll be all right here by yourself, old boy? I have a few...discreet inquiries to make in town in any case."

[Svithrir]

In shocked anger at Cyril's misstep, Casimir snaps, "Dammit, Cyril, she's a healer, not an assassin! Now you will apologize, and then come inside. I'll not have you wandering off on your own." Casimir bows to Dem Nackle. "I beg your pardon, madam. The House of Gold is largely made up of bullies and manipulators. My companion here is an exception to the rule, an elf of good character, but the influences of one's upbringing are hard to escape entirely.

"I am Casimir, of the House of Sapphires." He taps his boots on the front step to knock off the snow, then accepts the healer's invitation inside. "We encountered some dire rats in the ravine east of town last night. I'm afraid I suffered some rather bad bites, which may be infected. I'd be much obliged if you could take a look."

[roll0]

[DannyBoy]

"A thousand pardons;" curt, deadpan. "But don't be so inconsiderate, Miri; surely the good woman would prefer not to have this motley menagerie tromping through her lovely home as she practices her art." He sweeps aside his cloak to indicate the hulking automaton and the savage looking she-beast. "Besides, gone are the days when you need your hand held whenever you scrape your knee. Gold is infinitely malleable, but the Sapphire is hard..and stands alone."

"Ma'am." Following a deep bow with leg extended, Cyril turns on his heel and strides toward the street with a carriage that brooks no polite contradiction.

[Pessoptimist]

Fernweh grunts and furrows her brow at Cyril for a flicker of a moment then immediately turns her attention to the little woman. In a confused combination of hurt, offense, and apology she leans forward into the conversation:

"Actually, I was quite careful not to tromp, ma'am, so as not to shake your vials. Your great many vials." Looks around the room in a respectful bewildered awe. "Impressive...

"Anyway,

"Casimir, since Cyril is busy, if you still want company I am willing to stay."

Attention back to the little woman. "Ms... " pausing awkwardly, unsure how to address her as names have not actually been exchanged,

"Ms. We cleaned the wound as best we could while in the ravine last night, but you'll see it was not enough. You can help him then?" she asks hopefully.

[Syekate]

The gnome watches the little exchange with a quizzical eyebrow and a shrug. She nods to Fernweh and motions Casimir to come inside, open to Fernweh coming through as well. After Cyril stalks off, she sticks her head out the door and counts the scraggly little bushes in the front yard. "Five, sixe, seven... Right then." She looks up at the large metal man. "Come in or go as you please, I've no mind. Just don't break anything."

Once inside, she introduces herself to those who enter. "I'm Dem Nackle, cleric of Oakhurst. Let's have a look at that leg then."

Cyril: Where in town would you like to head?

[DannyBoy]

Cyril's brisk pace and erect carriage broadcasts all the dignity of his station, but his mind is in a tumult. Sloppy, sloppy, Cyril. What were you thinking, trying to charm a cleric to heal? You were thinking you needed to heal Miri at any cost, that's what. You're no better than your old nan—fretting so much you got in the way. Still, why can't you ever just admit when you're wrong? Why do you have to needle him so? It's not his fault that his noble ideals are so foolhardy. And isn't that why you lo...

Cyril finds himself standing at the gate of the Hucrele mansion. He hadn't intended to come here, but it makes sense—always run to ease and comfort in duress. It would help the sting a bit to while away an hour or so in front of a roaring fire at a friendly game of dice, flattering the sharp old mistress and buttering up her doddering old fool of a husband, buying priceless information for the low price of a few losing throws.

Shuddering at the anticipated pleasure of a friendly hearth and resolving to put his worries out of his mind, Cyril straightened his back, brushed off his lapels, and hailed the porter.

[cute_fuzzy]

Garac considers the cottage's doorframe--sized for a gnome and her human clients, less so for a construct. It turns its head to see Cyril already out of the yard and down the lane into town.

"I am designed for defense. However, it is clear to me that additional knowledge of first aid would help me better serve that purpose."

Cyril is halfway to town by now. Briefly, Garac thinks of its first night in Oakhurst, spent outside guarding the horses in the inn's stables. Then it turns itself to the side, crouches, and gingerly sidles through the door. Once inside, it takes up a position in the corner where it can observe everything, and moves as little as possible.

[Syekate]

Aches and Pains

The inside of Dem's cottage is indeed quite cluttered, with potions brewing, herbs mixing, and shelves of vials filled with all manner and color of fluids. Still, there is room for even hulking humanoids like Fernweh and Garac to maneuver around. "Now take off your clothes like a good lad and you can lie down on the sofa in the next room over. I'll be with you in two shakes of a lamb's tail." The little gnome then attends her stirring again, carefully mixing the ingredients of the mortar with those in a flask on a table by an alchemy set. "Just a bit of a hobby, if you please. Won't take long!" she calls over her shoulder, when suddenly a puff of red smoke envelops her face. With a bit of a cough, she says, "Well, that should do it."

The Lone Stranger

The door of the Hucrele mansion opens to reveal a friendly face: good old ancient Fletcher. "Ah! Good day, Master Cyril. What an unexpected surprise. Here for dice, are you? Do come this way. My mistress is currently indisposed, but the master of the house may be available for a game. He is entertaining a guest at present in the lounge."

[DannyBoy]

"I shouldn't wish to intrude, my good man." He says, nonetheless following the porter where he leads.

[Svithrir]

Casimir hands his cloak and gear to Fernweh for safekeeping, then limps to the adjoining room to disrobe.

As he removes his breeches, he thinks of Cyril. It wasn't just the attempted charm that troubled him earlier; that was the second time in as many days that Cyril introduced himself as a representative of the House of Gold, rather than the House of Sapphires. True, the latter doesn't have as much standing as the former, or any standing to speak of at all, really… but isn't that why they came here? To start fresh, build a reputation of their own, out from under the auspices of the House of Gold?

Undressed to his underclothes, Casimir reclines upon the sofa. The weight off his bad leg is a relief, but his mind is still a tumult. Doesn't Cyril believe they can bring the House of Sapphires to greatness? Or does he not see the necessity? It's different for families like Casimir's, who only interact with the Gold from without. Suffer as Cyril does under the expectations of his family (and Casimir could tell that Cyril suffered, though he was unsure the extent), he at least reaps the concomitant privileges for his pains. What if he isn't actually ready to break free of his House?

But then, surely Cyril hasn't forgotten about Lorelei…?

The sound of coughing in the other room and the faint smell of alchemical smoke brings Casimir back to the present moment. Right, his leg. Once he's healed, he'll be able to do what's best for Cyril, and for himself.

[Syekate]

Took a gnome to strip the elf down to his knickers

Dem strides into the room Casimir is occupying, swiping red dust off her jerkin. She has one look at the wound and makes a clucking noise with her tongue. "Nasty little rat bite, that one. Got yourself in deep down at that ravine, eh?" She grabs a basin of fresh water and a cloth with a dark brown tinge to it, likely from cleaning an excessive amount of wounds. She begins to wash the bite wound, painful though it may be. "Unlucky for you, Cashmere, I'm all out of healing spells for today. Pelor saw fit to guide me to an orphanage full of sick children earlier this morning. The flu does go 'round this time of year, eh?" After considering the wound for a second after cleaning, she stops and says, "You know what? I have a colleague that might benefit from seeing a bit of filth fever first hand. Wait here, I'll be back in a tick!"

Wishing he were in the healer's hut

"Not at all, Master Cyril," replied Fletcher, guiding him to the lounge. There is a roaring fire with several large plush armchairs gathered around a coffee table. Two of the chairs are occupied; one by a rather rotund middle-aged gentleman, with rich clothes to match his rich taste, the other by a younger woman. Cyril will recognize the man as his previous dice partner, Master Brickart Hucrele.

[DannyBoy]

"My Lord," Cyril bows and dons his most amiable and disarming of smiles, "please forgive my intrusion. I hadn't expected to find you otherwise engaged, else I should not have imposed upon your time with your lady caller--" ending on the rising inflection and open facial expression which indicated that he would be receptive to an introduction—protestations notwithstanding.

d20 for...diplomacy, I guess? Whichever one ISN'T a spell

[Syekate]

Three's a crowd

Brickart Hucrele is clearly in a dour mood; his big bushy mustache and blotchy complexion make the frown on his face all the more ugly. "Ah, Cyril! I've no dice for playing time today. That is, no time for playing dice. Now look here, Ivy," he says, addressing the woman sitting across from him. "You've got me so worked up I'm confusing my words. Fletcher! A glass of brandy!"

"Right away, Master Hucrele." Fletcher returns with a decanter and three glasses, expecting the two guests to stay awhile.

"Cyril, this is Ivy Morrigan. A damn scamp, she is, play friend of our niece, Sharwyn. Has this cockamamie idea of using our family fortune to find the lost girl!" With a great harumph, Brickart settles back into his armchair and downs his glass.

[DannyBoy]

Seizing the invitation, Cyril wordlessly settles himself in one of the vacant armchairs and accepts the tumbler of brandy. He nods at the lady, but does not speak. She seems about to disagree most vociferously with the master's tone, and Cyril would not dream of interrupting such a revealing exchange for the sake of a mere pleasantry. He takes a barely perceptible sip from his glass, and waits for the pending outburst...

[Svithrir]

The young woman accepts the brandy from Fletcher with a grateful look, waits politely for Brickart to drink first, then takes a healthy swallow herself. "Ah sure, m'lord, you know full well I'm not exactly trying to bankrupt you. Hells, if I thought for a moment I could mount a rescue on my own, I wouldn't even have bothered you. I know how hard a time this must be for your family." She rises, paces to the fire and back, leans over the back of the chair she was sitting in. "I just… I know you're prepared to accept the worst by now, but I can't give up hope just yet. Please, let me organize a rescue party for you. Sharwyn and I were going to tackle the Citadel together. I'd never forgive myself if I didn't try *something* to help her.

"Look, I know your wife doesn't much care for me, for whatever reason. But Sharwyn trusted me enough to invite me here in the first place. I guess I'm just asking you to judge me for yourself, is all."

She turns to Cyril and flashes an empty smile. "You'll have to excuse me, sir. I'm just arrived in town and still catching up on all the bad news these folk have had weeks to digest." She extends a hand. Her hair is a black bob, her eyes bright, green. "Ivalyn Morrigan. Ivy, if'n you like."

[DannyBoy]

"My lady." Cyril rises from his chair, takes her hand in his, and bows as though to place a chaste and empty kiss in the air above her knuckles.

Cyril does not wish to place himself on either side of this domestic disagreement between her esteemed ladyship and her bumbling squire on the worthiness of the young lady, nor is he unwise enough to reveal that such an expedition is already underway—in the event that his host should be concealing that fact for any reason.

The elf arranges himself once more upon his seat, and resolves as ever to allow the conversation to proceed as unmolested as politeness will allow, adding soft noises of attention and interest only as far as they are needed.

[Syekate]

Brace yourselves

"Now you listen here, Ivy. The Hucrele family household has this entirely under con-"

"BRICKART!" screams a very familiar elderly female voice from the hall. "What is this hussy doing in my parlor?!" Madame Hucrele storms into the room.

"I- She was just- I never-"

"You never what? Thought? That's all too easy to believe." Only then does she appreciate the fact that Cyril is in the room. "Oh, Cyril darling, please excuse the outburst. We have a bit of a pest problem in the home that I was just seeing to."

[Svithrir]

At the first loud indication of Madame Hucrele's approach, Ivy mutters, «Sky became sea, and we were doubly drowned», quoting from an old Elven epic poem about a ship lost in a tempest. She quickly downs the last of her brandy and hands the glass to Fletcher for safekeeping. Or a refill, whatever he thinks best. Ivy somehow doubts she'd remain in the house long enough to enjoy it.

But then she sees a glimmer of hope in the way Kerowyn addresses Cyril. She instinctively gravitates toward the elf's armchair, hoping his presence will keep the lady's temper in check.

[DannyBoy]

"Lady Kerowyn! So very good to see you! I was positively heartbroken to hear from Fletcher that I had missed you." Cyril leaps to his feet and glides over to the infuriated matron, bestowing upon her proffered hand another gentle kiss.

"I was just commiserating with the master and good lady here over the disappearance of dear Sharwyn. Such a dreadful affair, I'm sure we can all agree."

He continued, "in fact, it seems that my coming has been propitiously timed. The first phase of our errand has gone precisely as planned and, in light of certain new information, we have returned to town but briefly to better equip ourselves for the task ahead. As the young lady seems eager to join the search, I would humbly beg your leave to escort her from your august presence forthwith, whence she will join our party" and this last bit sotto voce "under my watchful supervision."

[Svithrir]

"Wait, search? As in, for Sharwyn?!" Ivy turns to Brickart. "Why didn't you tell me you already hired a search party?! And you—" she wheels back to the elf "—you could have mentioned something sooner! Who even ARE you? You have to tell me everything!"

[Syekate]

"I-"

"Brickart Mortimalier Hucrele you will shut your trap this instant. I don't want to hear another word from you for the next month." The man squirms as far as he can into his seat and diverts his gaze to the fire, mildly relieved to be free of the debacle. Kerowyn, meanwhile, turns to Cyril and Ivy. "That goes double for you, missy!" Finally, she addresses Cyril, only mildly softer than she was with the other two. "You want responsibility for this one? Fine. But it's too late in the day for you to go running off to that damned ravine, and I don't trust that hussy milling about town talking behind my back. You will stay the night in our guest room, and leave with her at the crack of dawn."

Madame Hucrele snatches the decanter of brandy and storms back out of the room as quickly as she came in. "Fletcher will prepare the guest room. I am retiring to work on my beauty sleep. Brickart, do not even think about joining me there tonight."

After a few moments of general silence and the distant slamming of doors above them, Brickart says, meekly, "A game of dice, Cyril?"

[DannyBoy]

"Ahem. Yes, I think a bit of pleasant diversion would be just what the doctor ordered. Miss Morrigan, would you do me the honor of joining good Master Brickart and myself in a friendly game? We have a long night ahead of us, and I find that having a common pursuit helps to lubricate discourse somewhat. And I do believe we have a great deal to learn from one another."

[Svithrir]

Ivy fumes silently as Kerowyn storms off. First she was hardly allowed inside the house, now she's to be a prisoner for the night? Not that she had anywhere else to go, really, but still. And who are they to treat her like a child in need of supervision?

She slumps into an armchair feeling utterly powerless. At least she'd have a warm bed for the night, and might finally be making some progress finding Sharwyn thanks to this cagey elf. Still, this isn't how things were supposed to go...

At Cyril's question, Ivy sighs and shrugs. "I wouldn't be opposed to a game. But if it's to be played for stakes, I'm afraid I'm totally skint."

[DannyBoy]

"Oh, we certainly shan't let a silly thing like that stand between us and making the best of things." Cyril flicks his cloak off his wrist and reaches his hand into his tunic, then withdraws his coin purse. He counts out a respectable number of coins and places them onto the coffee table in two equal piles, sliding one over toward Ivy.

"That should get us started. Now, Master Brickart, would you be so kind as to call for your ivories? And not the crooked ones, mind," he jokes good-naturedly and with a roguesh grin, "there's no way a mortal could be as good as you are at casting without a trick up his sleeve. I'm always content with losses incurred in such bonhomie--but I have twice my usual stake on the line tonight you know..."

"Now Miss Morrigan, you certainly don't appear to me to be as disreputable a personage as our esteemed hostess seems to believe..."

Cyril makes a habit of never withdrawing any item of interest or value from his person without indulging in a little sleight of hand. It's part tic part precaution to always misdirect. In this instance, he kept his coin purse in his left sleeve, and only gave the impression of pulling it from his doublet. I can make a sleight of hand check for this if you want, but I see it as such a force of habit that it's second nature.

Also, I haven't the faintest idea how much gold I have, but let's say I keep about 1/3 on me, and put 2/3 into the game--unless that's stupid lots of cash, in which case I put down enough for a medium-low stakes game, enough to make it worth Brickart's while without putting undue stress on the party.

[Syekate]

True to form, Fletcher appears with a silver platter, on which are five beautiful ivory six-sided dice and a pile of ten gold coins to match Cyril and Ivy. "Right then, a game of River Rat Scurvy, shall we?" says Brickart, still visibly shaken by the recent encounter.

[roll0] (Adding a +2 bonus for using a small object in baggy clothes; anything but rolling a 1 and you are succesful)

[Syekate]

Now back to the good part! -Michael Bolton

After a few minutes of waiting, the company at the healer's house hear a pair of footsteps coming from the back rooms, and Dem is chatting away gaily. "... of work is likely to see this sort of thing. You'll note the foul odor- that's the purulent discharge from the wound. Really nasty if left unchecked, put a pretty easy little fix with proper medical attention. See that blackness around the wound? Necrosis. It'll keep spreading, given the opportunity. Once had a fella let it sit so long, ended up having to take the leg!" She makes a huge grin and, without even looking at the faces around her, says, "Hah! Just kidding. A little restoration spell will make a fella right as rain." Dem goes to a desk and grabs a poultice, which she begins applying generously to the wound.

Accompanying the gnome is a young-looking human lady with brown eyes and green hair. She appears to be used to Dem's constant talking and ill-placed humor.

[Svithrir]

Ivy eyes the stack of coins somewhat suspiciously, somewhat hungrily. She pulls herself closer to the coffee table. "That's awfully kind of you, Mister Cyril. I'll try not to lose it all on the first throw."

When Fletcher appears with the dice, Ivy says to him, "Fletcher, would you mind carrying my backpack and cloak up to Sharwyn's room?" She turns to Brickart with doe eyes. "Oh, I'm sorry, m'lord, I know it's a bit awkward given the circumstances. I just thought, since I slept in there last time I visited… Besides, her ladyship wouldn't want me sharing the guest room with Mister Cyril, now would she? I promise we'll be gone in the morning before she's even awake."

Since Ivy wants something from Brickart (permission to stay in Sharwyn's room), a Diplomacy check is probably called for. (Reminder to my fellow PCs, the DM is running diplomacy according to this link (http://www.giantitp.com/articles/jFppYwv7OUkegKhONNF.html).) Hopefully circumstances are good enough (or Brickart's Wisdom is low enough) that Ivy can pull this off despite her less-than-stellar Charisma: [roll0]

She turns her attention back to Cyril. "I'm an old friend of Sharwyn's from university, y'see. I visited her here once last year, and I'm afraid I must have made a bad first impression to Madame Kerowyn. That's neither here nor there, though. You must tell me all about your expedition, and your party! My services are obviously on offer for a mission to find Sharwyn, but you understand I need to make sure we're in good hands." She glances briefly at the stack of coins again, and says in elvish, which she suspects Brickart doesn't speak (or at least not well): «I trust we're not about to gamble away gold that should be spent on supplies?»

For kicks, an untrained Appraise check to notice whether Cyril's gold is from an ancient horde, or standard coin of the realm. (I think I know the answer, but Ivy doesn't :P) [roll1]

[Svithrir]

Diplomacy: [roll0]
Appraise: [roll1]

[Super Frog]

"More's the pity, Corkie, you could use a good leg up--or two!" chuckles the young woman, and totters around on her tip-toes until Dem swats her back to her regular height, which is not so very grand either, towering a mere span or two over the gnome. She runs her hands through her hair and continues to follow Dem on her rounds. Though attentive enough, she has a way of seeming to look at everything at once, not only the patients but the beds, the windows, the potions, and even the grain of wood along the floor.

While appearing to inspect some odd brass bits, she sidles up to a patient. "Who's this, then? Rat bites, eh? I've seen my share of those in forest and city alike, but few so bad."

[DannyBoy]

Cyril smiles--though he is uncertain, at first, whether the smile is one of genuine amusement or mild disgust. How is it, old boy, that you keep running into such overpoweringly pragmatic people? Does nobody understand that the intangible things in life--timely information, the presumption of goodwill, a cultivated (but not necessarily genuine) trust--are absolutely without price? That sure and unapprehended knowledge of a single secret is worth a mountain of hobnailed boots, tent canvas, and stout rope?

Fluency in the Elvish tongue; friendly loyalty to Sharwyn--perhaps romantic?; an apparent lack of fiscal resources; poor skill at concealing same; a glimmer of interest in his coins unrelated to her penury; an awareness of the importance of manipulation with a somewhat shoddy execution; inattentiveness to his sleight of hand. Cyril files these things away in his mental bag of holding. You never know what will be useful some day...

Ivy's naïveté brings Miri back to mind fleetingly, and Cyril's smile flickers for but a moment to genuine concern. I hope he's doing well in the healer's care, he thinks. I hope he doesn't think too crossly of me for my outburst. Yes, she reminds me of Miri, all right. And who knows, maybe there's something to his pragmatism after all. We had plenty of information about how dangerous this mission was, but it didn't stop us from being set on by slavering rats, did it?

He responds to her in elvish, "please, my dear; if you wish to be subtle, never use a code in earshot of whom you are trying to exclude. It's rude, and it lets them know you're hiding something." Cyril hoped that his tone was more informative than condescending. Perhaps because she reminded him of Miri he felt a surge of protectiveness for her.

He continued in common, "forgive us, Brickart. It is such a pleasure to hear the mother tongue in these lands that I entirely forgot myself. The young lady was just expressing to me her unfamiliarity with the rules of the game, and her anxiety that she would make poor use of my investment." Turning again to Ivy, he made a quick appraisal of how she reacted to this last statement: was she indignant at being handled thusly? How did she respond to his impugning of her skills? Was she actually an expert caster? Wasshe quick enough to follow his lead?

Cyril continued: "Let me reassure you, my dear Ivy--may I call you Ivy? If we are to be traveling companions I see no reason to rely too heavily on formalities--I assure you that no game could be simpler to play, and that you have no need to be concerned on my account. Brickart and I are jovial enough sorts, and I shall count any coin well lost if lost in such pleasant company." He continues, in elvish, "we are well provisioned, and you could be in no finer hands than ours." He punctuates this with an elegant flourish of his long, delicate, and immaculately manicured fingers.

[DannyBoy]

Cyril has been so preoccupied since the beginning of this adventure with the tension between him and his childhood friend that he has almost entirely forgotten his hidden purpose for joining Casimir in the first place. It wasn't only the promise of a warm fire that led him back to the Hucrele mansion just now--he also came in search of certain information. But perhaps the healer's hut was where he was meant to be all along?

Perception check to see whether a lightbulb goes off in Cyril's head that "Dem's Apples" might be more than just an execrable pun. d20+whatever

[Syekate]

We'll call it a Wisdom check, 10+ to remember what's roiling to the surface of your busy noggin: [roll0]
EDIT: So my latest rolls (all for Cyril) have bee 1, 3, and 1. Sorry about that, but you just can't seem to remember what jumped into your head, and it slipped away just as quickly.

Brickart sits forward eagerly at the chance to play a newbie at a game of River Rat Scurvy. "Nothing easier, my dear!" he says, completely forgetting his animosity to the girl in light of recent events. He goes on to explain the rules, which involve several tosses of the dice in a way so as to create pairs, triplets, straights, etc. He appears nonplussed by the elvish tongue.

[Syekate]

Brickart also interposes, "And about those rooms, I recommend you do as my partner in finance says, lest you suffer her wroth. Don't worry, there are two beds in the guest room separated by a heavy curtain. I'm sure Fletcher will see to it that you are both comfortable tonight."

[cute_fuzzy]

Back in the healer's hut...

The Casimir winces as the gnome female rubs salve onto his wound. He must be in pain, perhaps too much to speak. Garac volunteers an answer to the human female's question. "Mister Casimir was attacked by rats in the ravine not far from town. They were unusually large and aggressive."

The human female eye's flit from Casimir's injured leg to the dust motes in the light from the window to the sharp edge of Fernweh's axe, before alighting for a long moment on Garac. She seems to study it for a moment, then turns back to Casimir. Perhaps she desires more information? So Garac elaborates: "He suffered one additional bite. That bite did not seem to worsen, however. Perhaps the size of the rats does not relate to their infectiousness. But this bite caused Mister Casimir considerable pain. We decided it was best to return to town for treatment. My skills do not include healing.

"Mister Casimir was very brave in exploring the ruins in the ravine, but his boldness exposed him to danger. I regret that I did not better protect him."

After another pause, Garac adds: "Will his would required that his leg be removed? That is not desirable, but the safety of Mister Casimir's life is of the higher importance."

[Syekate]

"Leg up? Leg up?!" the gnome says, acting half-offended. "Hah! That's a good one, Nitro!" To Garac, she says, "Don't worry, rust bucket. We'll get this leg right as rain in the morning. I'm afraid I've got nothing more I can do until then. Say, what did you folks find in that ravine?"

[Svithrir]

"Ruins," Casimir says through clenched teeth. The vigorous rubbing of his wounds hurt, but now at least the poultice was starting to numb his leg somewhat. "As well as evidence that a missing adventuring party had been exploring them. Now that we have the trail, we mustn't lose it. The rescue mission should resume first thing in the morning." His voice grows a little quieter. "Though, it may have to resume without me. A curative spell in the morning may mend my flesh wounds, but a filth fever infection will be harder to shake."

[Svithrir]

Ivy smiles politely, suppressing the urge to roll her eyes at Cyril. What use is a code if there's no one around to hide what you're saying from? Sure, it's best not to let on that you're speaking in code at all, but Brickart's probably well enough used to people talking over his head that he wouldn't notice a throwaway bit of elvish here and there. But Cyril shot her down right quick. He must take these social calls more seriously than he lets on, and doesn't trust her not to trip him up. Oh well, let's just hope he's half as competent at dungeoneering as he is at small talk.

She listens with earnest attention as Brickart explains the rules of the game. She doesn't want to get her hopes up, especially since the elf might feel entitled to a cut of her winnings if she has any, but coming away with any gold at all at the end of the night would be welcome insurance in case she has to go it alone again.

[Svithrir]

Casimir muses for a few more moments. "It'll take more than three people to explore the Citadel, though." He turns to the newcomer. "You look like a competent young woman. I don't suppose you'd be interested in joining our expedition? As you can see, we could benefit from someone with a modicum of healing skill."

He turns suddenly to Dem Nackle. "Actually, what about a scroll?" He gestures to Fernweh to hand him his satchel, from which he fishes about 13 gold coins. "Surely there must be someone in town from whom we could buy a scroll of cure light wounds. I want to see what this young lady can manage by way of spellcraft. If she's up for the challenge, of course."

[Syekate]

Nick Nackle Paddywhack

"Sure, Nitro! Go ahead and stretch your legs with these folk; they look like they could use all the help they can get! Besides, a little fresh air will do your head some good. As for the scroll, I can have one here by morning. They usually sell for 25 gold in these parts, but if my friend here joins you, I'll cut ya a 50% deal."

Yawn

At the Hucrele household (a couple hours later), Brickart is fast asleep and snoring loudly in his armchair after having reluctantly relinquished the game of luck to the newcomer, Ivy. Fletcher escorts Cyril and Ivy to the expansive guest room, keeping a close eye on them as they keep a careful eye on each other.

[cute_fuzzy]

Garac steps up as far as it can from the corner, which is not far. "Mister Casimir, please allow me to purchase the scroll. It was I who did not protect you; your injury is my responsibility. You must save your gold to pay for medical treatment. The Arcanists' Guild has provided me with modest funding. I am happy to use it for a scroll which will help the party. It will also compensate for my lack of first aid knowledge."

Garac does have ranks in diplomacy, and this seems as useful a time as any to test what it knows about humanoid persuasion: [roll0]

Then, to Miss Nitro: "You are welcome to accompany us. Mister Casimir is correct: we would benefit from someone with healing skill. I am the GARAC, a construct built for defense. If you do join us, I will do my best to keep you safe. However, as you can see, the expedition will not be without risk, and I am evidently imperfect at my task. "

[DannyBoy]

"Well played, my Lady," Cyril fawns, knowing full well that Brickart's skill is amateurish at best. Did Ivy beat him? Or did he simply lose through his own bumbling? --a reflex of thought; this could not possibly be relevant. "One would think you had played many times before." Was she going to offer the return of the whole winnings? The lent capital? Nothing? The sum was immaterial—the house of gold was aptly named—but the implications of the offer priceless. He would not be the first to bring it up.

"Of course I insist you take the bed this evening, my lady. Once I am entranced, not even the yoked stags of the great hunter Himself could stir me, so you need not feel any modesty in undressing. It shall be, truly, as though I am not even here." These human yokels and their modesty. The body is a gorgeous thing to be celebrated, and nothing to be ashamed of. Even the few humans at the Elvish court had embraced that dictum—but in these far reaches? Pah! Still a backwater. Not, of course, that this waif would interest Cyril in the least. Voracity need not always imply a lack of discernment...

Seating himself on a familiar cushion of rich damask brocade, piped with a golden fringe, which the Lady had had placed in this room to anticipate the Elf's needs, Cyril daintily arranges the folds of his garments as he assumes a lotus posture.

"Please do be sure to rouse me in time to bathe, would you?"

[Super Frog]

Naia shrugs. "Well, perhaps. I'm all for an adventure or three, but don't you want to know how I won the Lullwater archery competition three years running, or how I helped the mendicant of Farlahngan fight the ghost of Shim Castle? Or about that time I swam to Grilam Isle and plucked some feathers off the roc? It was on a dare," she confides, not really whispering. "I still have one feather if you want proof. I made arrows with the rest, but I used them all up. Yes, I'd make a real good companion when it comes to all sorts of things. I've been all over."

Appearing to have thought about something else while she was reciting her qualifications, she narrows her eyes. "And let's hear about these companions of yours. Are they fine folks like yourselves? Are there any druids among them, dare I hope?"

As an afterthought, she holds up a wisp of clear glass swirled into a corkscrew. "What's this for and can I have it, Corkie?"

[Syekate]

Dem jumps up and snatches the bauble. "Give me that! This is hardly something one would play with."

[Pessoptimist]

Fernweh had been sitting as still, quiet, and small as she could (which wasn't very, on either account), feeling some (she knew somewhat silly) sense of honour at having been trusted with Casimir's belongings after having only known the elf for so short a time. She had zoned out for a moment, her thoughts in a flurry of concern for her new comrade and wondering more about her dream from last night, but her eyes lit up at the word "roc".

"A roc? Really? You've seen one?! Just the one or did it have a mate? What was it like? Did it really have a 100ft wingspan? What did it smell like? Did you ride it? I want to ride one. Was it loud? I think I would try to ride it if I saw one. I would name it Biene."

[Svithrir]

"No no, Garac, you performed quite admirably," Casimir says. "My injuries are due to my own recklessness, and I can pay to have them healed myself. If, however, you choose to purchase the scroll for the party to take along into the Citadel, then I shan't stop you. I'll be fine in Dem Nackle's care."

To Naia, he says, "Druids? No. Just these two quite capable warriors and… and my good friend Cyril, who's about as far from a druid as you can get. He's one of the sharpest elves I know, but perhaps a bit too attached to creature comforts at times. I'm trusting you all to take care of him out there."

[Svithrir]

Ivy smiles and shrugs. "I'm a fast learner. Won't pretend I didn't get lucky, though. Sure, you can figure your odds and bet accordingly, but at the end of the day you're still at the mercy of the dice." She hands ten gold back to Cyril and casually pockets the rest. "Thanks again for the buy-in!"

Once they arrive at the guest room, Ivy pulls Fletcher aside. She presses his hand with hers, passing him a gold piece. "Thank you again, Fletcher, for being kind to me, and for letting me in to see Lord Brickart. I promise I'll do what I can to bring Sharwyn home.

"I have one more favor to ask of you. I… don't suppose Sharwyn left anything for me in her room before she left? A note or something, maybe?" There she is, getting her hopes up. But she wants so badly to hear something, anything from her friend. It doesn't hurt to ask.

[Syekate]

Fletcher pockets the coin with a speed unfitting of a man his age. "Sorry, Miss Morrigan, nothing left behind of that nature," he says as he shuffles away to leave the elf and human girl to their slumber.

"Never cared for her much..." the servant mutters under his breath as he gleefully feels the gold coin in his pocket.

[Syekate]

Having decided that it would be best if Casimir stayed behind and Naia join the team, the troop retires to their respective beds for the evening, Naia in Dem's guest room, and Garac and Fernweh back at the inn. The night is uneventful, and at first light, the new troop meets at the inn's stables, minus one elf but plus two humans. Having been roused early by Fletcher, Cyril brings Ivy with him from the Hucrele household, and is surprised to find yet another newcomer upon his arrival. The others inform him of Casimir's decision to stay behind, and true to form, Cyril wears a mask of indifference given the news. Naia seems positively bubbly and eager for the road, while Ivy is curious to know what's been found thus far.

Taking the Old Road back to the ravine, the sun burns bright on the horizon, and the winter day warms considerably compared to their previous trip. Daisy the mule trots happily next to Fernweh, excited to be out of the stables again. With some of the snow melting, it is easier for her to get to the grass beneath, and she stops now and then to uproot some snacks. Despite the mule's interest in her surroundings, the group makes good time and reaches the ravine by noon. The area is not disturbed compared to when they last left, and Garac leads the way down into the yawning chasm. They climb down the knotted rope to the ledge, make their way down the winding staircase into darkness, very speedily cross the courtyard with its trap door and gang plank into the round tower room. TO the left, the hallway that ends in rubble and a stone door with a dragon carved onto it; to the right, the hallway that Garac had revealed when last they left. On the far south end of the room is the alcove where several skeletal remains are scattered.

The unexplored hallway appears to be the group's only way forward without braving some very treacherous-looking rat-infested rubble outside the building. The hallway is 10 feet wide and runs about sixty feet. There is a stone door on the left wall, a wooden door on the right, and another wooden door straight ahead.

[Svithrir]

Ivy holds aloft the hooded lantern she borrowed from Cyril and looks around the Citadel rotunda eagerly, taking it all in. The company isn't what she expected, but here she is nonetheless, finally out in the field, exploring an actual ruin!

Before falling asleep last night, she spent some time coming to terms with the possibility that Sharwyn might already be dead. They had known the risks, of course, back when they first made plans to form an adventuring company together. And a month is a long time to be missing. Strangely, though, the goblin corpses give her a small bit of comfort. If the ruins are habitable by goblins, then a suitably equipped adventuring party might be able to fare reasonably well. And if not, well, maybe she'll at least come out of this with a little closure.

"Arright," she says softly to her teammates, "if the left hall is locked as you say, then there's nothing but to try our luck to the right. Cyril, you look like you've got a light step and a keen eye. Why don'tcha sweep the hall for traps, maybe have a listen at those doors?"

[DannyBoy]

Cyril betrays none of the discomfort or apprehension he feels at the thought of going first into any dangerous situation, but rather turns to face the hallway and bends all his senses to the task from his stationary vantage point.

It happens!

"The way appears clear from here, but one can never be sure. Might I suggest the contraption be sent ahead first?"

[Syekate]

The hallway is, indeed, clear of traps that Cyril can find.

[Pessoptimist]

"Garac, the elf appears to recall the last couple times you saved us from traps. If you want to take his suggestion, I will follow a few steps behind you as back up should you need it. Onward ho?"

[DannyBoy]

Byth'ears...safe! Cyril thinks. First trail mix, now this. Very favorable. She understands my delicacy. A useful ally to have...

[cute_fuzzy]

"Thank you, Miss Fernweh. You and Mister Cyril are correct. If the way appears safe, the most durable member of our party should walk first."

Garac begins to start down the hall, then pauses. Perhaps the others have not received sufficient tactical training? Elf, male, noble, cautious; orc, female, warrior, independent; elf, female, unknown, unknown; human, female, unknown, unknown. Mister Casimir was able to direct exploration. But since he is recovering, perhaps it is Garac who has the most experience in small-group field practices. At least in principle.

"Mister Cyril, please walk after me. You can observe the hall in safety, if there are additional traps. Miss Fernweh, I suggest you take the place of the rearguard. You can protect us if unexpected dangers approach from behind. Miss Ivy and Miss Nitro, please follow Mister Cyril."

Garac readies its shield and proceeds down the hall. Field trial 002: commencing.

[Syekate]

The group meets no resistance or traps in the hallway, leaving them with a question: Right, left, or straight ahead?

[DannyBoy]

Cyril sees no reason to doubt the machine's eminent good sense and defers to it or anyone else who takes initiafove. (In the meantime Danny boy is about as inebriated as he has ever been I n his entire life so beR with me as I tery to Poat against all oddesx.)

[Svithrir]

Ivy scans the three doors for any distinguishing features, but is ultimately drawn to the one on the left. "Two wood and one stone, huh? Might as well start with the odd one out?"

[Syekate]

On closer inspection the two wooden doors appear to be of standard quality, while the stone door depicts a carved relief, similar to the dragon door in the other hallway. This one reveals a dragon-like fish swimming in an aquatic setting.

It's locked.

Could someone please identify a light source that y'all are using?

[Pessoptimist]

Fernweh checks the door to find it locked.

"Shall we check the rooms behind the wooden doors for a key?

Or for any other fun things there might be in there?" she adds with a grin, ready for some more excitement.

[Svithrir]

Ivy nods and turns 180 degrees. "To the right, then. Garac or Fernweh, if you would be so kind?"

Cyril has a hooded lantern in his inventory, but since he needs two hands to handle his bow, Ivy can carry it.

[cute_fuzzy]

"Indeed. Please stand back." Garac readies its shield in its left hand and tries the door.

And indeed I do believe Ivy specified she was using the hooded lantern in an earlier post.

[Syekate]

The revealed room is small, 15x20 feet, and devoid of... anything. A little bit of rocky debris, but nothing could possibly be hiding in this chamber. Even a quick search around finds nothing but four walls, a roof, a floor, and the door you came through. Overall, it seems a very secure little room that Garac would find 'tactically secure.'

You are correct. Missed that, my bad.

[Pessoptimist]

"Well, next room then?"

[Svithrir]

Ivy taps her foot impatiently and nods. "This looks like a fine room to overnight in, but yeah, let's keep movin'. Gotta admit, I'm still really curious about what's behind that fish, though." She looks askance at her companions, particularly Cyril. "I don't suppose one of you knows how to pick a lock and neglected to mention it?

"Ah well, we'll get to that eventually. Let's see what's behind door number 3."

[DannyBoy]

I have a bow? http://i42.tinypic.com/2rfc3lw.jpg

[cute_fuzzy]

"We can proceed, Miss Ivy, but as we have learned, it is not wise to be too hasty." Garac readies its shield (again) and tries the last door.

[Syekate]

The room you face is large, irregularly shaped, and crumbling. The southern portion, which you face, is approximately a 30 foot square, attached to a 20 foot square on the northern side to your right. The eastern side (where you enter from) is one long 50 foot wall, while the western walls (northern and southern) are offset by 10 feet. Crudely executed scribes and glyphs painted in bright green dye decorate the walls. A large pit in the chamber's center shows evidence of a recent bonfire. A large cage sits at the center of the southern wall to your left; it contains a gaping hole through the iron bars and stands empty. A small wooden bench draped with green cloth stands before the cage, and on it sit several small objects, difficult to make out from afar. A lumpy bedroll lies near the wooden bench, from which a whimpering noise is plainly audible. There are five wooden doors connected to the chamber; the one you came through as well as another on the north end of the east wall; one from the northern west wall, and two in the southwest corner, one facing west, the other facing south next to the cage. In addition to these entryways, there is an open hallway connected to the southern west wall.

The glyphs on the walls read a crude version of: "Here there be dragons."

[DannyBoy]

The whimpering catches Cyril's attention, and he instinctively attends to it...

Size of whimperer, gender, emotional state, species, and whether it was aware of the newcomers. Dice!

[Syekate]

Investigating closer, there is a figure in the bedroll, mostly wrapped in blankets; only the top of a green-brown scaled head can be seen. Every now and then the figure seems to shiver and clutch the blanket tighter around itself. The whimpering itself has a breathy hissing quality, but is reminiscent of a child that has sobbed itself into fitful slumber, struggling with nightmares.

[DannyBoy]

Cyril scowled inwardly, conflicted. No civilized creature should have scales. The very idea was revolting. It wasn't its suffering alone that struck a spark of pity—he had witnessed (/caused) far more hideous lamentations with complete equanimity. And yet, as a child, he himself had spent more nights than he could remember in that same position...

It touched him in an uncomfortable way, and without thinking, he heard himself speaking soothingly—surprisingly so—in what you all suppose is draconian.

"Heyya, small small. Slumber no good hey? Seeyah great big bad? Wakey all good now. All good friend ayyah, no hurt hey." As the majority of standard Elvish pedagogy in Draconian is the arcane language of spellcraft—and therefore a wholly unfit vernacular—Cyril resorts to a mishmash of spoken gutter Koboldish patois he picked up through disreputable means interspersed with more proper Hochdrakon vocabulary as needed. He doesn't do well, but he imagines he should at least be comprehensible...

[Syekate]

The soothing gentle tones do not manage to stir whatever is in the blanket.

[cute_fuzzy]

Garac strides up. "Mister Cyril. Does this creature require aid?" Then, taking better stock of the surroundings: "And we should investigate that open arch. There may be more rats nearby."

[Svithrir]

"Try nudging them awake—gently!" Ivy, meanwhile, takes a closer look at the cage and the objects on the bench in front of it.

[DannyBoy]

Cyril circles around the sleeping figure; he isn't really thinking, but even despite his compulsive interest his habitual caution keeps him out of arm's reach as he moves to a better vantage point to assess the creature.

[Syekate]

There isn't much more to see of the creature in its huddle of blankets; not without removing some of the covering articles. The cage is badly bent out of shape, and will not restrain any captives without repair. There are a few droppings scattered inside. The bench serves as a tiny altar, holding a jar of green dye, a paintbrush with coarse black bristles, and four small beautiful dragon figurines made of green stone.

[DannyBoy]

"Machine—draw back the edge of that blanket, would you? Gingerly now; it may be dangerous, and it wouldn't do to startle it unnecessarily."

[Syekate]

Your Wilderness Lore ability lets you know that the feces in the cage are not from any natural animal.

[Svithrir]

Ivy sets her lantern on the altar and picks up one of the figurines to examine it more closely. After only the briefest flash of guilt, she quickly tucks it and the three others in various pockets of her vest and jacket.

Picking her lantern back up, she turns to Naia and points out the green graffiti on the walls. "Someone here likes dragons," she whispers.

[cute_fuzzy]

Garac has crossed the room to the open archway to check the hall on the other side, but assuming that the hall is empty, it will return to the huddled figure and gently draw back the blankets, as Mister Cyril asks.

[Syekate]

Whatever is under the blankets, it holds onto them so tightly that a gentle tug does not dislodge them. Garac tries again, harder, and not realizing his own strength, actually tears the blanket, revealing a small humanoid figure clutching a scrap of cloth with fever-dream ferocity. The humanoid, at this latest insult, finally snaps its eyes open and takes in the intimidating figures surrounding it. It scrambles to its feet and backs up against the broken cage, trembling with wide red reptilian eyes, either paralyzed with fear or poised for action. The figure is short with scaly black skin covering a head shaped liek a dog's with two light-colored horns on top. It is clothed in red rags, and has a long tail similar to a rat's.

[DannyBoy]

Cyril throws his arms wide in the universal gesture of nonthreatening goodwill, and speaks once again with disarming urgency in his patchy draconian.

"No hurt, heyya? Us friends. No wanting hurt, understand? Big thing, scary—tear blanket, so sorry. Bad dreaming? Wake up, so sorry. Be friend yes? Helping?"

I suppose with this I'll definitely want a diplomacy check, and have a charm person handy if that goes poorly.

[Syekate]

The short humanoid looks at Cyril understandingly as tears well up in its eyes. It soon sinks to its knees and begins sobbing in a way that sounds rather like a cross between a rat's squeak and a dog's bark. In draconic, it cries out...

"Indeed, the elf is indubitably correct in his assumptions! I, Meepo, mighty keeper of dragons, have fallen from grace in the eyes of my kin. My sleep is tortured, my dreams haunted. Food has no taste as life no longer has meaning. Calcryx, glorious Calcryx, where have they taken you?!"

[DannyBoy]

Hearing the vocabulary of arcane spellcasting and some rusty declensions, Cyril is suddenly self-conscious about his poor speaking. "Meepo. Cyril. Much regret. Regret bad sleep, bad dragon talk. You talk Kalkaricks," he butchers the pronunciation, "--dragon heyya? Who take?"

Hey mister dungeon man--this here is my check to see what if anything I know about the keeping of dragons: do I know anything about this guy's organization, or occupation, the commonness of dragons. Pretty much anything that Cyril might be able to intuit based on his own proclivities.

[Svithrir]

Ivy takes all this in and murmurs an abridged translation to the rest of the party. "The little one is named Meepo, calls 'emself Keeper of Dragons, is in a funk because Calcryx was taken away from 'em. Cyril is, I think, tryin' to calm 'em down, maybe offering to help find Calcryx."

She suddenly perks up. Her eyes dart to the cage. "Wait. Keeper of Dragons? You reckon Calcryx is a dragon? Do you think we might get to see a real live dragon?!"

[Syekate]

Unfortunately, knowledge is a trained skill, so until Cyril does some reading (puts some ranks into the knowledge skills), he can't divine much information based off what he sees as yet.

The kobold, and there is no mistake at this point that this creature is one of the oft-disregarded lizard-rat-humanoids belonging to that race, listens intently, and is about to reply when it hears Ivy speak to the rest of the group.

"Heya, you speakum big folk talk! Yesyes, you helpum find our dragon Calcryx from wretched goblins! Clan's dragon thieved from scheming goblins!" he says, pointing to the broken cage, likely an indication that this is where the beast was once kept.

[cute_fuzzy]

Garac is still holding the kobold's blanket. "Searching for a live dragon would be quite dangerous. Goblins may also be a real threat. I think it is wiser to remain focused on finding any evidence to lead us to the missing adventurers."

Garac considers the cage. "Though if that was a cage for the Calcryx, perhaps the Calcryx is still relatively small. Still I cannot recommend purposely seeking danger in such a fashion."

[Svithrir]

"But Garac," Ivy says, "we are standing in the presence of Meepo, Keeper of Dragons!" She repeats the kobold's title in Draconic for emphasis. "Certainly he wouldn't allow Calcryx to bring us to harm if we helped him?

"Meepo, we're looking for other big folk who came here some weeks ago. Do you know of them? You help us find them, we help you find Calcryx, maybe?"

[Syekate]

Meepo pulls his sleeves up in an ineffectual attempt to look a little more tough and less frightened. Upon closer inspection, his arms are covered in scars. "Meepo don't know 'bout other bigfolk. Leader might; leader knows lots. Meepo take you to meet the leader, Yusdrayl, if you make nice. Grant you safe passage, heyaheya, you promise not hurt Meepo. Maybe if you promise help find dragon, leader make nice to you, answer questions!"

[DannyBoy]

In elvish, to Ivy:

"You know our quarry better than any of us. Would the two intrepid Hucrelii have been in search of dragons? If so, following this small creature may not be a diversion."

[Svithrir]

Ivy can't help but grin mischievously as she recalls Cyril's reprimand about speaking in code the night before. She replies in Elvish:

"Dragons weren't exactly on the docket when we were first planning this expedition, but goblins were a distinct possibility. They're not unknown in this area. This could be a great opportunity for advance knowledge, which would be especially valuable if Sharwyn's party ran afoul of them."

She smiles to Meepo and bows. "I apologize, Meepo. My friend here speaks Elf talk better than my talk or your talk. We would very much like to speak to Yusdrayl. We will make nice if you can promise us safe passage."

Technically Ivy isn't lying about Cyril's language skills, but to the extent that it might be useful to downplay his grasp of Common so they can retain the option of conversing freely in Elven: [roll0]

[DannyBoy]

A whispered aside to Ivy, in elvish:

"Well played, oh smirking one. We'll make a miscreant of you yet. The old windbag knew full well that my common is impeccable, but no reason to give this gremlin the benefit of the doubt. Though I hope you won't mind if I'm reduced to this for days:"

then, quickly, in common:

"Yesyes, Meepo. So sorry. Very bad talk common. Pointy-ear word only, so sorry. Not wise dragon keeper like Meepo. Silly pointy-ear. Take leader now, Yesyes?"

[Pessoptimist]

"Would someone mind asking Meepo where his friends are? I came upon Oakhurst by following the tracks of a kobold caravan wheeling a heavy-laden cart. Perhaps Meepo was part of that caravan, and that cart was carrying this cage. If that's true, it's probably good that we know where the rest of the caravan is."

[DannyBoy]

Cyril acknowledges Fernweh's question with a nod, and complies—trying to get the information without betraying the (new, interesting) fact that she had been in pursuit of a band of Kobolds when she joined the party:

"So sorry, Meepo Sirrah, friend big lady ask question. Meepo friends here long time, short time? Why Meepo all alone, no friends here this room? Friends now where leader at, heyya?"

As soon as I have a moment, Cyril thinks to himself, I shall have to speak with her. There are many more threads running through this party than meet the eye, and many useful secrets to know...

[Syekate]

Meepo looks as though his head is positively swimming with the jumble of Draconic, Common, and Elvish being thrown about. "Meepo take you now, go see Yusdrayl. Leader has all answers!" The slender little reptilian then darts away from the cage past the interlopers and stands at the open hallway to the west. He looks back to see if the others are following. "Remember, make much nicenice!"

[Pessoptimist]

Unimpressed with the way Meepo dodged the question. "Hmm, no harm following the little guy, but let's keep an eye out for others along the way."