Wyrm Kingdom [IC]

[fyleisch]

I've thrown a Kingdom thread up here (http://www.giantitp.com/forums/showthread.php?472921-Wyrm-Kingdom-Kingdom) for keeping track of progress.

Your objectives to begin with are decided by your physical needs. You'll need a safe place to make your lair, and a sustainable source of food (such as a forest or lake for hunting, some farmland for pillaging, or a mine if you don't mind eating metal ores). It might also be a good idea to find some treasure to start your horde with, and make some kind of arrangements with any nearby settlements to reduce the number of adventurers who come seeking your head!

Once you've sourced food and a lair, you have the option of going into a period of dragony retirement. You pick a number of years to retire for, and then retreat to your lair. Dragons automatically get more powerful as they get older, so a successful multi-year rest may increase your power level.

Every time you retire, you will get XP based on the gold value of your horde. XP gives you progress towards any class levels you might want to take, and this is granted every separate time you rest. This means that taking few long periods of retirement will make your dragon levels increase faster, but taking lots of short retirements will increase your class levels faster. Long retirements are complicated by invading adventurers, and short retirements are complicated by having to satisfy your physical needs each time.

If you look at the kingdom thread there are a couple of character creation things still to do - picking skills and feats. Gort's sheet is there for my convenience, but you can take over management of it if you want. We can use SRD diplomacy or the gitp variant as you like, or you can resolve every social encounter by reducing your conversation partners to ash as is a dragon's right.




Wyrm Kingdom

You are Gorthalon, the ancient and terrible!

At least, you feel ancient and terrible. You're actually 5 years old, and a little over a meter long. You're also exhausted, having spent the last two weeks on the wing, fleeing a vicious band of dwarven barbarians.

The band, led by Helga Halfcask, was responsible for killing the rest of your clutch, and plundering your ancestral treasures. Overwhelmed by the dwarven numbers, you fled South, taking the only piece of your home's once great horde that you could get your talons on - a beaten silver crown. You've taken refuge at the first likely looking shelter you've seen since your flight - a cave in a stumpy, isolated mountain.

The cave is damp, and smells faintly of cheese, but it offers a place to rest and hide until you regain your strength.

Fortunately, it looks like the cave came with an unexpected bonus, a free meal in the form of an old man, standing besides a small fire in the center of the cave. His clothes may have been fine once, but are now little more than rags. Lank, greasy grey hair falls down to his shoulders, and as he stands he seems to favor one leg.

As he hears you slide through the cave mouth, the man turns his head. As he sees you, he spins to face you, eyes darting around desperately for an escape route that doesn't exist.

http://i.imgur.com/8zgHXGH.png

H1: An old human male.
A: A low campfire, barely smoking.
B: A pile of dirty rags obviously being used as a bed.
C: Several sealed barrels pushed together.





Old Man: D-d-d-d-

[Prehysterical]

Thanks for all the prep. I'll get a sheet set up for Gort on Mythweavers that we can share. It's been a while since I looked at GitP's Diplomacy fix, so I will take a look at that later. For now, I'll skip the number crunch (and do skills/feats later) and just play this encounter pure RP style.
As a young blue, Gorthalon's scales are more of a robin egg blue than the royal sapphire of his line. The pathetic old man before him... Instinct told him that the mammal was food, fit only to be eaten and serve. But the fear in the man's eyes... It reflected the helplessness that Gort had felt in fleeing from the dwarves. Still, it would not do for a being such as himself to share living space with such a creature.

Sighing inwardly, Gort says in Common, "I don't want to kill you. But this cave is mine, now. So please, find yourself elsewhere... before I change my mind and come to my senses."

[fyleisch]

The old man's mouth snaps shut, and he begins shuffling towards the exit. His path out of the cave takes him right by you, and as he draws near you he forces himself against the cave wall, keeping as much distance between you as he can.

He edges through the passage and out into the night. As he flees down the mountain path, you hear him shouting;

Old Man: D-Dragooooon!

The cave's odd smell seems to leave with the man, leaving you alone with his abandoned possessions.

Now that the old man is no longer blocking your line of sight, you notice a small leather-bound notebook lying on the ground by the fire. Books are tricky things for dragon claws to handle, but you could manage it if you were so inclined. It's also probably highly flammable.

[Prehysterical]

Well, we shall see how long it is before the warmbloods come investigating. The sight of the book arouses Gort's curiosity. He moves forward and pushes it away from the fire. Carefully turning the pages, the young dragon starts reading.

[fyleisch]

As Gorthalon opens the book, the pages fall open to where a folded sheet of parchment has been pushed into it. The parchment falls to the cave floor, and the book is shown to be filled with fine, legible handwriting. Gorthalon begins to read in the dying light of the low fire.


Week 8, After the Rains

If I still had a god to serve, I'd thank him every night for leading me to this cave. It's more than an old fallen cleric deserves. I don't know what I'd do if that bear pack ever lost their fear of fire and chased me out of it, as I'm sure the smell of wood smoke is the only thing stopping them reclaiming it.

On my supply trip to the hamlet of Meath I heard more rumors about the area. There were the usual tavern stories about haunted ruins, and a trader told me about a city he visited to the West. I marked it on my map, though I'll likely never go there. The walk to the hamlet and back is nearly more than my old legs can handle in a day, and I no longer have the grace to survive on the road at night.



The page is the most recently written in the journal.

Read from the beginning, the book tells the tale of a cleric called Saben - a devotee of Nerull, who betrayed his god by committing one good deed too many. Most of the journal is fairly dull and unimportant, many of the early pages dedicated to various murders and tortures Saben committed, and the later ones given over to obsessive whining about guilt and redemption. The parchment which slipped from the book turns out to be a crudely drawn map (http://i.imgur.com/g5T52Zg.png) of the immediate area.

Hours have passed since Gorthalon started reading. The fire has died out, leaving the cave cold and dim, though dawn can't be more than a couple of hours away.

[Prehysterical]

After finishing the readings, Gorthalon looks up out of the cave's mouth. "I won't survive at night..." Bear pack... Curse it all! With another sigh, Gort flies out into the night, following the road down to the hamlet. Hopefully I find a man and not a corpse...

[fyleisch]

As Gorthalon flies down the moonlit mountainside, he senses the presence of several forms close together in the darkness below. Swooping closer, the forms are revealed to be Saben, the man he encountered in the cave above, and a hideous black bear - her hide scarred and dotted with the shafts of broken arrows; the marks of past victories.

The ragged man is trying to flee from her, but the bear is steadily gaining on him.

As Gorthalon arrives, the man pauses, gasping, and gestures at the bear with a long, thin bone. A beam of dark light flares from the bone and hits the bear, who yelps and pauses to shake her head, but quickly resumes her chase.

The old man's pause has given the bear all the time she needs to catch up with him, and she bats him viciously with a clawed paw.
The attack leaves a deep and bloody gash on the man's shoulder, causing him to yell out in pain.

Saben: Argh. Nerull help... No. Nerull be damned. I'll never ask his aid again.
Bear: Roaargh! Grroooaaargh!


Please roll initiative. If it's over 10, you can act straight away, otherwise these two get another round.

I'm happy to do combat-y things in text, so you don't need to worry about getting crunchy with things like flight altitude and positioning if you don't want.
If positioning becomes important later on, I'll probably give battle grids in a format like:


ABCDEFGHIJKLMNOPQRSTUVWXY
1.........................
2....R.R.......R..........
3.........R...............
4..................R......
5......sb.................
6.........................
7.....R...R........R......
8.................R.......
9..........R..............
0.........................

. Grassy mountainside
R Rock
s Saben
b Black Bear

[Prehysterical]

((Well, time to see if Saben possibly dies)
Initiative: [roll0]

((Guess the two of them get another round...))

[fyleisch]

The bear circles Saben to block off the old man's escape route down the mountain path and swipes at him again. The blow strikes, leaving another deep gash in Saben's side!

The old man staggers slightly, then raises the bone, launching another blast of dark energy directly into the bear's face. The bear gives a yelp, suddenly terrified, and turns to flee down the mountain. Saben, badly wounded, flees as well in the opposite direction, back up the mountain.

Saben: Gods damn wounds. Seeing this much flowing blood really [cough, cough] really brings back memories.




ABCDEFGHIJKLMNOPQRSTUVWXY
1.........................
2....R.R.......R..........
3.........R...............
4..................R......
5.....b......s............
6.........................
7.....R...R........R......
8.................R.......
9..........R..............
0.........................

. Grassy mountainside
R Rock
s Saben
b Black Bear
Gort is up.

[Prehysterical]

Since Saben is out of immediate danger, Gort continues flying and observing from a distance. If the bear shows any sign of coming back, he will fly in and intercept the animal with his own fangs and claws.

[fyleisch]

The two opponents spend a few seconds running in opposite directions, before the bear seems to come to her senses and turns back towards the old man with a bellow.

The bear sprints at the fleeing Saben, but as she closes into claw range, a creature swoops out of the night, fang and claw shining in the moonlight.


The bear has just spent a round under the effects of Cause Fear, but if left alone Saben will be killed within a few seconds. You interrupt the bear's turn, Gorthalon can make his attack now.

[Prehysterical]

Gort wants to roar, to instill fear in this beast. But he decides that it is far better to strike like silent lightning and avoid giving away surprise. Time enough later for roaring thunder. And so he descends in a strangely quiet flash of fang and claw.
Charging (+2 attack, -2 AC)
Bite: [roll]1d20+10[roll]
[roll0]
C: [roll1]
CD: [roll2]

Claw 1: [roll3]
[roll4]
C: [roll5]
CD: [roll6]

Claw 2: [roll7]
D: [roll8]
C: [roll9]
CD: [roll10]

[Prehysterical]

((Rerolling first botched attack roll: [roll0]))

[fyleisch]

Gorthalon swoops out of the night like a phantom. A frantic scrabbling of tooth and claw follows, and by the time the blue blur has resolved into a young dragon, the bear is bleeding heavily from her shoulder, the top half of her front right leg a red ruin. She staggers, and shoots Gorthalon a murderous glance, apparently undaunted.

The downdraft of Gorthalon's approach blows Saben's long hair over his face, and the old man turns to glance at the activity behind him. When he see's Gort he yelps, and immediately runs off to the side to hide behind one of the rocks that litter the terrain. A moment later his head appears above the rock, and he tosses a small stone in the air to test its balance. He looks like he's preparing to throw it at the bear.





ABCDEFGHIJKLMNOPQRSTUVWXY
1.........................
2...................R.....
3.........R.........sR....
4..................R......
5.............b...........
6.........................
7...R...........RR........
8..............R..........
9.........................
0...R.....................

. Grassy mountainside
R Rock
s Saben
b Black Bear
The bear is still alive, though barely, and it's not clear whether she'll continue her pursuit of Saben, attack Gorthalon, or try to flee into the night. What does Gorthalon do?

[Prehysterical]

If the beast was not intelligent enough to recognize when it was outmatched, that was no concern of Gort's. It's time to end this.

The smell of ozone and crackling sand surrounds Gort as he takes a deep breath... and breathes lightning right into the bear's face.

Damage: [roll0] (Reflex DC 14)

Merry Christmas, fyleisch.

[fyleisch]

A sound like a whip cracking echoes across the mountainside as a dancing lance of blue energy surrounds the bear. She gives an odd sighing sound and falls to the ground, and the smell of burnt hair fills the air for several moments, before the wind picks up and clears the air.

Saben is silent, only his eyes visible above the rim of the rock where he's hiding, wide with fear, or awe. There are no further signs of life in the area, and in the distance the first rays of dawn light begin to creep over the horizon.

Happy Christmas :smallbiggrin:

[Prehysterical]

Looking toward the rock, Gort says, "Don't run off, Saben. I want to have words with you." Looking back to the smoking corpse, Gort's stomach rumbles as he recalls that he hasn't eaten in a while.

"...Right after my meal." The baby dragon tears into the carcass with abandon, tearing and gulping down chunks of flesh to feed his belly.

[fyleisch]

The old man's eyes widen, and for a moment he seems ready to run anyway, but he steels himself and disappears behind the rock. Faint muttering can be heard, as if he were engaged in prayer.

When Gorthalon has finished his grisly meal, the dawn's light glints off something in the bear's remains. Closer inspection reveals it to be a partially digested hand, the fingers tangled in the chain of a silver holy symbol of Pelor. The symbol seems to glow faintly in the weak light.

Saben seems to have finished his prayer, as his head appears above the rock again, his expression less fearful, though still clearly anxious.

[Prehysterical]

After picking his teeth clean, Gort notices the holy symbol shine amidst the rubbish. For a moment, his eyes glitter with greed, but then the set of circumstances clicks in his head and causes him to laugh. Gort separates the holy symbol from the hand and flaps over to land on the rock that Saben cowers behind. He drops the symbol in front of the man. "It would seem that the Sun God has heard your prayers, old man."

[fyleisch]

The old man, initially terrified of Gorthalon, seems to be slightly more relaxed, though it's not clear whether that's because the dragon has just saved his life, or because it has just finished a large meal.

His hand reaches out towards the holy symbol, but then jerks back as if struck. He shakes his head sadly.

Saben: Pelor wouldn't accept my service as I am, and only one of Pelor's favored could give me the task I'd need to prove my devotion to a new god.

I knew of one who lived in the hamlet, but I think [he swallows, gesturing to the holy symbol on the ground] I think that was his symbol. It was said to have healing powers, and that one is radiating positive energy.

No, unless you're an Angel in disguise, Pelor will have nothing to do with me. What did you want a word about, sir Dragon?

[Prehysterical]

Rolling his eyes and sighing, Gort picks up the symbol and holds it against the man's side. "Then be healed, at least.

My name is Gorthalon. Like you, I am hunted. A group of dwarves is hunting me, still hungry for blood after killing all of my brothers and sisters. You are hunted by Nerull's servants. I propose an alliance. You help me escape the dwarves; I defend you against anyone who comes for your head. What say you, human?"

[fyleisch]

The symbol glows briefly for several seconds, and although Saben grimaces, all of his wounds knit themselves closed.

After hearing your proposal, the man thinks to himself for a moment.

Saben: Yes, I'll help you dragon. A powerless cleric won't be much help against warriors who can give a dragon trouble, but I'll serve in what capacity I can. I sold most of my possessions when I fled from my old life, but there's some gold among my stores in the cave that I suppose is yours now, and one item of power that I stole from my old temple.

If I'm to serve better, I should head to Meath and properly equip myself. I have a line of credit with the trader there, I'll return to you when I have at least armor and a weapon.

Saben is ready to head off to town. Any plans he might had of raising the townsfolk of Meath against the ferocious dragon have been discarded, and seeing the value in having a draconic patron, is willing to serve. Saben is now counted among Gorthalon's followers, and is listed on the Kingdom (http://www.giantitp.com/forums/showthread.php?472921-Wyrm-Kingdom-Kingdom) thread.

[Prehysterical]

"See that you do not drop of exhaustion on the way back. I know that running through the night must have made you weary. Take however much time you need to recover your strength. I'd rather not have to come and rescue you twice in as many days." Remembering that he left the silver crown back at the cave, Gorthalon flaps his wings and flies back to Windypeake. As he does, and later lands to take stock of his new treasures, he tries to recall details about this immediate area. They might become relevant very soon.
Arcana: [roll0]
Dungeoneering: [roll1]
Geography: [roll2]
History: [roll3]
Nature:[roll4]
Nobility: [roll5]

[fyleisch]

The old cleric begins walking stiffly down the mountain along the well-trodden path.

Arcana:
Gorthalon knows that the lands immediately surrounding Windypeake are sparsely populated, and any magical activity in the area is likely to be limited to village healers and hedge wizards. If there is a city to the West, he'd expect that to support a more advanced level of thaumaturgy, perhaps even a mage's guild or magical academy.

He knows that magical beasts are rare, and dragons rarer still, though he has heard legends of Dragons ruling over humanoids as god-like figures in the distant past.

As his thoughts turn to the silver crown he brought from his brood lair, he recalls that the eye symbol engraved on the front is a symbol of Dragon-kind, but nothing else comes to mind regarding the crown.

Dungeoneering:
Gorthalon doesn't know anything specific about dungeons in the area, but knows that the path from the hamlet of Meath to his cave is more heavily worn than he'd expect. Maybe the cave used to be a gathering place of some kind.

On the subject of nearby sites, Saben's journal had this to say:
Geon the hunter told me of a hole leading down into a hill just East of Windypeake. It sounds like a natural formation to me, but the local legends have the place being haunted by 'pale figures'. They don't sound like any undead I ever dealt with, it's probably just an ale tale.
The old man's map also indicates the presence of a ruined fort, some way South of the mountain.

Geography:
The mountain where Gorthalon has made is his home is the highest, and southernmost peak of a band of hills running from West to East across the area. A river flows Southwest from the mountain, bolstered by tributaries from the hills, and eventually winding South where it opens into lowlands and marshes.

The humanoids who populate this region are mostly Human, though there are likely to be nomadic bands of Elves wandering the region, as they do elsewhere on the continent.

History:
The continent has been occupied for a long time, though the humanoids don't seem like they've had thousands of years to build and multiply. Maybe there was a disaster? Gort doesn't know.

Nature:
It's currently early Winter, though the warm winds from the distant Northern deserts stop the region from dropping below freezing even on the coldest days.

Thanks to the generally warm climate, the animals who live nearby don't tend to hibernate, and the trees don't lose their leaves. The mountainside and surrounding hills are home to sizeable goat population, as well as a small population of bears, wolves and eagles which hunt and scavenge on them.

Further afield, the local forests are likely home to colonies of giant vermin, and the river and marshes are an ideal environment for aquatic predators.

Nobility:
The local humanoids might have a mayor, or possibly a king?
When Gorthalon breaks open the storage barrels in the cave, he find a bag filled with several hundred gold coins - part of the money Saben made selling off his old equipment. It's a pittance compared to the vast mountain of gold coins stolen by the barbarians who plundered Gorthalon's brood lair, but every hoard has to start somewhere.

At the bottom of another barrel, wrapped in oilcloth, he finds a silver-hilted dagger with a wavy, black blade that feels icy cold to the dragon's touch. A dagger is a poor weapon for a dragon, even less so if it's an item of dark power as Saben suggested, but perhaps it's worth something?

He also finds a sack full of cheap trinkets and tools, and small cache of food, mostly fruit and salted meats - too little to provide much of a meal to a dragon.

Gorthalon finds 400 gold pieces, the black kris, and a sack of random items.

I can't imagine any situation where Gorthalon would need a bell, magnet or fish hook, but just for convenience if he ever needs some small, cheap item from the SRD Goods and Services list he'll be able to find it in the sack.

Also, you got a good result for Arcana, Geography and Nature. The length of the responses was more so that I didn't have to start describing migration patterns and geology. If you have more specific questions, I'll provide answers based on those rolls.

[Prehysterical]

The first thing that Gorthalon does is spread his newfound wealth out on the floor of the cave and wallow in the shallow hoard. It feels good to have gold rubbing against his scales again. He makes sure to keep the dagger hidden among the remains of the barrels, however, far from his form. After resting for a while (since he was up all night), Gort gets to thinking about his plans for the area. Perhaps the most immediate matter was the presence of possible undead so close to his lair. It was time for him to do some investigating.

Placing the crown on top of the small gold pile, Gort flies out to investigate the "hole" in the hill east of Windypeake.

[fyleisch]

Gorthalon spends the morning snoozing luxuriantly on the thin scattering of gold pieces. The gold feels good, though there isn't nearly enough of it to provide a truly comfortable pile. As Gort rests, the sun rises to its low winter apogee and begins to descend, and by the time Gort readies himself to leave it's already mid afternoon.

Flying Eastward from Windypeake, the hill mentioned in Saben's journal is easily found. There are only a few hills of any size East of the mountain, and the tallest of them has an open hole - an ugly wound in the hillside, cutting deep and almost vertically into the stone and soil.

The hole is only about fifteen feet wide, too narrow for flight, but someone -or something- has cut deep notches into the stony wall that would make climbing down easy. The channel twists off to the South after about forty feet of descent, preventing Gort from seeing the bottom, but the air that creeps out of the hole smells of damp mold and old meat.

In the bright afternoon sun and mild Northerly breeze the pit doesn't seem very intimidating, but anyone who braves the descent seems likely to find themselves in a tight and dark space, and not completely alone.

http://i.imgur.com/x34rAVJ.png?1

[Prehysterical]

It is becoming more clear that something unnatural is at work. But he is a dragon, gods damn it, and there will be no better time to investigate. Gort climbs down warily, eyes and ears peeled for the slightest disturbance. Surely, with the senses of his kind, he will see any threat coming before it can reach him.

[fyleisch]

Gorthalon descends into the hole, displaying the self assuredness -or perhaps arrogance- his kind is famous for. The climb turns out to be no harder than it looked, Gort's claws hooking comfortably onto handholds sized for fingers not much larger than his own talons.

Stone dust falls from the carved indentations as he descends, and about sixty feet down Gort finds that the passage is joined by an underground stream. The spray of water cuts downwards through a series of channels and pools too tight for Gort to pass through, while the carved handholds slope away down a branching passage. Gort continues his downward climb, and quickly reaches the bottom of the pothole.


~

After the cramped confines of the passage, the cavern feels enormous. The ceiling rises to a rough dome twenty feet above the smooth stone floor, and stalactites hang from the roof like stone teeth. At the foot of the hole the source of the rotten smells becomes clear; animal bones are scattered across the ground where the hole opens out into the cave. Goat, rabbit, and bear skulls are visible among the remains, and some of the bones still have scraps of decaying flesh stuck to them.

The underground stream Gort encountered above crashes down into the cavern in a cloud of thin mist, joining a much more substantial underground river flowing from the North. Much of the cavern is in complete darkness, but that isn't much of a problem to a dragon.

Across the river, the far side of the cavern is visible through the billowing spray. Gorthalon strains his senses to their limit, but as far as he can tell, he's alone in the cavern.

Cavern Map (http://i.imgur.com/bfLpLTh.png)

Gorthalon enters at Y29, at the far Eastern edge of the Southern chamber. The cavern appears to be empty.

[Prehysterical]

Gorthalon doesn't truly believe that the cave is empty. Whatever made this mess, he would have likely have seen it stalking around if it was about. So, it is likely still down here.

Still, even his senses can't pinpoint anything. Best to investigate further before calling a retreat.

Moving foward, he cranes his neck down to sample the water from the river. Gort actually is thirsty, after all.
Move him to S29, at the river's edge.

[fyleisch]

As Gorthalon drinks the clean, cool water, his keen senses pick up on a previously unnoticed presence in the gloom across the river.

He can't see anything through the mist except for the cavern wall, but he's positive that something is there, watching, waiting.

Cavern Map (http://i.imgur.com/MfrnNIf.png)

Gorthalon's feels the presence of a creature at H24.

[Prehysterical]

Taking a moment to enjoy the refreshing drink, Gorthalon stares straight at the unknown watcher. In the Common tongue, he says, "I know that you are there. If you are capable of speaking, come out and bandy words with me. If not, then I will not further waste my time."

[fyleisch]

The creature hesitates for a few seconds, before a humanoid figure coalesces out of the mist.

The creature could almost be mistaken for a human, albeit an emaciated and nearly naked one, but his skin is an unnatural shade of pale gray, and his bright blue eyes don't seem to have any pupils.

He gestures at the ground in front of Gort with an obsidian tipped spear, and speaks in a confident, slightly reedy voice,
"Wait there, liz! We're fetching the chair."

As the figure speaks, Gort senses further movement on the far bank - another hidden creature, running Northwards deeper into the cavern.

"So, that's you talking? The liz?" the figure asks after a moment passes. "I don't like jokes, warning you!"

[Prehysterical]

Gort hisses in displeasure at the label. "If I am a lizard, then that makes you an ape.

I am a dragon. What are you, then?" Now that Gort can actually see the inhabitants, he tries to study them for clues.
[roll0]

[fyleisch]

"Me? I'm Victor. But you? Drag? Nah. Drag's are huge, spit fire, never leave their gold. You're more like a..."

"That is quite enough of that!" a voice calls from the Northern chamber.

Gorthalon senses the approach of another creature, and seconds later a pair of the grey skinned figures appear on the Northern edge of the pool. He searches his memory for some clue as to what the creatures could be, but the humanoid races never seemed like an important topic of study, and he doesn't know any more than he can tell by observation; that they're anatomically similar to humans, but possess uncommon powers of stealth.

One of them is carrying an odd triangular ladder made of what looks like cracked white wood, which he lays across the river flowing from the North as a crude bridge. The other wears a black silk pouch around its waist and carries an engraved obsidian rod as if it were a badge of office. It seems to be much older, and looks like she might be a female of their race - though the differences are slight. Whatever she is, she apparently has some authority over the others, and speaks in a voice like wind through dry reeds.

"Victor, you have forgotten your lessons. Return to the Library."

The creature who had been making conversation with Gort scoots off Northward without another word, and the woman turns her azure eyes on the dragon, stepping onto the ladder-bridge and slowly moving to a more comfortable speaking distance.

"[Draconic] Step into the shadows, favored of Io. I apologise for Victor's rudeness. It's said that the youth of the Fengari grow more foolish every year, while the elders grow wiser!" she laughs, then clears her throat uncomfortably. "Please tell me, what brings one of your race to our enclave?"

The creature who carried the ladder remains standing on the other side of the pool, watching intently. He seems relaxed, but his hand never moves far from the black glass dagger on a cord at his hip.

[Prehysterical]

The stranger's knowledge of the Dragon Tongue is a good omen. "Sia ominak ui Gorthalon. Si wiapa sari nomenoi jonali vi ifyoev tairais boja vur nymuera batobot wux ingellar persvek nomeno chanon. Si confna ekess ocuir svabol senar di... 'neighbors' si ornla tepoha."

Using the Draconic translator here (http://draconic.twilightrealm.com/).
"My name is Gorthalon. I flew into these hills not long ago and heard that you dwell in this cavern. I came to see what sort of... 'neighbors' I would have."
Gort is forced to resort to Common for one word, since dragons do not have a word that translates to "equals that dwell nearby".

He looks at the woman curiously. "Si tepoha nurti nymuera di dout cirau ghoros. Svaust, vur svabol, re wux?"
"I have never heard of your kind before. Who, and what, are you?"

[fyleisch]

"Well, greetings then, leirith thurirl," the woman says, smiling. "I am called Vecca, Chair of the Parliament, such as it is. My people are the Fengari - the Moon Skinned, though if you've spent any time studying human or dwarf texts, you might know us as... skulks." She grimaces as she says the word. "More of a slur than a name."

"Sethca," the woman says, turning to the Fengari apparently acting as her bodyguard. "Go, bring something for our guest to eat."

She turns back to Gorthalon before continuing.

"I admit I've never seen one of your kind either, winged one. The archives mention an ancient dragon who used to live in the region, but that was long ago. You might be the first living dragon this land has seen in four hundred years. May I ask where you have made your home?

[Prehysterical]

"Windypeake," Gorthalon replies. He wants to investigate the ancient dragon, but practicality demands other questions first. Even though he had eaten a bear just yesterday, his appetite as a growing dragon wouldn't suffer with another meal. "I see that your people have a healthy appetite. Do you all make such a mess, or is that the work of your young ones," he asks while pointing his horn at the animal remains.

[fyleisch]

"Windypeake. That place," she mutters, before seeming to hear the rest of Gorthalon's question. "That is where we place the bones. You may have noticed there isn't a surfeit of timber around our home. We've developed a technique for forming animal bones into the shapes we need, for tools and weapons, but the process is a long one.

"We place the bones of food animals there until the flesh flakes off and the bones dry. The natural air flow through the caverns draws the smell up the shaft and out to the surface, away from the habitation cave."

"The bonewood is adequate for spears, poles and the like, but it doesn't burn well enough to fuel a forge, or flex well enough to make a bow. A lack of timber and iron equipment is one of our primary concerns at the moment, but we're working to remedy that."

As Vecca is talking, another pair of fengari approach, carrying a roast goat on a bonewood spit. She has them carry the beast across the ladder-bridge and lower it onto the ground near Gorthalon. It's not clear whether this is customary skulk hospitality, or if they're adhering to the ancient wisdom of 'a well-fed dragon is a slightly less dangerous dragon.'

"I understand that dragons can take names. What do you call yourself?"

[Prehysterical]

"Gorthalon." The dragon is slightly peeved at having to repeat himself, although the offering of roast goat is enough to gloss over that hiccup in etiquette. Gort digs in with a will, although he takes care not to damage the bones offered by his host. More curious by the minute... The use of bone as tools, when shaped beyond simple clubs, intrigues the young dragon. More importantly, he smells opportunity. Once he is finished with the feast, Gorthalon asks, "So, is there anything that this bonewood can do that normal wood can't? And if I were to, say, procure some of the necessary tools and wood, what could you offer me?" In the back of his mind, Gort thinks of alternative fuel sources.
You mentioned earlier that Gort knows about the geology of the area. He's going to try and remember if there are any sizable coal or peat seams nearby.

[fyleisch]

"The bonewood we use is barely sufficient for spears and ladders, comparable to wood in strength, and it has no favorable properties - a material of last resort. Our alchemists have theories involving the bones of magical creatures, but we're in no position to try and hunt any of those down."

The aged fengari looks down thoughtfully, almost certainly not wondering what properties a dragonbone weapon might have.

"As for trade, we have... some supplies of silver and gold, but wealth has never been the main problem; the humans who have colonized this region would sooner kill us than trade fairly."

"Still, if you were able to arrange a trade route between my people and the human settlements, you could collect a levy on each caravan, and we'd be willing to pay a signing bonus in gold."

The woman half turns to the Northeast, lifts her arm and caresses the air with her hand, whispering to herself as she does so.

"I've instructed an initiate to write up a list of what we need, and what we are willing to offer for it. We can organize your percentage later, ressan Gorthalon, but I think any common trader presented with the document would find it favorable."

Gort would expect there to be coal buried somewhere beneath the hills in the North, but has seen no exposed seams, and both finding and extracting it would be a long, expensive process.

He also knows that the swamps to the Southwest could provide a large amount of peat, and in addition, natural processes at work in the wetlands are likely to produce "bog iron" - naturally occurring lumps of pure iron, but the swamps are several days travel from the hill on foot, and transportation would be difficult for a culture who lack the resources to build wagons.

[Prehysterical]

Now that business has been taken care of, Gorthalon can afford to be a little curious. "What history does Windypeake have? I've noticed that the trail leading up to the cave is much more traveled and weathered than one would expect for such an out-of-the-way place. And what can you tell me of this dragon that you spoke of?"

[fyleisch]

Windypeake... there's a tale behind it.

Vecca looks around at the ground for a moment. She squats awkwardly, then sits stiffly down on the cavern floor, her legs crossed.

"My people haven't always lived underground, Gorthalon. Two hundred years ago we controlled a substantial area of the surface, in these hills, and in the forest to the near South. It wasn't anything grand enough to call a civilization, but we had a city, several towns, guilds and industry.

About a hundred years ago, the humans who live in the neighboring region to the South decided they wanted to expand. Waves of human colonists began to arrive, led by two of their heroes - a general called Fiel, and a druid known as Windy. They attacked and displaced the elves who lived nearby, but against my people, they waged a war of extermination."

As she speaks, another fengari appears in the main chamber, and approaches to whisper something in Vecca's ear. She nods and waves the newcomer away, then turns back to Gorthalon as if nothing had happened.

"Less than a hundred of our population survived, and only then by hiding underground, in what was then a... an educational institution, of sorts. Forgive me for the tale, Gorthalon, but Windypeake was the druid Windy's home, his holy place, and his base of operations for the campaign against us. Close enough that the refugees who hid here could hear the howls, on those nights when he made sport of his prisoners."

"As for the dragon, I'd need to have an initiate consult the archives. From memory, I recall that she lived in a swamp to the Southeast... or was it a lake? Or was it to the Southwest?" She shakes her head.

[Prehysterical]

Gorthalon stretches and says, "You mentioned something about a Library. How open are you to outsiders having access to its materials?" He's clearly referring to himself.

[fyleisch]

She shakes her head. "The library is only accessible to members of my order, though if you have questions, I can pass them on to my initiates for research."

Vecca climbs unsteadily to her feet, using her rod of office like a walking stick.

"As nice as it has been to meet our new neighbor, I'm needed urgently elsewhere in the enclave. An initiate should be up shortly with a set of documents regarding the trade we need."

"Whether you're able to help us with our trade needs or not, please keep our location and identity a secret. Nothing I've seen in my sixty years suggests that the humans today are any more tolerant than those of a century ago. Our secrecy could be the only thing that stands between us and a second purge. The documents will contain the details of necessary drop off points, what we need, and what we are willing to pay."

[Prehysterical]

Gorthalon nods respectfully. "It was nice to meet you, Lady Vecca. One last thing: I have a man-servant by the name of Saben. He will be helping me in my endeavors. Treat him with the same courtesy that you would me." The dragon then waits for the list.

[fyleisch]

Vecca pauses, half stepping onto the ladder-bridge.

"A man-servant? A human?" She seems to think for a moment, before looking worriedly up towards the Northern section of the cavern. "Yes, we'll treat him with every courtesy. Zhin persvek wer sjachi, Gorthalon."

Vecca marches into the North end of the cavern and disappears from Gort's senses. Her attendants gather up the ladder and carry it after her, likewise disappearing.

After a couple of minutes, a lone fengari approaches carrying a leather-wrapped bundle, with a looped thong tied to it for carrying. He places it on the ground on the far side of the pool, bows slightly in Gorthalon's direction, then retreats the way he came, leaving Gorthalon alone.

The cavern is silent except for the spray of the stream from above, and a slight breeze blows from the North end of the cave.

For establishing peaceful contact with a nearby faction, and negotiating a mutually beneficial agreement, Gorthalon is awarded 500xp.

I know, it doesn't seem like much when Gort already has such a high ECL :smallbiggrin: but my calculations say he gets it.

Btw if you ever get suspicious about a character, you're free to roll for sense motive and the like. It's hard to say something like that without making the player instantly paranoid, but I thought I'd mention it.

[Prehysterical]

Oh, I'm suspicious, but Gort's Sense Motive is pretty bad. Besides, he's young and not used to people. It's not too out-of-the-question that he is a bad judge of character.
Moving to the other side of the pool and claiming the bundle, Gort makes his way back to Windypeake. If Saben has not yet returned, or is unwilling to converse, Gort will begin analyzing the trade agreement for the exact terms. Let's see just how honest they are...

[fyleisch]

When Gorthalon returns to the cave at Windypeake, he finds Saben sitting on a rock inside, holding the silver crown from Gort's horde, looking it over carefully and running his fingers over the beaten surface. When the dragon enters, he places the crown back on the ground and stands stiffly.

In sharp contrast with the rags he was wearing at their first meeting, he's now wearing a suit of banded mail, a steel shield is resting against the rock at his feet, and a morningstar is hanging from a hook at his belt. He clears his throat, but waits to be addressed as Gort examines the fengari package.

The leather bundle contains two vellum folders. One folder contains documents relating to the trade of raw materials - lumber, iron bars, and smaller amounts of more obscure minerals. The other contains details about the standard supplies the fengari need, and what they're willing to pay. It seems they're looking for shipments of food, tools, mining supplies, tents, bedrolls and barrels. Everything you'd expect to be in demand in a small, resource-starved settlement. The pack also contains orders for considerable amounts of weapons and armor.

Both proposals seem generous, with the fengari offering double the usual asking price for the resources and equipment.

Saben seems initially interested in what Gorthalon is doing, but by the time the dragon finishes perusing the documents the man is sorting through a backpack at his feet.

[Prehysterical]

Looking up from the documents, draconic eyes glinting with greed, Gort sees Saben and says, "My apologies for ignoring you, Saben. I was merely inspecting a possible trade agreement from negotiations held earlier this afternoon. Let me know if you need any money to pay for that equipment or any food that you need. I despise debt," he growls.

Setting down the documents on top of the satchel, Gorthalon continues, "And let me be clear on one thing: that crown is the one thing that I was able to escape with when I fled my clutch. I will part with every single coin beneath it before I even consider losing it.

Now, on to business. You say that you have a line of credit in the village. Do you think that you could arrange for some materials to be brought to prearranged drop-off points?" He taps the trade agreements with one claw in emphasis.

[fyleisch]

Saben jumps slightly, looking up from the backpack. He pauses a moment, as if thinking.

"I wasn't going to take the crown, it merely interested me. I saw one just like it in a painting, in the tavern in Meath," he says, clearly embarassed.

"The equipment I'm wearing is part of what I sold to Meath's trader when I gave up my, uh, previous profession. He paid me in coin and credit, and he owes me gold still, despite charging twice for my armor what he first paid me. In the old days I'd have... I'd..."

The old man grimaces and stands, making his way over to the documents, lifting and reading each of the parchment sheets in turn.

"What I'm owed might cover one of the shipments in here, but it looks like whoever wrote these up is willing to pay for themselves, and generously! I can speak to the trader in Meath, see what he has to say."

Saben sits back down on his rock, reading through the files.

"Gorthalon, where did you get these? There isn't another town within thirty miles of Meath, and they all have their own trade contacts."

[Prehysterical]

Gorthalon briefly debates whether or not to tell him. On the one claw, he had promised to keep the Fengari a secret. On the other, however, Saben was his servant and needed to be in-the-loop in order to properly execute his duties. I'll just have him swear to secrecy. His word is mine, after all. Out loud, Gort replies, "The Fengari Parliament has offered me a percentage to organize trade between Meath and them. You are not to tell the villagers of the final recipients. Simply tell them that your new master has need of various materials.

While I have your attention: what do you know of the druid Windy?" It was time to do some fact-checking.

[fyleisch]

The man nods as if he understands.

"The human towns are forbidden from trading with the local elves, especially weapons. I understand why this 'Fengari' tribe want to keep their anonymity.

It would be best if we posed as a Northern merchant moving into the area, someone prospecting for resources in the hills. We'll need a name for this phantom merchant, or I can come up with one up if you like."

Saben folds the papers away into their leather wrapping and places it on the rock at his side.

"What was that name? Windy? He was some kind of folk hero, the minstrel in Meath has a song about him. He destroyed some great evil or other. Romanticised rubbish.

That's all I know. Where I grew up in the North, foreign history never seemed very relevant. Wait, he's not involved in this is he? He should be decades dead by now!"

[Prehysterical]

Gorthalon does not bother to correct Saben's assumption about the Fengari. It would probably be best, for now, if he continued to believe such a thing. Besides, it wasn't technically a lie to not correct him. When it comes to the manner of the "phantom merchant", however, Gorthalon raises a claw. "I will not operate under a false identity. What history that I do know tells me that such a move always come back to bite you in the tail. Tell them that your master has recently moved into the area and wishes to mine riches for himself. You can tell them my name, but only tell them my species if they ask. I will tell the truth, but we do not have to tell the whole truth.

The druid is not involved. I simply heard that he used to live in this very cave... You said that you lived up in the North. So did I, before I came here." A chuckle escapes him. "Perhaps saying that I am a merchant from the North would not be a lie after all. Where did you come from?"

[fyleisch]

"Windy used to live here? So this place has housed a hero, a villain, and a dragon."

He looks around the dingy cave, bemused.

"I'm not surprised we came from the same direction, half the world is North of here. My temple was near Barrowhill, a village in the Esterfay Duchy about forty miles North. I ran South when I broke with Nerull, and kept running until I found a place where nobody had heard of me. Hold on, that reminds me, I had the trader copy me out a map of the area - they call the region 'Fieldy'. I don't know how much use one of your kind has for a map, when you can see the real thing from above the sky, but it might be useful for planning."

He removes a roll of parchment from his bag and rolls it out on the rock by the documents. It's covered with a basic, but slightly more detailed map (http://i.imgur.com/dlAWlmG.png) of the surrounding towns.

"So, I can truthfully tell them I'm working for a Northern lord. I never heard of a living dragon in all my travels, you must have come from further afield than me, Gorthalon. Further North still?"


Note about the world:
The known world stretches from a mountainous desert in the far North, to a frozen arctic region in South, with highlands, plains and lowlands in between.

I thought Gorthalon's origins would be in a Northern desert since that's the natural environment of a blue dragon, but most of the world outside of Fieldy is unwritten, so anything Gorthalon remembers about his homeland can be canon in the setting.

[Prehysterical]

Gort takes a quick look at the map, committing it to memory, before putting it down to respond, "I come from the Far North, where the desert meets the mountains. I never learned what the people called it. To us, it was simply ours.

I was the last to hatch in my clutch, the youngest of several siblings." Gort's tone becomes bitter. "The 'runt', they called me. Last to get a meal or any sort of treasure brought home. Very rarely saw my mother and never my father. It always seemed like she was always away, doing something else, and we were just a chore that she had to take care of. Left us alone most of the time, which I quickly learned to spend staying out of my siblings' way and reading." Now Gort's head lowers a little as a different memory comes to mind. "That's how it was, until Helga Halfcask and her band of dwarven savages found our home. I didn't like my siblings, but... They didn't deserve to be slaughtered so. The dwarves laughed as they cut them down, and I was too scared to fight, myself." Righteous anger causes him to emit a subtle smell of ozone and his eyes spark blue as he continues, "I saw the greed in their eyes, as bright as any dragon's. I knew that I couldn't stay or risk dying. So I took the one thing that I could and flew as far as my wings could carry me. And that's how you are now stuck serving a dragon." A hint of amusement enters Gort's voice. Looking down at the crown, a thought enters his mind.

"Is there any way that I could see this painting that you spoke of? The one in the tavern? I obviously can't just fly in and buy an ale. If the painting does indeed contain this crown, it might be worth more than I thought."

[fyleisch]

"That's a sad tale," Saben says, looking at his feet. "I never liked dwarves too much myself, so hard to... I mean-" he coughs awkwardly. "So. You want to see the painting? I suppose I could try to buy it, or steal it I suppose, though I'd make a terrible thief. We might try sneaking in late at night. It's such a small settlement the bartender only bothers locking up half the time."

"If I hadn't lost favor with Nerull, I could have rendered you invisible, we could have just walked in."

The old man clenches his fists, almost imperceptibly.

[Prehysterical]

The young dragon takes note of the tremble and snorts crossly. "You chose to break with Nerull. Now you have to decide which has more value to you: power or principles."

Gorthalon taps his chin thoughtfully with a claw. "Sneaking in at night has merit. I don't condone theft, for obvious reasons, but there's nothing wrong with sneaking a peek while the owner sleeps. Besides, I have no desire to pay coin just to look at something. You should get some rest. I want this done tonight." As Saben rises, however, Gort stops him with an impulsive question. "If you had all this gold stashed away, why did you dress yourself so poorly? Why stay in this cave and not in some form of house?"

[fyleisch]

"I don't think I have enough skill with words to explain to you, a proud dragon, what it is to regret how you've spent your life, and hate yourself for it. When I ran here, I knew that I deserved no better than simple clothes, that I was unfit to live among decent people - people I used to think of as useless fools, but were more noble than I was all along."

"Besides, they didn't start out as rags! That used to be a decent robe, but when you don't get company you let these things slip."

The old man scratches the back of his neck.

"And as for that decision... To be welcomed by a new deity, a fallen cleric usually has to complete a ritual quest for a cleric of the order he's joining. Upon succeeding, the welcoming god grants him their atonement, and he gains their grace. It's uncommon, but there are accommodations for it in every faith's doctrine."

"As one of the draconic gods' favored, it's within your purview to assign such a quest. I don't expect it by any means, or deserve it, but it would make me more useful."

[Prehysterical]

Gorthalon refrains from telling Saben that even dragons have their own priests. He stops and considers for a moment before asking seriously, "Which are you more concerned with: mercy... or justice?"
If possible, later on down the line, I'd like Saben to take the Dragonkith prestige class as soon as possible."

[fyleisch]

"I've chased what I thought was justice in the past, but now I see it for what it was; revenge at best, but most often just an excuse to cause suffering, and feel justified while doing it. Today? I'll take mercy."

Saben looks around at the cold cave.

"I know you suggested rest, but I won't be able to sleep. The older I get it seems the lest sleep I need anyway."

Definitely! I think dracolyte would make better use of his cleric levels, and he'll qualify for it sooner (level 5 vs level 8), but if you want to him to be a dracokith you could push him for it. Of course there are always other followers to be found and recruited, who might be more suited to it.

[Prehysterical]

I originally was looking at dracolyte, in fact, but I have two major problems:

5th level is essentially another blank level (he's already got a dragon to serve)
The summoning ability at level 10 doesn't make a lot of sense, especially in a setting where dragons are so rare. Unless we can fluff it as Saben somehow summoning the spirits of Gort's dead siblings, we might need to replace it with something else.


"If it is mercy that you seek, then pray to the Silver Lady, Tamara. Even us chromatic dragons respect her compassion and healing. She is also an enemy to the undead, so if you wish to leave that past behind you, that would be a worthy first step."

Getting up, Gorthalon starts moving to the entrance. "Unless you have any other questions, I'd going to do a little exploring before nightfall. See this 'Skyring Hill' that the map was talking about."

[fyleisch]

Saben nods, and apparently takes Gorthalon's suggestion as a literal instruction. Moving to sit cross-legged on the floor, he begins praying in silence.

Outside, the wind has picked up, and the sun begins its descent towards dusk.

Agreed the foster dragon doesn't make sense in the context. I'm sure we could think of something that makes sense to replace it with, if Saben takes that route.

[Prehysterical]

If he was capable of it, Gort would have shrugged. If the man wanted to start right away, then good for him. In the meantime, there was still more of the area to explore.

Flapping his wings, Gort takes off and heads toward Skyring Hill.

[fyleisch]

As Gorthalon approaches the hill North of Windypeake, he immediately notices the ring of standing stones that must give it its name. Perched near the summit, the stones are rough obelisks around eight feet tall, made of local stone. Although the structure is clearly artificial, from the air the obelisks don't look carved; their surfaces are rippled and uneven, as if they were poured into shape.

As Gorthalon swoops closer, he notices a surprising lack of wildlife on the hill. His senses extend for more than half a hundred feet in every direction, but as far as he can tell the long grass hides no birds, no rabbits. Even the otherwise ever-present goats are missing from the hillside.

The only features of note on the hill are the stone circle itself, and a small stream.

http://i.imgur.com/8bMdJ0h.png

[Prehysterical]

This seems ominous... But the dragon's natural curiosity overcomes his innate sense of caution. He gently lands in the center of the ring, looking for some clue.

[fyleisch]

As Gorthalon flies lower, closing within a few feet of the ring, he's struck by a sudden and inexplicable feeling of blind terror, focused on the standing stones.

Can Gorthalon make a will save? If he can beat a DC of 21 then he will land at the center of the circle.

If not then he will become panicked by the sight of it, and forced to flee.

[Prehysterical]

[roll0]

Gorthalon is very surprised by the sudden assault of emotion. Any sort of analysis, however, is overrode by the need to fly back to his nest as fast as dragonly possible. He lands back in the cave, heaving breath through his lungs as he tries to recover. "Those- Those stones... What are they?"

[fyleisch]

"Stones?" Saben looks up. It seems he's finished praying, and is half way through eating a hunk of cheese. "What stones?"

[Prehysterical]

Now that he is out of the stones' vicinity, Gort takes a deep breath before continuing calmly, "There are strange black stones -like monoliths- that stand in a ring on Skyring Hill. I saw that there were animals or trees anywhere near them, but whenever I tried to land in the middle of them, I felt this sudden urge to flee." He shudders. "Powerful magic at work, there. And surely not without purpose."

Taking a moment to compose himself, Gort asks, "Finish your cheese and let's get moving. I know it will take you some time to walk down the mountain path, so we should get to the tavern at just about the right time."

[fyleisch]

Saben wraps the cheese in a sheet of wax paper and stuffs it back into his backpack.

"Sounds like some kind of magical trap," he says, pulling on his backpack and making his way out of the cave. "But if it's worth protecting, there might be something valuable up there."


* * *

Saben does indeed take some time to walk to the village. He's obviously trying to move quickly, but he tires after a couple of hours, and by the time the pair reach the town it's nearing midnight. As they near the town, Saben pours water from a flask over the burning stub of his torch, and they move the rest of the way in silence, guided through the moonless night by Gorthalon's superior senses.

The town turns out to be little more than a hamlet - a handful of dry-stone houses huddle in a circle, each one housing an entire family and its animals. At one side of the town several of the homes have been converted into working buildings; a trader's shop, and a basic tavern. Two buildings stand out as being better constructed than the rest - a tall two-storey house, and a lonely watchtower, both standing together at the far edge of the hamlet.

Despite the late hour, a low light still burns behind the tavern's shuttered window.

"That'll be Fark. Nobody in a town this small stays up much past midnight, he'll be heading upstairs to the loft soon enough. When the light goes out, we'll try the door, and if he's locked it, I can unlatch the window shutters from the outside with a knife."

Saben crouches down in the shadows beyond the hamlet to wait, and pats the dagger at his belt as if to reassure himself that it's there. The pair wait in the darkness for several minutes, and Saben uses the time to shuck out of his noisy armor, laying his shield on top of it in a tuft of long grass.

After a few more minutes, the light in the tavern goes out, and Saben gestures in the darkness for Gorthalon to lead the way.


http://i.imgur.com/psaWRVB.png

[Prehysterical]

"Or perhaps something that should stay buried."
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ ~~~~~~~~~
[roll0]
This place was, indeed, not much. But, if he stayed in the area and sent some gold flowing into its coffers, perhaps it might grow into something respectable.

But that was later. For now, it was time to focus on getting inside... and not waking the neighbors. Gort moves in toward the tavern, keeping an eye and ear out for anything suspicious.
Listen: [roll1]
Spot: [roll2]

[fyleisch]

Gorthalon, used to soaring swiftly through the skies, has never had much for stealth. As he walks noisily towards the tavern, he hears a faint and distant voice on the wind, a woman's voice, coming from the direction of the watchtower. He can also hear loud and raucous voices in the longhouse off to his right, though the distance blends the voices into an incomprehensible murmur.

Saben, only marginally quieter than the dragon, walks behind. When the pair reach the building Saben had marked as the tavern, the old man pushes ahead, feeling blindly for the door frame. Gorthalon watches, his vision crisp in shades of black and white, as Saben finally seizes on the door handle and tries it.

The handle clicks, and the door swings open silently. The old man shuffles backwards and gestures Gorthalon into the tavern, though in the darkness his gestures are actually directed towards the wall. Having opened the door, the cleric begins searching through his pockets.

Please can I have a separate Move Silently and Spot check on entering the tavern.

[Prehysterical]

Move Silently: [roll0]
Spot: [roll1]
They were nowhere near ghosts in the night, but things seemed to be going well so far. Walking cautiously inside, Gort whispers, "Hold onto my tail if you need to. Don't want you tripping on anything."

[fyleisch]

The old man's face adopts a horrified expression at Gort's suggestion. It seems that while he's willing to work and travel with a dragon, he still has qualms about laying hands on one.

"No need!" he whispers, closing the tavern door behind them. Gorthalon hears a quiet snapping sound, and a weak flame flickers into life at the tip of a candle held in Saben's hand. The faint candlelight bathes the room in color, and as he turns to survey the room Gorthalon senses the presence of a small creature lying still beneath a cabinet in the corner; a housecat perhaps, or a rat.

The interior of the building is made up of one large room, cheaply furnished, with a bar at one end and several battered tables and chairs scattered around. In one corner, a ladder leans against the wall, leading up to a closed wooden hatch. Two of the stone walls are decorated with a variety of mismatched images; paintings, wood burnings, and tapestries that each look like they could have been taken from a different culture. From left to right, Gorthalon glances at each.

One image is a wood burning, depicting a bald, emaciated figure, dressed in ornate robes and holding a short black rod.

The second is a painting of an elf woman, standing in a forest and holding a bow.

The third is a painted portrait of a king, replete in white and black silks and wearing a silver crown with the image of a dragon's eye engraved at its center.

The fourth and fifth are crude paintings, one of a sunset with a river in the foreground, and the other of an elderly halfling woman with her graying hair in a bun.

The sixth is a coarse tapestry. It depicts what Gorthalon recognizes to be a rough map of the region, though the fabric seems very old.

As well as the decorations, shelves around the edge of the room hold a collection of knick-kancks; jugs, mugs, decorative plates and the like.

[Prehysterical]

All of the art on display is curious, but Gort focuses on the painting with the king. He creeps forward, intending to get a closer look. Perhaps there will be some clue.
Move Silently: [roll0]
Listen: [roll1]
Spot: [roll2]

Knowledge (nobility): [roll3]
Knowledge (history): [roll4]

[fyleisch]

Gorthalon moves over to the painting and examines it carefully, noticing every detail. Several minor details in the painting's background prick at his memory: the open pool at the center of the throne room, the black silk sheet that covers the throne, and the skull motif that decorates the wall hangings behind it.

Pieced together, the distinctive elements dredge up a memory from Gort's study of history. He recognizes the man as Niadhogr Blackheart - a powerful king who ruled a vast Southern territory almost half a millennium ago. He recalls that the kingdom began to decline several centuries ago, and Blackheart vanished leaving no heirs. Today Niadhogr's kingdom is known most often as a myth or child's tale, and only a historian could even mark its borders on a modern map.

After the closer inspection, he also notices that the crown worn by the king in the picture isn't completely identical to his own. As depicted, the king's crown is slightly damaged, missing the tip of one of the silver tines that stretch upward from its hoop. Everything else in the painting is so richly appointed, the damage to the crown looks oddly out of place.

As Gort inspects the painting, he senses movement from the presence in the corner. A ginger housecat crawls out from beneath the cabinet. It seems initially surprised to see Saben and the dragon, but quickly assumes an air of feline nonchalance, walking over to sniff at the old man.

[Prehysterical]

The painting does possess some value, but Gorthalon has already seen everything that he needs to know. Turning, he whispers to Saben, "It's not the same crown. Let's get back to Windypeake."
Move Silently: [roll0]

Spot: [roll1]
Listen: [roll2]

[fyleisch]

The old man stands from where he was resting by the bar's water barrel and brings his candle over to examine the painting himself.

"It looks the same to me," he says, peering intently through the gloom. "Silver, and the same shape, even has the same eye engraved on the front."

He sees Gorthalon moving towards the door and follows after, moving quickly ahead to unlatch it for the dragon. He blows out his candle and pulls the door open a crack, before peering out.

"All clear," he whispers, stepping outside.

The pair make their way back to the spot where Saben had stashed his shield and armor, and once they're far enough from the hamlet to safely hold a conversation, Saben pauses, turning to Gorthalon.

"I think it would be better if I stayed here for the night, Gorthalon. There are always spare bunks in the fishers' barracks, and I'll need to speak with the trader tomorrow in any event. I'd rather not make that trip three times in a row if I can avoid it." He sighs, suddenly looking very, very tired. "There's a hidden dip, about two miles from here towards the mountain. If you can bring your documents to me there at mid-morning, I'll deliver them, and get this trade agreement started."

[Prehysterical]

"Then who repaired the crown, then," Gorthalon offers in counterpoint. "It may be a different crown made by the same person. Perhaps it was made for a son who never came to be or something.

In any case, you're right about staying here. You get some sleep and I'll meet you in the morning with the documents. If you can, talk to the bard and see what you can find out about King Blackheart and his crown." Gort flies off into the night, heading for home. I suppose that I'd better sleep, too. Need to get a set time for sleeping, or my schedule will be all over the place.

[fyleisch]

Gorthalon arrives back at the cave, finding it undisturbed.

Dragons never have trouble sleeping, especially upon a bed of gold, and Gorthalon gets some of the best rest he's had since he left his Northern home. The light of the dawn wakes him, filtering weakly through the mouth of the cave, and through the cool morning air he can hear the bleating of goats outside.

If Gorthalon leaves the cave, please can he make a spot check.

[Prehysterical]

Stretching like a cat, Gort is happy to let the sun's golden light and warmth play across his scales. The bleating of goats outside is enough to consider grabbing an early breakfast. Gort steps outside, looking for the goats.
[roll0]

[fyleisch]

Gorthalon sees three of the wandering meals nearby. They still seem to be half asleep, dumbly plucking at clumps of grass, and don't react to the dragon's presence.

[Prehysterical]

Once he pounced, the goats would probably no longer trust this part of the mountain to be safe. Still, might as well take advantage.

Getting low to the ground, Gorthalon pounces after the closest goat. Soon, teeth and claws rip and tear.

((Not going to roll for breakfast :smallwink:))

[fyleisch]

The nearby wildlife take fright at the vicious attack and start away, the goats hopping nimbly down over grass and steep rocks.

:P The surrounding hills have enough native wildlife to keep a Juvenile or younger dragon fully fed, and this counts as securing food for the purposes of choosing to take a retirement period - i.e. a time skip of 0.5+ years that will let Gorthalon age and the world develop.

Having established reliable hunting, we can take the biological basics as read, unless something disrupts Gorthalon's food source.

[Prehysterical]

:smallannoyed:
Missing such an easy meal puts Gort in a bad mood. The thought of the impending trade agreement, however, is enough to brighten a sore spot in his day. Going back inside, Gort gather the papers and makes his way to the rendezvous point. He can almost taste the gold and silver flowing in.

[fyleisch]

I didn't mean to apply a dragon was eluded by a goat :smallbiggrin: I meant that the other breakfasts took fright at seeing their friend go down and ran. The day when dragon vs. goat isn't a sure thing will be a dark day in d&d.

The package of documents is sitting where Saben left it the previous night, bound in its waterproof wrapping and tied with the leather carrying-thongs. Gorthalon's meal had taken only minutes, but the sun rises late in winter, and mid-morning is fast approaching.

[Prehysterical]

On the wing, Gorthalon makes sure that the satchel is secure before flying up and away. Although he does need to get to the meeting place soon, Gort indulges himself with a rollover here and a loop-de-loop there as he enjoys the sunshine.

[fyleisch]

Gorthalon's aerial acrobatics are as graceful any blue dragon can hope to be, making turns and maneuvers that only a wyrmling can manage. In only a few short months of growth, displays like this might be beyond him.

The trip towards the hamlet is much faster by wing than at Saben's plodding pace, and a low rise immediately beyond the old cleric's meeting place will screen him from view of the small village should he approach by air.

From Gorthalon's side of the rise and from the air, the cleric is visible even at a great distance - his recently reclaimed armor glinting in the sun. The old man must be confident that none of the villagers will be nearby, as he's making no attempt to hide his presence.

[Prehysterical]

Swooping down and landing close, Gorthalon walks up to the cleric. "Well? How did it go?"

[fyleisch]

"The fishers let me sleep in the barracks, even gave me breakfast, they're a sturdy lot."
The breeze picks up behind Saben, and Gorthalon notices the man has a faint odor of boiled eel.

I tracked down the minstrel at home, he thought it odd that I turned up asking questions so early, but he knew a little about that king. Actually, he knew a song, but I won't repeat it here.

Saben reaches into the folds of the clean robe beneath his armor and pulls out a sheet of paper, scanning it quickly, before turning back to the dragon.

King Niadhogr was known to be a cruel tyrant, a brilliant general, and a remorseless torturer. He had a famous hunger for wealth; gold, precious gems, magical items, and wasn't above stealing to get it. He built his capital at the site of present day Fieldepth - that's the big city to the West, but he spent a lot of his time in a private residence on the banks of a lake in the swamps Southwest of here.

I asked about the crown, but Will didn't know much about it, only that he was supposed to have worn it constantly, even while asleep. Though that sounds more like myth than history to me."

[Prehysterical]

It wasn't a lot, but it was a start. As Gorthalon looks at the paper, he asks, "What about the trader? Is he eager, or did he show signs of suspicion?"

[fyleisch]

"I was waiting until I had the documents to show him. Are those them back there?"

"I'll go straight to meet him once I have them. I expect it to take a while to work out the details, a few hours at least.
It would be best if I met you back up at the cave tonight to report in."

[Prehysterical]

Gort shakes his head at his own absent-mindedness. He was so excited about this deal that he had completely forgotten that he was the one with the documents!

Handing the satchel over to Saben, "Sounds like a plan. Take as much time as you need to get this done."

Without another word, Gort flies back to his lair to sit on his gold and plot his next move. Where should I go next, I wonder? Check out the forest in the southeast? The swamps to the southwest? Perhaps these wandering elves that everyone is talking about?

[fyleisch]

Saben picks up the leather-wrapped pack of contracts, maps and lists and heads back towards the settlement.


It takes Gorthalon a little over half an hour to make it back to his home on Windypeake. As he approaches the entrance, he senses a presence moving slowly around inside his home, and on entering, he sees a human, dressed in the clothing of a hunter; green wool, leather, and high boots, with a strung longbow hanging over one shoulder, and a morningstar clipped to his belt.

The man scowls, seeming alarmed, but not surprised.

He stares at the dragon, apparently waiting for it to make the first move, with one hand resting lightly on his morning star, and the other sitting casually in his pocket.

We're approaching a point where Gorthalon might acquire another follower. The race would be fixed, and the available classes would be limited, but do you want to put the character sheet together yourself, or would you prefer it if Gorthalon was handed the follower fully formed?

[Prehysterical]

That depends.

If he is a caster, then I would prefer him pre-packaged. If not, I would happy to write the stuff myself.
Gorthalon stares levelly. "So... This is the part where I ask what are you doing in my home. Now, are you going to explain yourself like a civilized being, or are you going to start swinging that mace of yours like a maniac?"

[fyleisch]

"I'm a hunter, name of Geon. I was hunting the goats up here when I noticed this cave - thought it might make a good hunting camp. When I came in," he takes his hand from his morningstar to gesture around the room, "there was gold everywhere."

The man is wearing a light backpack, but as far as Gort can tell, none of the gold on the ground is missing, and the silver crown is present as well.

"But, I can see this place is occupied. I'll just be on my way."

[Prehysterical]

Gorthalon considers the man carefully, trying to gauge the truth of his words.
[roll0]

[fyleisch]

The local beasts the man claims to have been hunting were scared off by Gorthalon himself only hours ago, and have not yet returned. In addition, he seems to be nervous and unsure of his words, he's clearly lying.

[Prehysterical]

Gorthalon growls angrily. "If you insist on lying to me, this meeting will cease to be civil. I will ask you one more time: what is your purpose here?"

[fyleisch]

The man's expression doesn't change at all, except perhaps a slight tightening of his jaw, as his hand whips from his pocket and launches a small, coin-shaped object at Gorthalon's feet.

The object explodes in a flash of blinding light, as the man launches himself towards the cave entrance.
He seems to be trying to disrupt Gorthalon's vision to aid his escape. He can't know much about dragons, if he thinks that will be much of a handicap.

Please can Gorthalon make a fortitude save of 15, or else be blinded for one round.

As things stand, Gorthalon is at C6, having just entered, and the suspicious hunter is at D5, having just finished a surprise round.

http://i.imgur.com/OrJix2d.png

[Prehysterical]

Needless to say, Gorthalon is surprised by the sudden flash of light.
[roll0]
Roaring in rage as his sight is overwhelmed by whiteness, he crouches down before the cave entrace. If the burglar wants out, he'd have to go past him. And sight or no, Gort's senses would at least allow him to swipe at the intruder before he could get away.
Essentially, Gort is readying a full attack in the event that he is attacked or the guy tries to slip past.

[fyleisch]

Taking his chance while the dragon is blinded, the man launches himself through the narrow gap between Gort and the cave wall, trying to withdraw out onto the mountainside.

He hadn't counted on the dragon's keen senses, and through a combination of scent, sound, and almost supernatural intuition the dragon notices his attempt to flee past, and strikes.

The man does indeed try to move past, triggering Gort's full attack.

Can you provide a 1d100 roll with each attack roll? For this round the hunter is considered to have total concealment and has to beat 50 for an attack to land.

[Prehysterical]

Sensing movement, Gorthalon becomes a flurry of tooth and claw.
Bite
[roll0]
A: [roll1]
D: [roll2]
C: [roll3]
CD: [roll4]

Claw 1
[roll5]
A: [roll6]
D: [roll7]
C: [roll8]
CD: [roll9]

Claw 2
[roll10]
A: [roll11]
D: [roll12]
C: [roll13]
CD: [roll14]

[fyleisch]

Gorthalon feels his jaws close around one of the man's limbs and tear away some flesh, but the hunter staggers out of reach of the dragon's slashing claws, and flees out into the afternoon light.

Mere seconds after the bright flash, Gorthalon finds his vision clearing. Looking out and down the mountainside, he sees the hunter, visibly wounded, around fifty feet away down the slope.

The man seems to be trying to run from the dragon, but not along the path to the town, heading instead for a clump of bushes some way to the left of the path.

[Prehysterical]

Rising into the air and closing on him, Gort shouts, "This would be so much easier if you just surrendered! I don't want to kill you!"

[fyleisch]

The man's pace slows, and he turns to face the oncoming dragon, notching an arrow to his bow and shouting over the breeze.

"What then? You've no cages, no keep. You can't hold me. You have to kill me, or let me go."

The hunter isn't aiming at the dragon, but his bow his held ready, half drawn.

[Prehysterical]

Flapping his wings and landing just out of claw-range, Gort says, "Why do you treat me like an enemy? You came into my home, if I remember correctly. Talk to me and we can stop this savage nonsense.

I've had the opportunity to kill you two or three times over. Humor me and tell me who you are."
I don't think we ever established which Diplomacy rules we are using, so I will leave that up to you. Anyways, have a Diplomacy check:
[roll0]

[fyleisch]

"My name is Geon, I'm a hunter out of Meath, a hunter who found a cave."

He shakes his head, a grim smile appearing on his face, as if Gorthalon's challenge has amused him.

"You're young, dragon. You'll find that 'answer or die' is a bargain often offered, and I wouldn't be here now if I were permitted to take it."

He takes a slow step backwards, as if to withdraw.

[Prehysterical]

Gorthalon growls before finally saying, "Then keep your secrets, 'Geon'. Just know that if I catch you sneaking around here again, I'll fry the hairs off of your head." Lightning plays across Gort's horn in emphasis.

Rising back into the air, Gort flies back and makes an inventory count of everything. Just because it seemed like nothing was stolen didn't mean that that was the case.

[fyleisch]

The man raises his eyebrows at the casual display of elemental power, and runs off in his original direction as Gorthalon flies away.

After performing a full inventory of the cave, Gort finds that all of his gold is accounted for, as well as the silver crown, and the healing symbol he collected on his first night in the region.

The black kris however, the one left behind by Saben, that the dragon had so carefully hidden away, is missing.

BTW, it didn't matter for that roll, but we'll be using the gitp diplomacy fix going forward, because it's sane.

If Gorthalon decides to leave his cave in the next four hours or so, please can he make a spot check?

[Prehysterical]

Once he has determined that the black kris is missing, Gort growls in his throat. Saben would not be very happy if he learned that it had been stolen on his watch. This was technically his hoard too, after all. Gort resolves to fly after the offending man. What he was going to do with him, however, depended on various factors.

Taking the healing symbol as a precautionary measure, Gort flies off in the direction of the man.
[roll0]

[fyleisch]

Despite the passage of less than two minutes, the hunter is nowhere in sight. The mountainside is dotted with rocks, patches of long grass, and hidden dips. It's not inconceivable that the man is still out there, hiding out of sight.

With nothing better to go on, the dragon's pursuit takes him to the place he last saw the hunter, some eighty feet from the cave mouth. There is still no sign of the man, but when he was fleeing he was headed in a very specific direction, on a tangent to the path.

[Prehysterical]

Trying to remember the line as best he can, Gort follows. He keeps a draconic eye open for any clues to the man's path.
Survival: [roll0]
Spot: [roll1]

[fyleisch]

Gorthalon moves slowly in the direction he remembered seeing the hunter run, and while many parts of the mountainside are bare earth and stony ground, there are enough patches of long grass for Gorthalon to note the deep impressions made by the recent passage of a trampling creature.

At one point the trail seems to disappear, but after circling the area he picks it up again, veering sharply away to the left, as if the hunter had changed direction mid-way through his escape.

After a few dozen more yards of following the trail, Gorthalon senses a distant presence, 60 feet away, though he's still unable to see anyone. Picking carefully closer, he's able to discern voices - two of them, despite only sensing one creature - engaged in conversation.

"-sure it's Gricker?" a woman asks, her voice rich and refined, but oddly tinny.

"No doubt, not any more," the voice of the hunter replies. "I have the Blade of Broken Barrow in my hand."

"Hard to believe the broken man from your report was Gricker. And you think he's active again?"

"I heard him buying back his old equipment, that's why I followed him, but there's no dark temple up here. It's something else."

"A spectre? A vampire?"

"A dragon."

"... DRACOLICH!?"

"Heh. No, just a blue wyrmling."

"I... I see. Well, that's bad enough. You think he's controlling it somehow?"

With the voices and his innate senses to pinpoint the hunter's location, Gorthalon manages to make out the outline of a well-disguised hide sitting on the mountainside forty feet distant; a dusty gray blanket woven with grass from the mountainside and draped over a frame. Difficult to see from above, but noticeably out of place from up close on the ground.

The hunter sounds distracted by his conversation for now, but if at any point he looks up through the loose knit of the hide, he's sure to see the dragon.

[Prehysterical]

Well... This is interesting.

Flying overheard to settle on higher ground, Gort keeps an ear open for further conversation.
Listen: [roll0]
Move Silently: [roll1]

[fyleisch]

Gorthalon finds a large rock jutting out from the mountainside and lands on it. The rock is close enough to listen in, and provides some amount of cover from being casually observed.

"-ifference in power, there's more chance it's the other way around," the hunter finishes.

The woman's voice pauses for a few seconds, as if thinking.

"This situation could get complicated quickly. I'm dispatching a team of specialists by river, they'll be with you in a few days. I want you to report to them when they arrive and help them however you can."

"Aye. I'll head back to Meath and tell the Guard what's going on, put them on alert."

"No! You know how loose lipped soldiers are, that far out. This is a political nightmare waiting to happen. I want you to keep an eye on Gricker, and the dragon. Will that be a problem?"

"I've been hid outside his cave all morning. I thought he'd seen me earlier when he started putting on a display, but it turned out he was just having a bit of a fly around, for the fun of it like. I can watch him til nightfall then go back down and play friendly with Gricker. He slips up sometimes, when he's in his cups."

"You've got a stronger stomach than I thought, if you can drink with that man. I'll contact you again tomorrow, noon. Don't get sloppy, Geon. Your sleepy backwater just turned up a necromancer, and a dragon. It's time for you to show us how wrong we were about you."

"'ere it falls, Commander."

The conversation ends, the mountainside is silent except for the wind, and then the sound of someone sharpening a blade starts to come from the hide.

[Prehysterical]

Grinning cheekily, Gort says loudly, "So, you really are Geon. Tell me, how does a hunter come by such advanced magic? Meath is barely large enough for an inn.

You can stay in that hidey-hole, if such is your wish, but I have so many questions. And you sound like a man with connections. Answering my questions is the least that you can do, considering that you stole from me."

[fyleisch]

The sound of sharpening stops, abruptly.

No further sounds or movements come from the hide. It seems he's taking the dragon up on it's offer to let him stay in his hiding spot.

[Prehysterical]

Soon, Gort starts launching a barrage of questions.

"Who is your commander?

What is the Blade of Broken Barrow? I know that it is a tool of Nerull, but Saben never told me what it actually does.

Speaking of which, why do you call him 'Gricker'? Is that his real name?

Who are these specialists that she referred to? Am I to be expecting dragonhunters showing up on my doorstep?"

[fyleisch]

The hunter kicks the hide away from the inside, standing up, with the black kris in his left hand, and a more conventional dagger clutched in his right, held as if ready to throw.

"The Blade of Broken Barrow is a powerful magical tool, it can kill you, instantly, from hundreds of feet away. All I've got to do is... say the magic word! So stay back!" he waves the black kris menacingly, backing slowly away, glancing behind himself only occasionally as to not trip.

"And Gricker?" he yells. "You don't even know who he is do you. He never strayed down into Fieldy, but any commoner can tell you the stories, even this far South, death and worse. You want my advice - don't listen to him. Just stay put in your cave until our peaceful envoy comes to make contact."

Geon begins picking up his pace down the mountainside, now only glancing back to watch for pursuit.

[Prehysterical]

Gorthalon growls, now incensed at the man's sheer gall. "Like I should trust a single word you say! You are fast becoming an enemy, Geon! If you try to corner me, I will fight back! Now, this is your last chance. Tell the truth, or I will kill you." Gorthalon gets ready to pounce. "I did not survive the slaughter of my brothers and sisters to be hunted down and butchered like a rabid animal!"
As a Small creature, Gort takes a -4 penalty
[roll0]

[fyleisch]

"I will kill you"

The man stops, as if struck. He lets his steel dagger fall to the ground and turns to face the dragon, taking the black kris in a throwing grip.

"If it'll save my life, I can tell you this much. The specialists won't be coming here to kill you, not outright. They're coming to deal with you. You'll be the one who decides what that means. That's the only question I'll answer. If you want more, you'll have to try and pick them from my bones."

"Well, Dragon, did it buy my life!?"

Edit: I think we should ignore the size penalty to intimidate for this and all future intimidate rolls, because... dragon. Unfortunately this one still didn't succeed.

[Prehysterical]

Gorthalon hops off of the rock and prowls toward the man. "I am not 'Dragon'. I have a name, just like you, and it is Gorthalon.

I'm not running away, again. I've been driven from my home once and that shall not happen twice."

He sighs. "This is ridiculous. Perhaps I am speaking with the wrong person. You will making your report to the Commander tomorrow at noon. I wish to speak with her and perhaps avoid whatever nastiness she has planned for me.

And as for Saben... er, Gricker, stop. The man ran away from Nerull's cult and is on a personal redemption quest. I have sent him Tamara's way, but whether the Silver Lady of Mercy will take him is anyone's guess. What I do know is that the Blade is not mine to give or throw away."

Suddenly, Gorthalon stops. He ventures, "You... don't want to kill me either, do you? It's not like you haven't had your chance to hurt me. Hells, you could have killed me while I slept. So why do you insist on this charade? Are you that truly afraid of me?"
Diplomacy: [roll0]
Sense Motive: [roll1]

[fyleisch]

The hunter grimaces and lets his head slump to the side. Sensing that perhaps the threat of death has passed, he seems to relax slightly.

"Giving the commander a chance to talk to you isn't a bad idea. She's got more authority to give answers than me."

"The barrow blade has to stay with me though - that, or we destroy it here. If I just gave it back, I'd have a worse death than you're offering waiting for me, and the souls of all its future victims to keep me company afterwards."

[Prehysterical]

"Oh, come now, you don't think it's really that easy, do you? Surely Gricker would have destroyed the blade if it was in his power to do so. He knows what power it contains.

In the meantime, we can go back to my lair. There, you can fulfill your orders by observing me and I can treat you as my guest. I will even let you keep hold of the blade. Trust has to run both ways, hunter. I want to hear Gricker's side of the story." Gorthalon's tone tells that he is not asking. "I also have an amulet to heal that bite that I inflicted on you."

[fyleisch]

"Fine. A prisoner then."

He crouches down, picking up the dropped steel dagger and slipping it into his belt pouch alongside the black kris as subtly he can manage, then begins marching back towards the cave.

[Prehysterical]

Once they get back to the cave, Gorthalon fishes out his holy symbol and uses its magic to heal Geon's wound. "Found this, along with an arm, in the belly of a bear. Did you happen to know any priests of Pelor in the village?

Now, you are my prisoner, but that does not mean that I cannot treat you like a guest. Do you need any food? Water?"

[fyleisch]

The man stares distrustfully as the dragon awkwardly hangs the holy symbol against the man's side, light flaring briefly as his wounds close.

"It looks like Seberg's. He had a magic symbol, got stolen by a drifter a little while ago. More interested that you say you found a bear, around here was it? In the hills?"

"Food and water... it depends how long you plan to keep me," he says, glancing around at the bare cave. "I have supplies enough for now. My bedroll and blanket, fire twigs, and spare clothes are all out on the hill by the hide, but you were ready to bite my throat out earlier, can't imagine you care much for my comfort."

He walks to the cave wall near the entrance and slumps down against it. Keeping an eye on the dragon, he pulls the steel dagger from his belt pouch, along with a small pebble, and begins sharpening the blade.

[Prehysterical]

"Well, it wasn't right here. The first time that I met Gricker, he was so terrified that he was running straight from here to the village. A bear waylaid him and the only reason that he didn't wind up dead is because I swooped in and saved him.

As for your supples... If I go to get them, do I have your word that you won't try to run away or sneak out while I'm gone?"

[fyleisch]

"I s'pose that's a good enough explanation why he's working for you, if it's true, but I can tell you this without giving away any state secrets - bears live in the woods."

He tries to keep a firm grip on his expression as he listens to the dragon's question.

"Of course," he says, placing his hand over his heart. "Hunter's honor. I'll stay here while you're gone."

[Prehysterical]

"Good, because you just gave a dragon your word. And once you've made a promise to a dragon, only death can keep you from carrying it out."

Leaving him that little bit to chew on, Gort flies back down the mountain to where the hide was and scours the surrounding area for the man's supplies. Out of curiosity, he also picks through the hide to see if anything is left there.

Once all the items have been recovered, Gorthalon runs back up the mountain to the cave.

[fyleisch]

The campsite at the hide is comprised of a bedroll, the collapsible tent frame that originally supported the hide's concealing blanket, a bedroll on the bare ground, and a large backpack, presumably filled with all of the heavy gear humans need for wilderness survival. There's also a kind of notebook or journal lying on the bedroll, leather-bound and tied closed with a length of waxed cord.

Gathering up the hunter's items and bringing them back to the cave is a tedious process for the dragon. The backpack is the simplest, it's straps making it easy for Gorthalon to get a grip on it, but the bedroll, book, and the hide itself all have to be dragged awkwardly back up the mountain.

When Gorthalon returns to the cave, he finds Geon sitting in the same spot, stretched out, but otherwise not having moved.

"Have any trouble with any of that?" he asks, seeing the dragon dragging the items inside.

[Prehysterical]

Gort waits until he is fully in the cave and can actually speak without tearing fabric before replying. "No, I just can't fly with this much stuff. Not yet, anyway. And don't worry, I didn't look in that journal of yours." Indeed, any attempt to open the book would likely have severed the cord completely.

[fyleisch]

"Heh. I can tell, unless you learned to untie knots with those claws. Anyway, it wouldn't have profited you much if you did."

Geon stands to help pull the rest of his gear into the cave, then spends some time arranging the bedroll against the wall near the entrance, placing the hide over it like a tent, and tossing the loose items inside. When the shelter is assembled he crawls inside. There's the sound of turning pages and scribbling for a few minutes, beyond which he lies quietly.

[Prehysterical]

Now that Geon is settled in, Gorthalon moves to his hoard and lounges as only a dragon can.

He stays around to keep an eye on Geon... and wait for Gricker to get home. There was a lot of questioning to be done.

[fyleisch]

Hours pass, and Geon does little to stir from his hide. He leaves the cave once before nightfall to relieve himself, but returns afterwards - either keeping to his word, or knowing the futility of running. At one point Gorthalon notices the man eating a ration bar from his pack, and he spends some time perusing his journal, but for much of the time he seems to be resting, or sleeping.

An hour after sunset, Gorthalon senses a presence approaching outside the cave. Seconds later, the familiar figure of the cleric appears in the cave entrance, a lantern glowing brightly in his hand.

"Gorthalon, I've dealt with the trader, and I have something to tell you."

He stops speaking when he sees the hide set up inside the cave. Geon shuffles out from the tent and stands, staring impassibly at Saben.

"Hello, Saben."

"Geon?"

The old man looks between Gorthalon and the hunter, confusion apparent on his face.

"Uh, it's good... to see you... What uh, what brings you up here, then? I see you've seen through the uh... the guardian illusion I made for my cave!"

He gestures at the dragon, but the expression on the hunter's face makes it clear that the ludicrous attempt at deception is useless.

[Prehysterical]

Gorthalon growls in disapproval. "You have some explaining to do... Gricker. Now, the three of us are going to sit down and have a nice chat.

First things first: what did you want to tell me? And what do you mean by 'dealt with'? Why does that sound like you killed him?"

[fyleisch]

Saben frowns slightly at the mention of "Gricker", but it's quickly replaced by the same mild smile he was wearing when he entered the cave.

"Hah, I didn't kill him, I dealt with him. He's agreed to the..." he pauses, eyeing Geon. "Gorthalon, why is Geon here? I like him well enough, but I don't think we should talk about this business in front of him."

The hunter folds his arms. "I'm being held against my will by this dragon, and you're a party to it, Saben. Kidnapping is a serious crime. One of many, if I'm right about what this is," he says, drawing the black blade from his belt pouch to show the cleric.

The hunter has a few inches of height on the cleric, and uses all of them to stare down menacingly at the old man, but if Saben is intimidated, he doesn't show it, simply clenching his jaw.

[Prehysterical]

Fixing a glare at Geon, Gorthalon mockingly scathes, "And yet you are apparently innocent of trespassing and thievery? Or does the law only work one way in this land?"

Turning his attention back to Saben, Gort continues, "Geon has been deceiving you. He is a spy for some Commander and has been keeping an eye on both you and me. Tomorrow, at noon, Geon is expected to make his latest report to the Commander. All three of us are going to have a little talk with her.

Like I told you before, 'Saben': there will be no shadow games here. Now, what did you want to tell me?"

[fyleisch]

"He's a spy? But he was always so... oh. All those ghost stories you used to spin, the local legends. You were looking for a reaction, to see if I was involved." Saben shakes his head sadly.

"My news," he takes a suspicious look at Geon. "Gorthalon, I prayed to Tamara as you suggested, but it was another who heard my pleas."

The cleric pauses, and moves towards the hunter, holding his hand out for the kris.
"Drop it, Geon."

The hunter scrunches his eyes closed for a moment, before shaking his head.

"I said drop it!"

Geon just continues to shake his head, replacing the blade in his belt pouch.

Saben sighs and turns back to the dragon.

"This morning after you left, I knelt by the river to pray to Tamara. As I prayed, I saw a vision of a vibrant rainbow - at first I thought it was just the spray from the river, but as I watched, it grew, grew solid, and everything took on the seeming of a dream. I saw a swarm of nine dragons, and a... a something. I heard a voice that almost deafened me, that said something I couldn't understand."

"I believe that the voice was Io, the Ninefold Dragon. I think it means that he's willing to accept me as a worshiper, to live and work in the service of his children. I think I've been granted atonement."

"I feel like I'm ready to walk a new path, the path of a one of Io's warriors? Or one of his clerics? I don't know, I thought you might give me some guidance, since I'm sure only my usefulness to you redeems me."

"He's given you your power back, hasn't he, Gricker!"

"My family name," Saben says, turning to Gorthalon in explanation.
"That was all they knew to call me in the North."

Geon spits on the floor.

"That's not all they called you. 'Ghoul' Gricker, 'Blackhand' Gricker, the Grave Herald - and fully active again. I ought to kill you right here."

Despite his threat, the hunter makes no move for a weapon, not with Gorthalon close by in any case.

[Prehysterical]

Gorthalon shakes his head. "If Io, Father of All Dragons, has seen fit to take him, then you had best stay your judgment, Geon. It is rare for Io to reach out to a mortal, much less one who is not dragonblood.

I'm glad that business went well with the trader, Saben. Now, another question: that thing is called the Blade of Broken Barrow. What is its purpose, Saben?"

[fyleisch]

"You might be pleased that Io has accepted me, Gorthalon, but I'm worried by it. It is almost unprecedented, and I wonder if him taking such measures now should be taken as a warning."

He looks sharply at hunter's belt pouch.

"You've heard it's name then. It's just a little trinket that raises the dead. If you use the blade to pierce a corpse, that body will rise from the dead as a ghoul."

"Ghouls aren't as bad as they sound, they develop a taste for carrion yes, and fangs, but their minds remain intact. The blade can also bind the creation, making it more pliable, easier to control."

"He shouldn't be allowed to keep it," he nods towards Geon, "Especially since we don't know who he works for."

[Prehysterical]

Gorthalon growls dangerously. "It is an artifact of enslavement and a defiance of the natural order of things. I am of a mind to destroy it.

I have allowed Geon to keep it, for now. He trusts us as little as you trust him. I agreed to let him hold onto it in exchange for his cooperation.

Saben, if Io is to accept you into his fold, you must leave behind all connections to Nerull. Including the Blade. Otherwise, all your talk of redemption is empty words and wasted air.

I will protect you, Saben, but I must know that you are truly willing to leave your old life behind. Have I made myself clear?"

[fyleisch]

"I had my reasons for keeping it - not what you think. I don't need the blade to raise the undead. Even without Nerull's dark light, I'm still the product of my life. My tools are my mind and the skill of my hands - those aren't things that can be broken on a rock, and I can't unlearn the tricks I know. All I can do is refrain from using them, and that a soul in Meath still lives shows I've passed that test."

"In many ways the kris is an amateur's tool, a pretender's crutch, but it still has subtle uses - many not inherently wicked - and in may time you might come to wish you had them at your disposal."

"In any event, Geon certainly can't be allowed to leave with it, if we let him leave at all. Destroying it would be preferable to that."

[Prehysterical]

Gorthalon snorts disapprovingly. "If it has other uses, then sell me on them, or I will take you up on that offer to destroy it."

[fyleisch]

"If we're attacked by a necromancer, you might value the ability to subvert his creatures. If there's an outbreak of contagious undead, it might be the only way of handling the head creature's horde! An implacable enemy who won't give up an important secret? A long-dead sage whose knowledge is lost to time? A way to command an unquiet spirit to reveal it's unfinished business - so that it may be laid to rest."

"Necromancy is so very useful, for much more than the wholesale slaughter Nerull demanded. You think the clerics of Wee Jas never summon the dead? Of Boccob? Perhaps now of Io, perhaps not. I'll leave that to your discretion, Gorthalon, but the blade of broken barrows is no more tainted by the deeds of its past owners than any other tool."

Geon stands by watching the exchange. He says nothing, but seems to be taking note of every word.

Apparently tired by his passionate outburst, Saben moves to sit on the rock near the cave entrance, laying down his leather-wrapped document bundle.

[Prehysterical]

Gorthalon considers his words for a short while. Finally, he speaks loudly.

"All things die, even dragons. Some day, I will die and it will be some other's turn. I will not be responsible for the cheating of the cycle, for then Life will have no meaning to me.

This thing is a shortcut to power. Could it be useful? Yes. But it is far more dangerous than its usefulness allows for.

I understand how it is the man and not the tool, but we must also be responsible and give up potential power for stability in the region. Besides, in my admittedly young opinion, it would be far better for you to destroy the blade rather than watch for the cultists of Nerull hunting for it.

Now... How do we go about destroying it?"

[fyleisch]

Saben sags, looking ill.

"Break it on a rock. It's powerfully enchanted, not to mention valuable, but it's just steel. There's no protections on it."

[Prehysterical]

Gorthalon give s a quick laugh. "Saben, I may want to destroy it, but I have a little more respect for the weapon than that.

Geon, place the blade against the wall on the far side of the cavern. Then I suggest that you move quickly."

I was looking at the table the other day and saw that baby dragons don't actually get spells until they are older. Is Gort a special case, or is there something that I am missing?"

[fyleisch]

Geon's mouth twists into an odd expression for a moment, something like a resigned grimace, and walks over to the far side of the cave.

He pulls the black kris from his belt pouch and rests it, tip down, against the cave wall, then backs away quickly.

No, young Gorthalon doesn't have spells yet. Back at the start (http://www.giantitp.com/forums/showsinglepost.php?p=20222278&postcount=1) I laid out some rules for taking time skips, to let Gort grow older, gain HD and maybe some class levels - the "retirement" option is basically spending a few years in Smaug-style relaxation until the chosen amount of time has passed, or he's interrupted. I actually thought this would happen soon after the start of the game :smallbiggrin: but then the dragon started exploring and I went with it.

I was thinking that, in terms of having an empire building game, the retirement periods would let the world develop, and let Gorthalon see what his actions have brought about. That said, I didn't expect the game to be so well RPd, and it seems to have gone in an adventurey direction. If you're bored with the limited range of abilities, we can move away from the retirement mechanic and make it easier for Gort to gain class levels.

Uh, and if you're actually okay with Gort's current abilities and are asking in relation to destroying the blade of broken barrows - it's not actually a magic weapon (no enhancement bonus), it's a purely ceremonial blade, and can probably be damaged more easily than an ordinary dagger.

[Prehysterical]

I'll take that as a compliment. I do still want to see the consequences (like for destroying the dagger), but it makes more sense for Gorthalon to explore the immediate area to get a lay of the land and set up his little nest egg (pun very much intended). Gaining class levels would be nice, since Gort is doing a lot of running around at the moment, but I confess that I don't know how the interaction between class and dragon hit dice works.

Since the dagger has no enhancement bonus, that will make destroying it easier. Even with electricity only doing half damage to it, it gets no reflex save and sounds pretty flimsy.
Taking care to move around his hoard so none of the coins are damaged, Gorthalon allows the energies within his blood to come to the fore. Soon, the air around him smells like ozone and scorched sand as his horn crackles with elemental energy. Fixing his gaze on the dagger, Gorthalon feels that such an occasion should have some sort of dramatic proclamation. He settles on saying, "Sulta ini darastrix ixen!"
"End by dragon's fire!"
The cave is suddenly engulfed in light as Gort finally releases the harnessed energy, hurling it toward the blade.
[roll0]

[fyleisch]

The broad bolt of lightning flicks from the dragon's jaws, arcing across the room and bathing the kris in blue light. The energy passes along its length, blackening the silver handle to the same color as the blade. At first the blade seems to remain intact, but a final spark flickers from the hilt to the cave floor, and a minute fracture appears. A moment of stillness passes, and the blade of broken barrows cracks, splitting in two, and the hilt and kris-blade fall apart to the floor.

As the fragments lie on the ground, they seem to begin to shake, as if being rocked by a vibration, though nothing can be felt in the ground. More seconds pass, and their girations become more violent, and quietly at first, there begins to sound a directionless cry, like the inarticulate moans of a dozen anguished voices.

The cry builds in volume. Saben looks around curiously, and Geon claps his hands to his ears. Soon it seems like the whole cave should be shaking with the unearthly sound, but apart from the hopping vibrations of the blade fragments, everything is still. The noise reaches a crescendo, then stops suddenly, the blade fragments falling still.

Almost half a minute passes in silence, before Saben sticks a finger in his ear as if to clear it, and coughs awkwardly.

"See. Nothing to it."

Class levels and being a dragon works like this:
Monster races (sorry) get assigned an Effective Character Level of HD + LA. In Gort's case, that's 4+3 = 7. So normally we'd pretend Gorthalon was level 7 for working out XP rewards, and the XP needed to reach next level.

Since that's really just designed to balance party members between each other and against published adventures, we can house rule that Gort will become a level 1 something when he reaches "young dragon" (6+ years old) -basically, when he takes his first retirement period- and level up normally afterwards.

[Prehysterical]

Gorthalon doesn't dare turn around and show his frightened expression as the blade unleashes a wailing chorus of the damned. When it finally stops, Gort slowly turns to Saben.

"Tell me truthfully... Is there a risk that the cave is haunted, now?"

[fyleisch]

"No, no," the cleric waves his hands reassuringly. "I didn't think it'd give off so much power when it broke - that was all the shaking it did - but it looks like most of it dispersed into the adjacent planes; the ethereal, and the shadow."

The cleric looks thoughtful.

"If there were anything on the other side, it might have gotten woken up. But a remote cave, on the edges of civilization? There probably hasn't been a single violent death up here. No, there's no chance of ghosts. I'd say that sound was just the power of the blade dispersing."

"Gorthalon, earlier I mentioned I feel like I'm ready for bigger challenges, but I... I don't know what direction I should focus my efforts. I'm an old man, not strong, not quick, but I could try to become a warrior in Io's light, or continue my path as a cleric. I don't know what Io wants of me."

By completing his quest for atonement, Saben leveled up earlier in the day, but doesn't know what class level to take. He's a level 3 cleric, and ready to take a 4th level.

[Prehysterical]

I plan for Saben to continue along cleric and take dracolyte as soon as possible.
If anything, Saben's reassurances only make Gorthalon even more nervous. "Be a cleric, it's what you're good at, but listen! Remember how I was asking about the druid the other day? I was told that he tortured people up here! If there's even the slightest chance that someone died... Surely you know how to supplicate the spirits of the dead?"

[fyleisch]

"Who told you that?" Geon interrupts. "Who else from the village have you been talking to?"

Saben ignores the man, walking closer to the dragon so that the hunter isn't even in his field of view.

"Tortured? That might do it, but it takes a lot of death for the chance of even a spirit to remain."

He looks around the cave.

"If one shows up, the only way to get rid of it for good is to do what it wants - take its vengeance, right some wrong. The dull last wishes of whatever had enough force of will to stay near it's death-place. You can disrupt them if you're strong enough, that might send it back to sleep, but ghosts are strange, with strange powers. It doesn't look like there's any here now, anyway."

[Prehysterical]

Looking back to Geon, Gort responds, "It wasn't anyone from the village. I was talking with an older lady who lives east of here and she told me about it. Why, what's it to you?" His tone is raised in challenge.

[fyleisch]

Geon scowls. "There's nobody East of here". He doesn't sound sure of himself, and shooting Saben a last sour glance, he returns to his makeshift hide at the edge of the cave. The sound of scribbling soon starts to drift out from beneath the blanket.

Saben clears his throat.

"What do you want me to do with the documents? I don't want to leave them lying around near him," he jerks his head at the tent where Geon is scratching at a page of the book.

Sorry for the lack of activity in here the last few days. Getting my application for esorcher's colony game together took ages, and I've been doing a coding side project that's finished now. I'm getting back to my normal post rate.

[Prehysterical]

Okay, cool.
Gort tilts his head to indicate the pile of gold that he is resting on.

Once Saben places the documents on the hoard, Gort makes noise like he's settling deeper into the gold while using the coins to cover the satchel. That being done, he settles in to rest. Another big day tomorrow...

[fyleisch]

As it grows late, Saben unrolls a bedroll from his pack and pushes it against the opposite wall to Geon. He sits on it, but even as the night wears on, he doesn't sleep, keeping a constant watch on the hunter. Geon seems to have similar reservations, lying still in his tent, but shifting every few minutes.

Gorthalon has no trouble sleeping, resting in the confidence only a creature covered in armored scales can manage around a potential enemy.

When Gorthalon wakes, the sun is high in the sky, close to its noon position, and there's no sign of Saben. Geon the hunter is seated against the cave wall, bound hand and foot with rope. Even as the dragon stirs, the cleric marches in through the cave mouth, sloshing a freshly filled waterskin over his shoulder. The old man seems clean and fresh despite his night's vigil, but Geon seems as haggard and drawn as Gorthalon would expect from a humanoid who'd missed a night's sleep.

"I had to go out for the waters," Saben says. "So I thought I better bind him until you wake." He lowers the waterskin and walks over to the hunter, untying the bonds.

"Nearly noon," Geon says. "Lets get this over with so I can go."

[Prehysterical]

Rising and stretching over his mound of gold, Gorthalon says, "At least have some water, first. If we had truly needed water, however, you could have just asked, Saben. My kind can create water, saving your old bones the trouble."

[fyleisch]

The cleric arches an eyebrow. "Yes, uh, well. There's a little stream a few dozen yards down the mountain, no need to resort to drinking dragon water yet." Saben lets the hunter take a deep swig from the skin, before returning it to his pack.

After refreshing himself, the hunter rubs his wrists and reaches into his belt pouch, pulling out a large red gem. It glitters in the light, and Gorthalon can see that it's set with a small silver hook. He places the gem on the ground reverently and stands back.

"What's going o-" Saben begins, but he's interrupted by a voice apparently coming from the crystal.

Manbridge. Report... Geon.

Geon takes a quick step forward and begins babbling at the crystal.
"[Elvish] Sut'rinos F'sarn atsus! L'maelthra zhah qee ulu tiu, kiel ulu malar, kyorlee xuileb solen-"

Saben quickly slips his hand into his pocket and mutters something that's lost beneath the hunter's tirade.

[Prehysterical]

Gorthalon roars in anger- not terribly impressive, given his stature right now, but he hopes that it gets the point across. "You will speak in a language that we can all understand, or the truce is off!" His horn crackles with electricity in emphasis.

[fyleisch]

The woman gives a bright, sour laugh, like the tinkling of gold.

"Oh, Geon."

"I take it this is him speaking, the creature?"

The woman's voice is clear and crisp, like someone used to making themselves heard over noise. She speaks with a similar accent to the hunter, though more refined.

[Prehysterical]

"My name is Gorthalon and I would appreciate it if you referred to me as a person instead of an animal." Gort prowls around so that he is standing in front of Geon, facing the crystal.

"You've been watching me, I know. If you are concerned about my presence being a threat to the nearby village, don't be. Peace is far more profitable than random rampage.

Now, who do I have the pleasure of speaking to? Manbridge, I heard?"

[fyleisch]

"I'm commander Samantha Manbridge of the Caron Blades. You are a creature, until I know exactly what you are. Geon reported the arrival of a dragon, but given his recent performance I'm not convinced he's qualified to identify a dog, much less a dragon."

The hunter is staring very hard at the floor in front of the speaking gem.

"We only have a few minutes to talk, confirm for me your race, subtype, age, place of origin, and reason for dwelling in Fieldy. When I have that information, then we can talk about 'peace'."

[Prehysterical]

Crisp and dry, Gorthalon replies, "Dragon, blue, five, desert to the Far North, and being driven from my home by overzealous dragonslayers.

All right, time for the peace talk, since you are in such a hurry." His tone carries clear disapproval at the lack of respect being shown.

[fyleisch]

"Hm." The woman seems momentarily at a loss for words.

"Well, then, Gorthalon. Peace talks aren't my job, but two of my envoys are on their way to you. If you're still this rational in three days, then they will discuss the terms under which you will be allowed to remain at Windypeake cave. In the meantime, Geon will be freed, and the criminal known as Saben Gricker will be turned over to the guard post in Meath for arrest."

Saben takes a step forward. His expression makes it clear that he does not like that idea, though he keeps his silence.

"Did you have any questions? By my count we have six minutes left until the amulet has spent its charge."

[Prehysterical]

Gorthalon glowers. "First of all, Saben is to remain with me. He has become a cleric of Io, the Ninefold Dragon, and forsaken Nerull. He is also my assistant and liaison in dealing with the townsfolk of Meath. He can't serve me very well from a prison cell. Consider the destruction of the Blade a personal favor from me to the people of this area. I will consent to freeing Geon, however.

What are the Caron Blades? Are you some sort of spy network?"

[fyleisch]

"Yes, I'm sure he finds it convenient to find a new god now. Criminals always find it useful to suddenly 'change', when the consequences of their actions catch up with them. He's committed no crimes in Fieldy, but my superiors are keen to have him in custody for potential extradition."

"My orders are to demand his arrest, and your orders are to remand him to the Meath Watch. I've no desire to come to blows over a dead rat, but the politicians are salivating. You won't have any luck with the nobility until you yield him."

The woman snorts audibly over the crystal.

"Spies? Pfah. We watch for the Queen. Her land, her enemies - within and without. We prevent sedition, and decadence; wheat grows fat, 'ere it falls."

Saben walks quietly over to Gorthalon and speaks in a hushed voice.

"I won't be arrested. If it interferes with your plans here, I can leave, chase your objectives in secret. You shouldn't have to suffer for what I've done in the North."
As he speaks, he glances over his shoulder at Geon, but the hunter is staring at the ground with a depressed, distracted air.

[Prehysterical]

Gorthalon doesn't know exactly what she means about wheat and falling, but he bristles as he responds, "Saben has sworn fealty to me. As his Lord, how can I not defend him? Are the nobility in this land truly so gutless that they do not understand that feudalism fails if the highs do not help the lows?

I've been lenient with Geon because he has not assaulted me or my servant and he has not stolen my gold, despite the opportunity. But know this: if you try to force Saben into cuffs or myself out of this cave, I will defend myself and mine. You are the one that will set the tone for this upcoming moot. Choose wisely.

Or perhaps I'm speaking to the wrong person? Perhaps an audience with the Queen is the real way to defuse this situation. How can I get in touch with Her Majesty?"

[fyleisch]

The woman's sour laugh sounds out again.

"an- an audience?" her amusement is clear and genuine. "The queen?"
She's still giggling as the light from the gem fades, and silence fills the cave.


Geon spits on the floor of the cave, shouldering his pack. He bends to pick up the gem, then stares squarely at Gorthalon.

"Our deal's done. I'm leaving. If you see me again, it will be with the commander's envoys- though don't bet on it.
I'll likely be spending the rest of my life teaching recruits what berries they can eat and what leaves they can wipe with."

He gives a final glare, and takes a step towards the cave entrance, hesitating to see whether the dragon or cleric will move to stop him.

[Prehysterical]

Sitting down on the cave floor, Gorthalon asks, "Why do you serve a master who clearly does not respect you? Who doesn't care if you live or die?

There is... another option, you know. You obviously know the area and are an experienced hunter. Why not work for me? I daresay that I, your captor, have treated you better than your own Commander.

I refuse to resign myself to Fate. I will not be driven from my new home. I am strong enough to do that. Are you?"
[roll0]

Oh boy...

[fyleisch]

"And you'd trust a man who'd broken every oath he's ever made?" Geon's eyes drift to Saben. "Yeah, s'pose you would. The Queen takes recruits who know the value of loyalty, and teaches them the price of betrayal. I serve my land. I have family in Caron. I won't be turning my back on my home."

"Home, flight, war. You'll either deal with Fieldy or you won't. And don't be so sure of your strength - I've heard tales of the high brought low, all it takes is steel and numbers. Fieldy's got both, and a few 'high' of its own."

He walks to the cave entrance and pauses, turning.

"You didn't kill me, or let him change me," he nods at Saben. "That's something."

"You want my advice? Deal with the commander. She's direct, and fair. If you ever do manage to meet the nobles, they'll have you tied in knots with their politics games."

He strikes out down the mountainside.

[Prehysterical]

Growling in frustration and prowling deeper into the cave, Gort mutters, "'His' land... Tell that to the Fengari and the elves.

Why does serving me count as treason? Did I become an enemy of the state when I wasn't looking? Or is my scaly hide crime enough for these people?"

Settling into his hoard, Gort addresses Saben. "He misunderstood me, Saben. I recognize that, as a wyrmling, there are those more powerful than me. That is not the strength that I was referring to.

I have found strength in my suffering, as have you. If the Fieldy wish to drown me in mediocrity, they severely underestimate my will. I'm done running. The real question is how many fools are willing to die to see that.

You are all that I have, Saben. I will not abandon you, not even to save scrapes on my hide. Pray to Io for both of us, Saben. We might have need of him."
I'm willing to fast-forward to when the delegates show up. If something comes up in the meantime concerning the trade agreement between the Fengari and Meath, feel free to let that pop up.

[fyleisch]

Okay, we'll time skip until something happens. Some questions though:

1. Will Gorthalon deliver the contracts before waiting?
2. What will Saben do during the following days? Where will he sleep, will he have any tasks etc?
3. For making cordial contact with a major faction in the region, and for exceeding Geon's expectations, Gorthalon is awarded 850xp, putting him at a total of 1350xp. Since we're house-ruling Gorthalon as a level 1 Dragon, this puts him over the threshhold to level up. Please have Gorthalon take a class level, becoming a level 1 something in addition to his dragony powers.

[Prehysterical]

1. Yes, he will. Completely forgot that he was supposed to actually bring the contracts to the Fengari. Also, he'll do it instead of Saben. Not because of the animosity that they have for humans, but because he was the one who struck the bargain in the first plcae.

2. Saben will stay in the cave. Gort doesn't want him off by himself when less-than-friendly company might come knocking. Gort will mostly leave him alone, but the guy probably should be focusing on learning Io's will and becoming comfortable with his new powers. Switching out feats like Death Devotion for something more fitting would make him more useful, since there's not going to be a lot of necromancy on Gort's watch.

3. I'll need a bit to consider what class would be fitting for Gort, but I will ask one thing: will the caster levels he gets in arcane classes stack with the natural caster levels he receives as he ages?

Also, for class levels, are we sticking with the max hp rule?

[fyleisch]

If Gorthalon takes sorcerer levels, his sorcerer caster level will either be his sorcerer class level, or his caster level from the SRD blue dragon chart, whichever is higher at a given time.

Also, remember feats are gained by HD rather than by level. So although Gorthalon becomes level 1, he doesn't get the feat that a normal 1 PC would get. Though if he picks a class that grants bonus feat, or becomes a cleric and trades in a domain for a devotion he'd gain those feats as normal. You can take max hp on the class hit die.

Edit: I had a bit about feats here, but forget it. Feats are by HD as usual.

[Prehysterical]

All right, I have a fun idea, but I do have a few questions:

1. Would using aerial combat count as violating the paladin's code?

2. Would you be willing to accept the Divine Spirit ACF from Dungeonscape? Since Gort is a dragon, the mount is... well, kinda useless.

3. In order to become a paladin, does Gorthalon have to dedicate himself to a deity right now?

4. He still gets skill ranks and the bonus to his saves, right?

[fyleisch]

1. Not in itself, though it could be used to gain a dishonorable advantage, e.g. breath attacks from the sky versus a melee opponent. I'll treat honor in quite a relaxed way, unless Gorthalon picks a specific code like chivalry or the bushido.

2. Yes that will be an option, though you don't have to decide until level 5. You might decide you want it (summon snack?)

3. I can't find any written requirement for a deity at all, so lets say no, but thematically Gorthalon should serve an god, pantheon or ideal (beyond "kill all dwarf barbarians").

4. Yes, everything but feats.

[Prehysterical]

I'm working on adding a level of paladin to Gorthalon. Shouldn't take too long.

The ideal that Gorthalon serves is that of the Benevolent Lord. I've even thought of a custom code of conduct for him:

1. I am the Lord of my own Kingdom. I will be respected as such, but offer respect to others.

2. My hoard is my divine right. Any attempts to steal from it demand either replacement, compensation, or punishment.

3. The hoard is also a tool to be used in the running of the Kingdom. If the Kingdom has need of funding to make it more prosperous, I am obligated to provide it.

4. Those who seek sanctuary within my lands shall be granted it. Those who transgress within it shall know my wrath.

5. As Lord, I am honorbound to defend my subjects, even at the risk of my own life. If local authority cannot resolve conflicts, I shall be the final arbiter.

6. All tribute shall be freely given or negotiated for mutual benefit. My hoard shall not be built on stolen gold.

How does that look?

[fyleisch]

When Gorthalon drops off the Fengari contracts, he neither sees or senses any signs of life, but that doesn't seem out of the ordinary for the secretive people.

Saben sleeps in Gorthalon's cave, in the tent-hide that Geon neglected to disassemble and take with him. He spends the days in prayer, exercising on the mountain, and reading from a small book of arcane lore he's acquired from somewhere. His nights are spent in fitful sleep, and when he wakes he complains of bad dreams.

After recent events, Gorthalon feels invigorated and filled with a new sense of purpose. With it, he begins to notice abilities that seem both new, yet completely natural.

One morning, as Gorthalon is luxuriating on a scattering of gold, he senses an approaching presence beyond the cave mouth. Initially it seems like Saben is returning from his morning walk, but moments later, an unfamiliar figure darkens the door - short, a human by all appearances, a little over five feet, and dressed in fine clothes that don't seem well suited for travel, with a silver circlet over his long hair, and a ruby brooch pinned to his lapel.

"Dragon Gorthalon. I am Vincent Prosopeio, envoy of Caron. May I enter with my attendant?"

Gorthalon's paladin code looks good.

[Prehysterical]

Sitting up in attention, Gorthalon nods. "Enter, Envoy Prosopeio of Caron. I have been looking forward to your arrival for some time, now. I hope that, through our cooperation, the Fieldy and I can enter a mutually beneficial partnership.

May I offer you refreshment?"

[fyleisch]

As the envoy (http://i.imgur.com/HGPpSaB.jpg) draws into the cave, Gorthalon notices that the man's fine undershirt is actually a cleverly designed piece of leather armor, and his embroidered high-boots are actually made from thick leather, well worn from travel, but only slightly mud-dusted.

The envoy is followed by a young woman, tall, and dressed in an ordinary scholar's robe. She clutches a book to her chest, and a crossbow hangs incongruously from a strap on her back. She can't seem to decide where to look, and her eyes constantly flick between the young dragon, the silver crown sitting in Gorthalon's fledgling horde, and the currently empty hide-tent at the edge of the cave.

"Yes, that's very kind. The climb up Windypeake was taxing. This is Redrolrea Cia-Joan, my associate."

Vincent gestures to the woman at his left, who gives the dragon a quick, strained smile, but says nothing, resuming her scan of the room.

[Prehysterical]

Walking over to the side of the cave, Gorthalon pushes forward a half-barrel prepared specially for this occasion. Waving a claw over it, clean water suddenly pours into the receptacle. Sitting on the other side of the barrel, Gorthalon waits for the two to drink before helping himself. "Now, to business... Let's start with the demands and work from there."

[fyleisch]

The envoy politely bends to drink water from his cupped hands, before sighing in a slightly over-the-top expression of relief.

A shocked expression appears momentarily on his face, before he seems to master it.

"Demands? You misunderstand my aim here! I have been sent to reach an accord. I have an outstanding record in unpicking seemingly intractible diplomatic knots. It was I who negotiated the elven surrender of Preach garrison. It was I who negotiated the peace treaty with the Far Caron hill tribes. I'm certain that you're not less reasonable than a pack of half-orc barbarians!"
He gives a warm smile.

"So lets just work on the assumption that we'll both conclude these negotiations happy, and work backwards from there. I must tell you that we're on quite a tight schedule. My masters in Caron have dictated that I have three days to negotiate an acceptable arrangement, before they resort to their... usual stupidity, but I'm confident that will be more than enough time. Now, I have here..."
he turns to the woman and snaps his fingers. She quickly reaches into a voluminous pocket and pulls out a scroll, which she hands to him.

"I have here a contract, written by Caron's chief clerk, and pre-signed by the Royal signatory himself. Note the Chief Minister's seal," he passes his hand over the contract like a magician performing legerdemain, pointing out the elaborate silver stamp at the bottom of the contract, just below the neat signature signed in rich, red ink.

"The requirements on your part would be small, and the benefits great. In short, the contract requests that you, the blue dragon Gorthalon, become a vassal of the Queen; to wear her heraldry, fly her colors about your lair, and act as her agent in important matters of state - a minor arrangement, I assure you, for you would certainly only rarely be called upon to actually do anything."

"In return for this trifle, you would be cranted citizenship of the kingdom of Fieldy, the title of Lord, and be appointed owner of Windypeake and local administrator for Meath. Practically a fiefdom, and for the price of wearing a sash!"

He holds the contract up for inspection, and the fine, concisely worded document does seem to bear out his summary.

[Prehysterical]

The presentation is nice and the document sound. However, this man had failed to account for one thing: a dragon's pride.

Gorthalon takes care to keep his tone level as he replies, "'The price of wearing a sash', eh? I think you forget what that entails.

It's ownership, Envoy. It means prostrating myself before another and pledging service. I am a dragon, Prosopeio, despite everyone seemingly forgetting that fact. I am already a Lord.

I have a counterproposal: I live here in peace and do not resort to any sort of destructive nonsense or enslaving the populace. In fact, I help stimulate the economy here and try to help grow Meath into something more than the little hamlet that it is now. I even pledge to defend this land against anything that would harm its people, like giants or trolls or the undead. You owe me nothing, but I owe you nothing.

All I ask for is peace and respect. I would hope that a contract is not necessary for such an act. Only a promise between one monarch and another."

[fyleisch]

"Ah, I, ahh..." the envoy seems genuinely distressed. "It's my superiors who set the terms of the contract. They were very forceful about it. These terms have been witnessed and approved by the Queen herself. What if I, what if we were to drop one or two of the terms - perhaps we can..."

He pulls a quill from a concealed pocket in his clothes and makes several marks on the contract. When he holds it up again, the terms requiring that Gorthalon wear the Queen's heraldry has been crossed out, leaving the agreement for the dragon to be a vassal of the state and fly her colors around his lair, but still offering everything that went before.

"Is this more to your liking? You needn't sacrifice your pride by bearing the Queen's colors, and you still receive the mountain and the land. A fiefdom, and all the respect accorded a landed lord."

[Prehysterical]

Gorthalon sits for a moment, obviously displeased. Finally, he speaks.

"If the Queen herself was responsible for these terms, then perhaps I should be speaking with her. I have no intention of running you back and forth as a mouthpiece for the two of us.

What if I accompany you back to the palace? I would prefer speaking to her face-to-face."
[roll0]

[fyleisch]

"Aha, oh," Vincent smiles fondly. For a moment he seems to be considering something, but then shakes his head.

"That's very flattering, but I've never even visited the palace. I'm afraid the Queen has a large kingdom to oversee. She governs the fate of forty thousand people, commands a standing army of twelve hundred soldiers, and I believe she's currently locked in trade negotiations with a similarly esteemed prince from a neighboring land. She doesn't attend to the particular needs of any individual, unfortunately, and the heavens help any agent who tries to force the issue. She agreed to these terms", he waves the contract lightly, "when they were presented to her in a meeting, alongside a dozen other matters of great importance, each requiring great attention and thought."

Behind the envoy, Redrolred, his assistant, waits patiently, her hands clasped and her face impassive.

"I know it's frustrating to work through lowly messengers -you should have heard how Aggnenus of the hill tribes raged at me about it- but that's how diplomacy works these days. The queen isn't some Niadhogr Blackheart to go storming into his neighbors keep and demand a personal audience."

The man's face is sullen, seeming to lament the inefficiency of it all.

"I understand your dissatisfaction with the contract, I do. Let me go back to Meath, communicate with my superiors, and beg them to agree to your terms. I'll propose the exact offer you made to me; mutual peace, respect, and for you to be left to your own affairs."

[Prehysterical]

[roll0]
Gorthalon nods in understanding. "If you like, I can save you from trekking back up the hill. Simply give me a time to reconvene with you and I will fly down to reopen negotiations.

By the way, did you happen to see an old man on your way up here? I've been expecting my servant to get back from his morning walk."

[fyleisch]

"That is a kind offer, Gorthalon, but we wouldn't want to alarm the villagers by having you turn up at our boat."

Vincent turns to his assistant questioningly. She gives a half-hearted shrug.

"Your servant? You must be speaking of Mr. Gricker. No, we didn't see him - although, we didn't look. I'll take my leave now, lord dragon. I want to consult with my superiors as soon as possible, and hopefully have your arrangement agreed upon."

The envoy shoos his assistant towards the cave entrance, though she lingers for a moment, giving a last look over the dragon, cave, and crown.

If the envoy was lying about the queen or about Saben, Gorthalon could see no tells.

As the envoy leaves, please can Gort make a spot check?

[Prehysterical]

"May Io grant flight to your steps." It's not the exact customary farewell, but the envoy doesn't exactly have wings.
[roll0]

[fyleisch]

As Vincent steps into the sunlight outside the cave the light strikes his face in an odd way, seeming to change his aspect slightly, but the moment passes. He smiles at the adapted blessing.

"As they say in Fieldy; may the seeds you sow come to fruition, Gorthalon."

He leaves the cave, taking his attendant with him, and Gorthalon senses his presence recede into the distance. Immediately before they pass from the limit of his senses, Gorthalon detects the presence of a third figure joining the two envoys, but then they are gone.



Half an hour passes with no sign of Saben, but eventually Gorthalon's worry is proven to be unnecessary. The old cleric stalks back into the cave, alive and well, though scowling.

"Gorthalon," he nods at the dragon. "I ran into our friend Geon on the other side of the mountain. We talked a while, like he used to talk to me in Meath, but when I set off to come back home, he tried to dissuade it. He was delaying. I got back just in time to see those three going down the mountain." He jerks his head at the cave entrance, clearly unhappy.

In a slightly weird position as a DM: Mr Prosopeio's negotiation strategy makes Gorthalon frustrated and impatient, but this also makes Prehysterical frustrated and impatient. I have to deliberately make the game dull for a few scenes to stay true to it. I apologize in advance.

[Prehysterical]

I wasn't frustrated with the negotiation process. From the envoy's point of view, this was a pretty reasonable offer. Although now you've made me worried.
Gorthalon notices Saben's displeasure. "Why would Geon not want you here for the negotiations? Did they want you distracted in the event that I prove hostile? And did you see the third one? I only got an impression of their presence, but they never entered the cave."

[fyleisch]

"I don't know why they didn't want me in here with you, but if they think I'm advising you, they might try and deny you that. I've been praying to Io for certain powers as well, spells to read minds. They couldn't know that, but... they might suspect. Either way, diplomacy's no different to any other battle - divide and conquer."

The old cleric fills a cup from the half-barrel on the floor and sits on the stone by the entrance.

"I saw three figures, couldn't see much from that distance. Two in clothes, one in armor - I saw it glinting in the sun. Who did you speak to, the clothed ones?"

[Prehysterical]

Taking another drink from the half-barrel, Gorthalon replies, "Yes, although the clothed ones were armored underneath as well. I should have guessed they would bring a swordarm to a dragon's lair." He growls in displeasure. "As if they were truly needed! I've already proven that I am no threat to these people. They offered me vassalhood, Saben. Me, in service to another! I will not be caught up in the petty squabbles of politicians as they wage war on each other!"

Gorthalon sighs. "I hope that the trade agreement with the Fengari goes smoothly. It would be nice if something went smoothly. The envoy was well-mannered, but he was obviously putting on a show to please me. I would rather that he had been completely honest. Time is wasted, otherwise."

[fyleisch]

"Could be they didn't think he was needed, if they left him outside. We know it's not a safe road; wild beasts, thieves. "

"Vassalhood! With what lands to... Meath? Heheh. You didn't take it!? It's not even worth of being called a town. It must cost whoever's in charge now more to keep it protected than the whole place is worth."

As the old man speaks, Gorthalon senses the approach of a creature beyond the cave. Moments later, a raven flaps down into the cave entrance.

[Prehysterical]

Gorthalon is about to laugh along with Saben when the bird arrives. Wildlife don't just walk up to a dragon's lair without purpose. He regards the bird intently, waiting to see what it does.

[fyleisch]

The bird takes a few hops deeper into the cave. It seems wary, but looks around with an odd intelligence.

"CAWK"

A few seconds pass in silence as the bird eyes Gorthalon in a sidelong stare. Even Saben seems interested to see what the bird will do.

"CAWK. You Dragon? Fengari call. Come cave. Come Fengari!"

With another squawk the raven hops back towards the cave entrance and takes flight. Either it was too unnerved by the dragon's presence to want to stay any longer, or it lacked the intelligence to do more than deliver its message and leave.

[Prehysterical]

The timing could not be a coincidence. Gorthalon turns to Saben, all seriousness. "Follow me, Saben. I believe that it is time that you met the Fengari." Rather than fly, Gorthalon begins downhill east to the cave where the Fengari dwell. He doesn't want Saben to fall behind.

[fyleisch]

The journey to the cave of the Fengari, so easy for a dragon on the wing, proves to be a great strain to the old man. Eight miles or more over rough, hilly terrain to reach the base of their hill, a short climb, and then a taxing descent down through the pothole. Saben must have been truly strong in his youth to be able to have managed it at all at his advanced age, even leaving his heavy armor on the hill above.

In the cave below, wooden crates are piled around the cave entrance, along with long coils of rope, and a piece of bonewood equipment that might be a kind of crude winch. The wide river that flows through the cave has been bridged by a much more substantial crossing than the simple ladders that Gorthalon saw the Fengari use to cross on his last visit. The bridge looks sturdy, and seems to be a permanent fixture.

Standing on the bridge is what appears to be a human male, around six feet tall, with dark hair, and looking to be around twenty years old. As Gorthalon and Saben stare at him uncertainly, a cawing comes from behind them, and a raven flaps down into the cave, makes a single circuit, and lands on the man's shoulder.

"[Draconic] Fekiikiri ekess wux, leirith thurirl Gorthalon..."

The man turns to look from Gorthalon to the old cleric, his brows knitting in confusion.

"and guest?"

[Prehysterical]

On the trip over, Gorthalon tries to help the man where he can. He had overestimated the old man's endurance and resolved not to put him through this again in the future.

When they finally see the messenger, Gorthalon speaks in Common for the benefit of Saben. "This is my servant, Saben, of whom I already spoke of to Vecca. Am I to speak with the Parliament Chair?"
[roll0]

[fyleisch]

"Ah, I've heard of him - and you apparently trust him with our lives..."

The man turns his head and whispers something to the raven, which flies off into the Northern partition of the cave.

"You are invited to speak with the Chair, of course," he nods deferentially.
"If you wish your servant to come with you, we must wait for a response from Vecca. It shouldn't take more than a few minutes."

Gorthalon doesn't detect anything suspicious or evasive about the man, beyond his presence, though - please can Gorthalon now make a will save?

[Prehysterical]

[roll0]
"I trust him with my life. So far, he has proven loyal and trustworthy. If the Chair does not share that trust, however, I am content to wait a few minutes."

[fyleisch]

As Gorthalon peers at the man on the bridge, he feels an odd prickle at his perception. As the dragon concentrates, the man's outline seems to ripple and become hazy, as if it weren't truly there. A moment later, the illusion becomes fully translucent, and Gorthalon is able to make out that the glamer was concealing the figure of a slightly shorter Fengari male.

Mere seconds later, the raven from earlier flaps from the North partition of the cave.

"Come! Chair lets come!"

The bird takes up its position on the man's shoulder, and he gestures North.

"It seems the Chair trusts your judgement. Shall we?"

The male fengari leads the pair Northwards along the edge of the river. The walkway narrows as the group pass into the Northern half of the cave, and although Gorthalon's senses aren't noticeably affected, the light from the cave entrance dies out completely. Their guide pulls something from a pouch as they walk, and a muttered word brings forth light shining from a copper coin that he uses to light their way.

The man leads Saben and the Dragon across a series of stepping stones back across the river to the Eastern wall of the cave, which the man unhesitatingly walks through, revealing it to be yet another illusion.



The false wall was masking a long, rough stairway, leading downwards, deep into the ground. Minutes pass as they descend what must be hundreds of meters below ground, the air growing cooler and damper. When they finally reach the bottom, Gorthalon is led into a clearly ancient, and partially ruined building, decorated with ominous images (http://i.imgur.com/bdHBMOr.png) of candles and skulls.

They pass through low-ceilinged corridors set with numerous doors, some iron, some stone, and some few obsidian. After a few turns they reach a pair of large, double doors crafted from iron. Their guide, the disguised fengari, pushes on the doors, which creak open.

Beyond - 'outside' of the building, is an enormous cavern, its roof stretching far above, and its stepped stone floor covering several hundred feet from edge to edge. The cave isn't empty - the ground is dotted with dozens of tents of all shapes, sizes and styles, and tens -if not hundreds- of fengari can be seen milling around in the distance, their color-shifting skin relaxed into an almost white shade of gray. Saben gasps at the sight, though holds his tongue.

Standing on the top step is Vecca, accompanied by three more of her kind.

"Gorthalon," the elderly woman lowers her head. "Welcome to the home cave of the Fengari."

One of the figures attending her, a lanky male with an obsidian-tipped spear, waves his spear hand at the dragon.

"Hey liz."

Gorthalon has been accepted as a true ally of the Fengari and has been shown the full extent of their settlement (http://i.imgur.com/mXcGQnl.png).

[Prehysterical]

"Chairwoman Vecca." Gorthalon nods respectfully toward the matriarch. "Victor," he adds with a slight tinge of humor at the male. He lifts a claw to indicate Saben. "This is Saben Gricker, my manservant. I can see that you have become quite occupied with the new supplies. I hope that everything is to your satisfaction?"

[fyleisch]

The disguised fengari splutters.

"The necromancer is your manservant?"

"Effyis! Don't be rude. Gorthalon, this is Effyis."She gestures to the disguised male. "The first of my newly trained wizards. Before you arrived, I thought that it was up to me to drag my people out of this... this hole. I thought to send my people, disguised, out into the world to find the contacts we needed. You have advanced our schedule considerably. The supplies you arranged certainly are to my satisfaction. My people are eating well, and sleeping well, for the first time in decades. With bows and armor, I have been able to send scouts and hunting parties into the surrounding hills. And some of our young people, so closed and insular before, are even asking to be allowed to see the world. [Draconic] Vinxa, leirith thurirl."

Her eyes drift across the three figures to her left as she says this.

"It seems you remember Victor. The brute to his left is Batzas, one of our defenders."

The fengari she indicated as Batzas is unusually muscular, and is equipped with an unusual sword (https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Macuahuitl) - a bonewood paddle edged with obsidian razors, and a large shield also of bonewood.

"And lastly we have Nonna, one of my fine apprentices." The final figure is a female fengari in a black silk robe. She's unarmed and unarmored, except for a short spear, and a bundle of obsidian-tipped javelins slung over one shoulder.

Throughout all of the introductions, Vecca never looks directly at Saben, or seems to acknowledge his presence.

[Prehysterical]

Vecca's restrained hostility does not go unnoticed, but this is not the time or the place.

"Pleased to meet you all and glad to hear it. I'm sure that the traders in Meath will be happy for your gold, as well. As am I, but that should really go without saying.

...Speaking of which, if your people are constrained to this area, how do you come by this gold at all? You said that you don't have a wealth of resources."

[fyleisch]

"Ah, we come to finances."

Vecca draws a large pouch from behind the folds of her black silks, which chinks as it knocks against her leg. She reaches into the bag and pulls out a golden coin - the metal beaten into a disc, with the image of a sickle moon stamped into the face.

"Resources we are short of. Gold we have in some quantity. This is the largest and highest of a series of caves that run into the earth - it is the only one dry and level enough to be habitable to our kind, but some of the caves below open onto veins of natural silver and gold. Mining it has been difficult with stone tools, and for most of our history largely pointless; gold is utterly useless except as a currency, and the only ones we knew who valued it were as likely to try and kill us as run from us."

She drops the coin back into the bag with a clink.

"Nevertheless, I have been mining it, in preparation for the time when we could make covert contact with the nearby towns. This bag is for you, Gorthalon, as a thank-you for helping us arrange our trade agreement. You will find two-thousand gold pieces inside, and I believe we also agreed that you would receive a percentage of every caravan? Shall we say five hundredths of the value of each month's supply? That would amount to three-hundred gold pieces per month."

[Prehysterical]

The greedy dragon in Gorthalon wants more than a measly five percent. He gazes at the bag with undisguised goldlust. Still... They paid generously up-front (five times as much as the current size of his hoard) and five percent continuous upkeep is still quite a lot of gold over time. He collects the bag of gold like a child receiving a new toy. "Hm... Yes, five percent is acceptable. It does not do well in the long run to overly tax. How are the traders in Meath to be paid? Shall I deliver the gold, or will some of your people be leaving the payments at prearranged sites?"

[fyleisch]

"Effyis here is handling all payments and handovers with the traders, though I intend to have some of my more trustworthy people accompany him from time to time to get them used to the outside world, and familiarize them with humans, halflings, dwarves and the like. Speaking of which..."

Vecca pivots to look at the three fengari attending her.

"These three..." she eyes Vincent, "young adults... have asked to be allowed to see more of the surface world. I raised with them the possibility of doing so at your side, and in your service, and they all agreed to the idea in theory. I think that any of them would make a worthy cohort, though perhaps not suitable for sending into the 'civilized' towns in the area.

"Victor, despite being a miscreant, is skilled, mechanically minded, and subtle. He's learning how to paint his skin to appear human, and he's a fair shot with a javelin."

"Batzas as a strong and skilled combatant, though perhaps a little slow. He might make a useful sword-hand."
Batzas gives a grunt.

"And Nonna is a prodigy in the subtle and sublime art of shadow manipulation - a form of magic that has been lost to the dominant races for ages, if they ever even knew of it to begin with. She knows a little arcane lore, and of course, every member of my order has expertise on the planes."

"What do you say? Will you take one of them with you when you leave? They would serve, for a year, or three, and in exchange they would learn of the world alongside someone who will protect them."

Vincent is a rogue, Batzas is a fighter, and Nonna is a shadowcaster. All are level 2.
If Gorthalon wants to take one with him, you're free to build their character sheet, or leave me to put it together.

[Prehysterical]

Considering the three young Fengari, Gorthalon points at Victor. "Victor is already used to my presence and the ability to disguise himself is a useful quality to have. I am willing to accept a guest into my home... so long as he behaves himself."
Please let me know what point-buy to use and the rules for hp, along with any banned material.

[fyleisch]

"Yes! Thanks liz! Uh... sorry drag."

Victor runs off towards the tents, perhaps to collect his belongings, and Vecca seems pleased with the arrangement.

"I also owe you an apology for poor information, Gorthalon. During our last conversation, we spoke of the ancient dragon who once lived in this region. I remembered at the time that it was a female black dragon, but it had been decades since I read those histories - not since I was a young girl, and I misspoke. The dragon was actually a male. Nonna has been diligent in researching it, and I think she's prepared some information, if you'd like to hear it."

[Prehysterical]

Turning his head to regard Nonna, Gorthalon gently opens his wings. "Sia altiuiri re sia daseki."
"My wings are my ears."
Since most dragons don't have ears, this is a gesture that indicates that the speaker has the dragon's undivided attention. Just something that I made up.

[fyleisch]

The young fengari shadowcaster begins what sounds like a recitation, staring at the floor a few feet in front of her as she speaks.

"Niarhjuroshoger, sometimes abbreviated to Niarjhoger; an ancient black dragon who lived in the swamps to the South, then called the Moaning Marsh. He was called Blackwing by the citied races of the time, but we know they rarely, if ever, spoke with him."

"The ancient sages thought his name might derive from the draconic words Niarhaanin and Juroshog, giving it a meaning along the lines of 'River Throat' or 'River Mouth'; perhaps referring to the black's ability to breathe underwater, or its acid exhalation. An alternative etymology may have been Nioralul Sisargho, literally 'the Arrogant Abominable', though the sages who subscribed to this theory were fewer."

The girls voice begins to break towards the end of her last sentence, and she clears her throat before continuing.

"Sightings of Niarhjuroshoger began to decline some time around the year 830, whereon he began to be seen as a myth. The last reported sighting by a fengari adult was in 1056, and the last reported meeting by an elvish traveller was in 1060, though the collapse occurred shortly afterwards, and records since that time are few."

"Thank you, Nonna," Vecca turns back to the dragon, with an expression approaching pride on her face.

[Prehysterical]

Gorthalon considers the woman's words thoughtfully. "'River Throat' does seem to be the correction translation, although the shorting of 'Niarhaanin' could be an attempt to twist the word. It might be closer to something like 'crack', which would make the name closer to 'Throat Cracker'." The young dragon chuckles slightly. "No matter how well you study a language, you can still miss the subtleties that a native speaker grows up with. Still, this information is very useful to me. Vinxa, Nonna."

Returning his attention to Vecca, Gorthalon asks, "Do you think that it is possible that Niarhjuroshoger still lives in the swamp? I wish to investigate, but I also know the folly of intruding on another dragon's territory."

[fyleisch]

Vecca looks at Nonna, an eyebrow raised.

"Thank you. Almost all of our kind with the mind for it learn the draconic language, but none of us are ever able to master it. As for whether Niarjhoger still lives... I... it seems unlikely, Gorthalon." Nonna answers, almost stuttering.

"A dragon of his age is not small, and grows hungry quickly. It seems if he still lived in the swamp he would have been seen in the last few hundred years. Do you have a map? I can mark it with the place of his dwelling."

Saben clears his throat. As Gorthalon looks over at the old cleric, he sees something unexpected in the old man's eyes; fear. Saben hasn't been diplomatically silent, he's been genuinely afraid.

"I have a map."

He pulls out the map of the region he bought from the Meath trader days before, and brings it to the young fengari, holding it out flat.

Nonna reaches out towards the map and holds her fingers over the surface. The shadow of her hand seems to flex and extend, stretching out to a point close to the Southern swamp lake, where it leaves a mark of blue ink. A second passes, and words seem to fade into existence next to the location.

"That was the location of his lair, as recorded in the archives."

Nonna has added a location to Saben's map (http://i.imgur.com/4oFJiWU.png?1).

[Prehysterical]

Gorthalon had not been aware that the man was so terrified. Yes, perhaps it would be better if he stayed at home next time. Out loud, he says, "Thank you again, Nonna. I shall be sure to do a little scouting. Perhaps he might overlook something... not as big as a full-grown dragon. Until I see evidence otherwise, I will assume that 'Blackwing' still lives.

Of course, that little expedition will have to wait. Tomorrow, I am expecting another visit from dignitaries. Very tedious, negotiating with people like that.

Before I leave, however, I do have one last question: what do you know of Skyring Hill? There is clearly powerful magic at work there, but what is its purpose?"

[fyleisch]

Nonna shoots Vecca a confused glance, the elder fengari frowns.

"Skyring? I haven't heard of it." Vecca answers for the both of them.
"There are many hills around here, but I don't remember any being particularly noteworthy. Your dignitaries though, I may have heard about. I was having Effyis keep watch on the river for the first boatload of our supplies. The barge arrived, but accompanied by a narrowboat, and four strangers. Are those the ones you're to meet? What were they again, Effyis?"

"Two warriors, a noble? And one who looked like a scholar, Chair."

"Yes, that's right. Were those your dignitaries, Gorthalon? I would caution you against dealing with the citied races. I may be teaching my people to wear many faces out of necessity, but they seem to make a sport of it."

[Prehysterical]

So, they know nothing of the circle there. Disappointing. "If I am to coexist with them, and avoid the inevitable rush of dragonslayers out after an easy kill, I must be willing to show that I am reasonable and can be approached like a civilized being. I'm sure that you'll be happy to know that I turned down the vassalhood that they offered. Me, a dragon, in service to some far-off human queen who can't even be bothered to visit me herself?" Gorthalon's light-hearted tone gains a slight undertone of menace. "It's seems that they forget who they are dealing with.

Still, maintaining the peace with them is the most profitable course of action. Doing so keeps me in control of my own time and resources while still ensuring that our trade route with Meath is kept in good faith. If you want to keep any eye on them while they are in the area, however, be my guest. Saben was accosted by one of their agents during the negotiations, so they clearly do not have my best interests at heart."

[fyleisch]

"So you mean to walk the narrow line between enemy and slave to the citied races. A fine arrangement, if you can manage it."

"I will keep watch on the 'dignitaries'" Effyis says. "Noctus isn't a reliable eavesdropper, but-"

"Yes! Good eaves dropper."

"-but I'll have him keep watch on them anyway. If I see them behaving suspiciously, expect a warning by raven."

[Prehysterical]

"I would appreciate that greatly, Effyis. And honestly, Vecca, if I cannot manage this, then I am not worthy of the blood that runs in my veins."

Gorthalon adds in a growl, "By the way, if anyone sights a band of dwarven barbarians, especially a group that's led by 'Helga Halfcask', I would very much like to hear about it. I would consider it a personal favor."

[fyleisch]

"Dwarves? I will keep my eyes open for reports of such a band, for what little it's worth while my people are so constrained. If this Helga Halfcast some enemy of yours, let her also be an enemy of the fengari."

As Vecca is speaking, Victor returns carrying a leather backpack, and armed with some of the more advanced weapons the fengari must be getting through their new trade contact.

"All good, drag."

[Prehysterical]

Gorthalon sighs and chuckles. "How ironic is it that the race that lurks in the shadows is more transparent than any surface-dweller? I am grateful to have neighbors like you Fengari.

But, as entertaining as this has been, we must be heading home. It's past time to make sure that something isn't making off with my gold. May your sleep be deep in coin." Again, not exactly fitting for a non-dragon, but politeness demands a fond farewell.

[fyleisch]

"Walk in the shadows, Gorthalon. Victor can show you back out."

The group of fengari disperses, and Victor leads Saben and Gorthalon back up the long stair, through the illusory wall, across the new bridge, and towards the pothole leading up to the surface.

"You climb okay, drag? What about the eldun?"

Victor jerks his head at the old cleric - apart from Effyis' outburst earlier, its the first indication that any fengari has even noticed his presence.

Saben looks to be momentarily annoyed, before he suppresses the expression and begins to climb.

Back in the light outside, Victor's skin becomes a mottled green and grey, blending in almost perfectly with the hillside. His armor is still clearly visible, but without a humanoid outline to give it context, it looks like anything but clothing. From a distance he's likely to be practically invisible.

"Where we going, drag? You gotta fort?"

[Prehysterical]

"Unfortunately, Victor, I have no fortress just yet. Just a cave to call home. Saben could use some help over the rocks once he gets his armor back on. The terrain is not kind to a man his age."

As they journey west, back to Windypeake, Gorthalon reflects on the symbols that he saw in that underground building. He tries to remember if anything that he saw reminded him of his studies.
Knowledge (Religion): [roll0]
Knowledge (Dungeoneering): [roll1]
Knowledge (History): [roll2]
Knowledge (Arcana): [roll3]

[fyleisch]

As the three travel Victor walks close to Saben, ready to help the old man if he needs it, but it seems unnecessary. At times Victor even seems to be struggling to keep up with the man's pace, and they find themselves making much better time than on the journey out.

The day has worn on, and the sun begins to set just as they pass the South slopes of Skyring Hill. Saben seems focused on the ground in front of him, but Victor keeps giving the hill to the North furtive glances.

Gorthalon doesn't recognize the symbols from the underground building, but he can remember enough of his history to know that they weren't the icons of a famous country or political faction. Whatever the image represented, it must have been specific to the location, the fengari, or perhaps their unusual form of magic.
As they pass through the valley beneath Skyring Hill, Victor looks up at the slopes above them.

"You see anys up there, drag?"

[Prehysterical]

Looking up, Gorthalon remarks, "That's Skyring Hill. I was asking your Elder about earlier, while you were packing, but neither she nor Nonna knew anything about it. Can you feel the magic seeping from it? That feeling in the back of your mind to run? I tried entering the stone circle at the top the other day, but I ran away like a scared gnome!
Spot: [roll0]
Listen: [roll1]

[fyleisch]

"Nah drag, can't feel something, can see something!"

He points at something on the mountainside, but Gorthalon has already seen it. A black shape rushing down the slope towards the three of them. As it draws closer, its image resolves into the form of a monstrous wolf, easily ten feet long and with a height to match. The group might have a few seconds before it reaches them, but there seems to be no doubt that it is heading straight for them.

Saben has stopped now as well and turned to look North.

"Ner-- Io's breath!"

The beast is still a good thousand feet away, but it's approaching quickly - it will be on them in half a minute.
Saben is not yet fatigued, but he is wearing his heavy armor.

[Prehysterical]

Gazing up at the beast, Gorthalon fears for his companions' safety. Looking back at the slope of Windypeake, Gorthalon shouts, "Get to higher ground! We don't want to be at the bottom of the valley when it gets down here." The dragon brings up the rear as the two humanoids begin climbing to make a stand.

[fyleisch]

As the three make for higher ground Victor unslings his shortbow, handling it expertly despite being relatively new to the weapon.

Panting at the exertion, Saben shouts back to the dragon.

"Gorthalon, when I prayed to Io I-" he pants, "I asked for peaceful powers. Reading thoughts, paralyzing people; things that would be useful against your messengers. I'm not prepared for a fight, but- I know a trick, a trick from my past. I can spend the power I've been granted to summon... servants. Dead servants. It isn't forbidden by Io! Let me raise whatever damned souls Io cares to grant me against this beast!"

If a battle starts, do you want to post actions and rolls for Victor directly, since you have his character sheet?

[Prehysterical]

I suppose I can take Victor's actions.
"Io might not care, but I do! I will not endorse disturbing the dead to save my scales some scratching! Stay behind me and I will fend the beast off!"

At least, I hope...

[fyleisch]

The beast seems to pause at the foot of Windypeake, and spends a few seconds sniffing around on the ground, before darting up the hill towards the group.

It's sprint finally brings it close enough to see in detail, and it's a ferocious creature - snarling, blood staining the fur around its jaws, powerfully muscled. It pauses only a moment, sniffing the air. If it's smelling fear, neither Victor nor Saben show any sign of it, the old cleric drawing his shield and morningstar.

Little map. (http://i.imgur.com/vGbkOQ4.png)

Gorthalon's group has initiative. If you want Saben to do something specific, you can call out commands and I'll see if he can do them. If you want Victor to do something specific, you an post his actions, or if you want you can leave Victor and I'll direct him instead.

[Prehysterical]

Victor moves behind Gorthalon and notches a very special arrow to his shortbow before firing.

Gorthalon himself readies the lightning in his belly, waiting for the beast to come closer before letting loose.
Since Gorthalon's breath only reaches forty feet, he will ready an action to fire his breath at the wolf.
[roll0] electric damage, Reflex DC 14 for half

Victor moves to O10 and fires a Dragonsbreath arrow. He gains +1 to his attack roll from higher elevation, but suffers a -2 penalty for the wolf being outside of the first range increment (70 feet). If I have the range calculated wrong, add +2 to the attack and confirmation rolls.

A: [roll1]
D: [roll2]
C: [roll3]
CD: [roll4]

If Victor's arrow hits, it deals 1 additional point of fire damage and the wolf must make a DC 15 Reflex save or catch fire.

[fyleisch]

Victor looses an arrow that strikes the beast, and Saben moves up alongside Gorthalon. The cleric must realize the dragon intended to put himself between the animal and his followers to protect them, but he either feels it unnecessary, or disregards the danger.

The man Gorthalon sees standing beside him is much changed from the cowering old man he had to save from a bear only a short time ago, armed and armored, with the grace of a god flowing through him again, he seems confident, perhaps even manic. Gorthalon see's the old man's weapon-hand glowing with black light; perhaps readying an attack of his own.

Victor's arrow may only have done minor damage, but it seems to spur the beast out of its hesitation, and it launches itself at the group in a charge. Surprisingly the creature seems to be headed towards Saben - perhaps mistaking the largest, most visible of the group as the greatest threat, and it snaps viciously at the man's legs.

Wolf Reflex: [roll0] vs DC14 lightning
Wolf Reflex: [roll1] vs DC15 catch fire

Saben sacrifices Hold Person for Inflict Moderate Wounds:
Attack: [roll2] vs Touch
Damage: [roll3]

The wolf charges Saben and tries to bite him:
Wolf Attack (Charge): [roll4] vs AC 17
Wolf Damage: [roll5]
If wolf hits, Improved Trip:
Wolf Strength: [roll6]

Saben's attempt to resist trip:
Saben Strength: [roll7] vs being tripped

Edit: Fresh map (http://i.imgur.com/9JbtwUH.png).

[Prehysterical]

"Saben!" Gorthalon launches himself at the wold in a flurry of fang and claw. "Get off of him!"

For his own part, Victor realizes that the beast is far too close and he risks hitting his allies in the mad melee. He drops the bow and draws forth his spear before stabbing at the wolf.
Since you didn't update the map with the wolf's position, I'm going to assume that it is in melee range of everyone. Updated the map while I was composing my post.
Breath weapon timer: [roll0] -1(minimum 1)

Gorthalon
(It seems that we have been doing natural weapon damage wrong. Bite only gets +Str and claws half that (which is 0). I have adjusted the damage modifiers accordingly. The wolf's only natural weapon is its bite, so it gets 1.5X damage for Str. Just want to be sure that we are on the same page.)
Bite: [roll1]
D: [roll2]
C: [roll3]
CD: [roll4]

Claw 1: [roll5]
D: [roll6]
C: [roll7]
CD: [roll8]

Claw 2: [roll9]
D: [roll10]
C: [roll11]
CD: [roll12]

Victor

Spear: [roll13]
D: [roll14]
C: [roll15]
CD: [roll16]

[fyleisch]

The dragon's vicious attack seems to get the wolf's attention, turning it's now heavily scratched face towards Gorthalon.

Saben, knocked to the ground, makes no movement, but simply fixes the wolf with a steely glare and barks "Fall!"

The wolf's body dips, whether because Saben's spell took hold, or just to get a better angle isn't clear, but it turns its head and snaps at Gorthalon.

Sorry, I forgot the map initially. The 'wolf's attacks are coming straight from his monster entry, so everything is pre-calculated and trustworthy.

Saben casts DC14 Command (fall).
Wolf will save: [roll0] vs DC14 or fall prone.

Wolf attacks Gorthalon: [roll1]
(if he failed the will save above, subtract 4)

For damage: [roll2]
If hits, free trip attempt:
Wolf Strength (trip): [roll3]

[fyleisch]

Wolf AOO Saben:
Attack: [roll0]
Damage: [roll1]

Aside - I normally handle this kind of combat with private rolls in another thread unless it directly affects the player. I think I'll do that next time, since it's hard to write multiple sides of the same battle.

[Prehysterical]

Roaring as the wolf snaps at Saben again, Gorthalon renews his assault. The wolf's bite deflects off of his draconic scales.
Since we are on a hill, I'm guessing that Victor can't take a 5 foot step.

Also, your comment about monster entry made me curious and I realized that Gorthalon's attacks should be much more damaging for a dragon his size. I've adjusted them.

1 more round until breath is back up.

Bite: [roll0]
D: [roll1]
C: [roll2]
CD: [roll3]

Claw 1: [roll4]
D: [roll5]
C: [roll6]
CD: [roll7]

Claw 2: [roll8]
D: [roll9]
C: [roll10]
CD: [roll11]

[fyleisch]

Gorthalon strikes the wolf in a flurry of tooth and claw, every blow landing solidly on the beast's face or shoulders, and drawing from it a whimper. Apparently deciding that it has met its match in ferocity, the wolf turns and tries to withdraw, ducking away from dragon before it can deliver a passing swipe and darting away across the hillside.

Seeing the wolf move away, Saben staggers to his feet, clutching a fresh wound in his side.

Although on the hills leading up to Windypeake, the terrain isn't particularly difficult, a five foot step would be fine.

The wolf withdraws away from the group, moving 100 feet down the hillside, heading roughly Southwards.

[Prehysterical]

Fangs and claws coated in the wolf's blood, Gorthalon turns to Victor. "Get him to the cave at the top of the hill! I'll chase it off!" Flapping his wings, Gorthalon rises into the air and chases after the wolf. He doesn't intend to finish it. He merely wants to scare it off into the gathering twilight.

[fyleisch]

Gorthalon sees Victor helping Saben to his feet as he flies away, heading after the wolf.

The creature runs South for almost a minute, which takes it a considerable distance. It stops beneath a copse of trees, and after spending a moment watching the landscape behind it, curls up on the ground, licking its wounds and whimpering slightly.

The beast makes no indication that it has seen Gorthalon, flying quietly through the sky above it.

[Prehysterical]

For a brief moment, Gorthalon is tempted to blast the wolf with lightning to drive the point home. Eventually, however, he admits that the threat is over and that Saben's safety is more important. He flies back to Windypeake, digging the holy symbol of Pelor out of his pile of treasure and uses it to heal Saben's wounds.

[fyleisch]

There's very little healing for the holy symbol to do, Saben having already treated some of his own wounds. Victor and the cleric both seem to have been shocked by the encounter, and when they get back to Gorthalon's cave, Victor seems surprised by how the dragon and the cleric are living.

"It's starting to feel crowded in here," Saben muses. "I wonder if I could convince someone to build me a shack outside."

"Yeah drag. I know cave living, this' not living! Hey elder, you got many those furs up here?"

Saben grunts. "Dangerous animals? A few. I've never seen one of those around here though. Some kind of monstrous wolf."

Exhausted, Saben soon retires to Geon's discarded tent, and as the sun sets, Victor unpacks his own bedroll and pushes it up against the cave wall opposite the old cleric. It seems like they're both ready to settle down for the night, and wait to see what tomorrow brings.

For defeating the beast on the hillside, Gorthalon and Victor both receive 300xp each.

Unless you want to take any actions or have any discussions tonight, we can time skip to the morning for Gorthalon's next meeting with the envoy.

[Prehysterical]

They are not the only ones troubled by the day's end. I'll have to have a word with Geon tomorrow... The hamlet might be in trouble at this rate.

I suppose that those two have a point. Perhaps I could hire an architect to build a place for my servants to stay, so that they don't have to sleep on the floor.

Still, the giant bag of coin that Gorthalon has brough home brings a greedy warmth to his scaly heart. Emptying all two thousand pieces onto the pile, he rolls around in his newfound wealth like a pig in mud. As he settles into his deeper hoard for slumber, Gorthalon tries to remember if anything he's learned about the natural world allows for a beast such as the wolf.
Knowledge (nature) for the wolf: [roll0]
I'm okay with time-skipping ahead, although this time Gorthalong will keep Saben and Victor in the cave until the envoys get there. No getting split up this time!

[fyleisch]

Gorthalon knows enough about beasts to know that the creature that attacked them was no ordinary wolf - much larger, more ferocious. He also knows that ordinary wolves usually prefer to live in forests, and would find living and hunting within the hills difficult. Whether this also applies to the monstrous creature he fought is unclear.

Victor glances across from his bedroll as Gorthalon rolls in the gold, turning to face the cave wall with a muttered
"Yeah, that's a drag."

The morning comes quickly, it seems the more gold Gorthalon has for a bed, the easier and more soundly he sleeps.

Saben forgoes his morning walk, and both of the dragon's followers break their fast on their own long-lasting supplies - Saben eating part of a simple trail ration, and Victor eating what looks like the dried body of a centipede the length of Gorthalon's tail.

The cleric performs his morning prayers, muttering quietly before the icon of a dragon's eye sketched on the cave wall in charcoal, and Victor pulls a small box from his pack, opening it to reveal a variety of powders, pastes, and a small steel mirror, which he begins layering onto his skin of his face and hands. As the minutes pass, it becomes clear he's trying to make himself up in the imitation of a human.

At Gorthalon's inquisitive stare, the fengari looks up to answer the implicit question.

"Elder says you going to get a visitor today, drag. Not allowed to look pale for outsiders, Chair's order. I either gotta paint, or stand in front of wall of hume skin."

After twenty minutes of work, the disguise is complete. It's perhaps not perfect, but even if someone recognizes it as a deception, they wouldn't necessarily realize they were looking at a pale fengari.

"Oh, Gorthalon," Saben begins, clearing his throat. "I've asked Io to grant the ability to read thoughts today. I'll try to read the delegates, but we should have some signal for me to pass information to you. Do you have any suggestions?"

[Prehysterical]

Gorthalon considers for a moment before answering. "If they are hostile, make a dragon's maw with your hands. If they are lying, point one finger down and wag it like you were scolding a child. If they say something incredible, but are telling the truth, ball a fist and nod your hand up and down like a head. Let's not make it more complicated than that."

So, the Fengari's camouflage works off of their immediate environment. Good to know.

[fyleisch]

Less than an hour later, approaching noon, the Caron Blades' envoys return. Vincent striding confidently into the cave, attended by the robed girl he'd introduced as Redrolred. Vincent sweeps into a deep bow before the dragon, before standing to his full, albeit unimpressive, height. Victor takes up a place at the dragon's side, and Saben moves to the cave wall at Vincent's left, visible to Gorthalon, but out of the envoy's line of sight.

The old cleric seems to peer very intensely at Vincent for a moment, before frowning in obvious frustration. His gaze quickly passes to the envoy's attendant, Redolred, and his expression changes to a satisfied smile.

"Lord Gorthalon, I have returned, with good news! But first - let me present to you a gift, on behalf of Commander Mandbridge of the Blades, and the Kingdom of Fieldy."

Vincent snaps his fingers at the girl, Redrolred in the same dismissive manner he had on his last visit. She handles a silk-wrapped bundle awkwardly over to the man, which he unwraps to reveal an old, pitted, slightly rusted long sword, clearly more of a ceremonial gift than something intended to be a usable weapon.

"The sword of Sardangos Birkenna, the last dragonslayer to walk these lands, hundreds of years ago. His story is one of abject failure, and ignoble death. I hope it is a worthy offering."

Saben balls his fist and shakes it in a 'nod'.

Vincent bends to place the sword on the ground in front of the dragon, and as he stands, his eyes roam across the room, settling on Victor. The fengari stares back expressionlessly, but his spear-arm seems tensed.

"Forgive my rudeness. I thought I had been introduced to all of your followers, Gorthalon."
The man takes another, much slighter bow towards Victor.

"Vincent Prosopeio, envoy Caron."

Victor seems to relax slightly, but doesn't reply, folding his arms in response, looking towards Gorthalon and raising an eyebrow. In their natural state, the fengari are completely hairless, but at some point in the morning Victor has stuck some kind of fur along his brows, creating the illusion of thick and slightly unnerving eyebrows to match his new, human flesh tone.

"Your bodyguard is a reticent one, Gorthalon."

[Prehysterical]

Gorthalon is pleased by the symbolism present in giving away the sword. However, in response to the man's questions about Victor, he replies, "Victor, here, just happened to enter my employment yesterday, after our discussion. He is a native to this area, a quality that neither I nor Saben possess. He does not think overmuch of others, even myself. Still, his irreverence has a certain charm to it and he has proven to me that he is a trustworthy servant.

Speaking of introductions, you never introduced me to the armored individual that you had outside my cave yesterday. Tell me... Would this person happen to be here today?" Gorthalon picks up the blade and regards it with mock interest.