[3.5E] Heretic's Bane Icewind Dale

[Strangie]

Wyatt frowns at Jerious' proposal to Sable. Considering he knew, or thought he knew, how weird official types get around women, and that Sable is probably the only likable 'lady friend' in the party... he simply shook his head, stepping forward a bit, shrugging.

"Ah, y'know, uh, you alright goin' by yourself with this fellow here, Sable? I mean, we're kinda screwed as far as options go right now. Maybe ya can have one of us go wit' ya, at least? I mean, I dunno who, it don't matter, but someone you can trust, I guess. So at least someone you know'll be 'dere. I mean, as long as, uh... 'dis guy is okay with it n' all." He gestures at Jerious. "We believed in 'da buddy system back at home, heh. Never go outside familiar territory without someone watchin' out for ya. At least, if ya can avoid it, eh?"

[loopy]

Grathalmor

Grathalmor steps forward. "I'll go with Sable. I'll be interested to see if these Sigil-folk can fight worth a damn, and I'll be on hand to make sure everything stays above board." He looks straight at the leader of the guard. "You have the word of Grathalmor Ironfist that as long as you keep things civilised, so shall I. Do we have terms, plane-born?" He sheathes his axe, and offers his hand.

Diplomacy: [roll0]

Yeah... Grathalmor is rather blunt

[Gorgondantess]

Johannes steps forwards once again, seething a bit. "Yes, I speak like the Fated because I know the Fated. And as one who knows the Fated, I know that everything comes with a price... and I'd rather pay with gold than a price undetermined. As such, yes, I will agree to your deal... so long as you tell us what the price is, first. A penny for your thoughts," he says, tossing the man a copper.
You see what I did there?:smalltongue:

[Melody]

I'd love to watch your duel First Ober Jerious. Sable smiles at the First Ober.

Perhaps you could teach me to speak like a native so the shopkeepers won't take advantage of me. If it is alright with the two of you? She looks from Johannes to Carmard then walks over to stand beside Grathalmor.

[Strangie]

Wyatt lowers his head and rubs his finger under his nose, mumbling to himself. "Mm, well, Grathy was fast to take up my idea..." He straightens up, shrugging. "Uh... First Ober Jerious. The rest of us might not get to watch the duel, but just outta curiosity, I'd like to know who or what ya gonna be up against."

Wyatt raised an eyebrow as he finished. He realized his manner of speaking probably didn't go over as professional, but he also realized he couldn't care less, because he didn't care at all. Talking 'gentlemanly' strained him and was just too much of a chore. Comparing himself to Hextros made him feel more professional, so he thought about that while waiting for a response.

[mshady]

Watching the interplay, Jerious allows himself to relax a bit and smiles slightly Sable’s direction. With his hand, he adjusts his long braid of hair to the other side and fixes his gaze on Johannes once again.

“Good dwarf, haven’t I already told you the price? Simply the accompaniment of the lady and the promise of your appearance before our Factol. That’s my price. His price? Well, that’s his matter” Jerious says, his arms wide. He actually appears a bit exasperated.

“All of you stormed one of my Factol’s marquee restaurants, scared the patrons and your mercenaries destroyed the place, plundered the food and their mounts ruined the most marvelous parquet floor. The damages are no doubt in the hundreds of thousands. It is what some might consider… an invasion, perhaps? DESPITE that, I’m offering a way out without fines and some reasonable price because I rather think you all could cause more trouble than is worth to my reputation” he states tersely, bristling a bit. “Be thankful you’ve talked your way into that much. Its best to keep me your friend in this”

He turns back towards Sable and watches the interplay there as her fellows are concerned about her well being. Jerious smiles a slight, thin smile as Grathalmor steps forward to stand at Sable’s side. Typically one of Carmard’s two sworn guardsmen and protectors, however frustrating that has proven lately, Grathalmor volunteers to stand aside from his one duty to act as an honor guard for Sable. However literally that title was about to be, he had no idea. He speaks forcefully and effectively, completely convincing everyone listening that simply nothing was going to happen unless he accompanied Sable. Jerious looks him over with a professional eye, noting his fine but battered armor still spattered with blood along with his stout nature and practiced movement in his armor and decides it is best to go along with the dwarf’s demand.

“Very well, Grathalmor Ironfist, you can come along although I insist her honor is hardly in danger” Jerious says, a tone of slight regret at the last part. “We have terms, you and I”

Next he turns directly towards Sable and smiles pleasantly towards her.

“I’m glad to hear that you’d love to accompany me to the duel” he says and smiles. “Later, perhaps I can show you how to fit in with the locals a bit better. I’d dearly hate for someone else to take advantage of you. The Rowan Training Academy is a great stadium and a site of great grandeur, yet one of several grandiose structures representing the most impressive masonry and craft in the Planes” he declares. A dwarf in the crowd snorts at that, but Jerious continues on.

“The Academy is indeed an academy to learn fighting, but sometimes we open it to all of Sigil. Well, mostly all” he states with a pointed sniff directed towards Hextros and his cohorts.

“Over a hundred thousand attend on a slow night where fighting takes place in the great pit below. We, of course, will have some of the best seats in the Academy for the event. It is a place where the Fated engage in challenges. They can be combat, physical or arcane or tests of the mind or some other form. Constant challenge is how we better ourselves, by striving and overcoming. Is that not the way of all things, I say?” he says, than smiles beatifically. At this point, Wyatt interjects with his own question and concerns and the diversion seems to let some air out of the First Ober’s sails at first.

“Well… you are a halfling, yes?” he says and squints at him. “A halfling male? My apologies but with all the races in Sigil’s it’s a bother to know the differences between them let alone your genders. All I know is some of your people built themselves a nice little halfling hill somewhere in the Lower Wards and shant be bothered to pay their taxes, the barmy little thieves” Jerious sighs, apparently quite vexed at bringing up THAT particular issue. “Well, if you care to learn more about all that I suggest you visit the Body Museum sometime. A few gold to get in, or get yourself in the Dead Book I suppose” again, Jerious sighs.

“My opponent and I occupy one of the nights main events” he smiles, clearly taking pride at pronouncing it. “He is my superior and over sees the command of our soldiers in the Hall of Records. It is to be a duel between us for his post. I, of course, will be dueling with sword and buckler. What he will be bringing depends on what strikes his fancy. I would, of course, suggest if you wager that you wager on me” he says, than winks.

“So I think this concludes matters” Jerious declares. “The young lady and her bearded chaperone shall accompany me back to the Hall of Records. Your mercenaries shall remain our guests until Factol Darkwood decides this matter, so as they do not roam the streets of this Ward and assault or plunder their betters. The rest of you have your parole until midday tomorrow, when the Factol grants audiences. Our Dormitories are open to you, although some feel the Civic Festhall is more worthy of presence” he states, the last part rather pointedly “I would suggest you find yourselves a good and licensed tout to show you berks around. The temple district in the Lady’s Ward might be of interest. I understand there is a great temple of Kossuth there, whom the grim young man with the chain seems to follow, and a temple to your dwarven Gods as well. What be left of it. Otherwise, visit the Markets and try not to get peeled” he says and laughs at their prospects of avoiding THAT fate. No one without planar knowledge has any idea what that term even means, but can guess its meaning by the connotation.

Another round or so of IC comments here if you want, but we’re going to move the scene along now. I would like each of you to PM me what you’re going to do with a half day of free time in Sigil. I think it is safe to say Carmard will be heading over to the Foundry at some point with your group in tow, but the rest of the time you have for yourselves.

[Strangie]

Wyatt just gives a stern faced frown at Jerious at the whole 'barmy little thieves' bit. The fact he made it seem like he couldn't figure out Wyatt's gender made him even more annoyed.

"Ehh, yeah, I'm a halfling male. 'Least you do better than most and got the race right. And I'm a scout, not a thief. So, there's 'dat."

Wyatt raises his hand, opening his mouth to say something else, then he just throws his hand down in a dismissive wave, shaking his head and stepping back. "Sounds all good and fun 'den. Have fun at the duel 'den, Sable and Grath. I wanna know who kicks the crap out of who when it's all said and done." He says with a grin, mostly directed at Jerious.

OOC: Unfortunately as Wyatt has no money there isn't really much I can purchase for him. ... and no stealing for him, for he lacks sleight of hand. He will likely want to rest and get cleaned up before anything else as he still has STR damage like crazy. And Sable still has his stuff, so she'll need to give that back to him at some point.

[thorgrim29]

As the group starts to disperse, Thordrek walks up to the Jerious and adresses him politely.

First Ober Jerious? Thordrek Torrun, at your service. You spoke of a Hall of Records? I am something of an historian, specializing in the history of my people between 2 and 3 millenia ago, when I'm not out killing demons, orcs, or demon orcs, and I was wondering if your records date back that far? And if they do, if I might be allowed a look?

[mshady]

Jerious briefly considers Thordek's inquiry and simply shrugs. If someone could be bored and impatient at the same time, he probably would be.

"If you like" Jerious says, punctuating the statement with a sigh. "Dwarves. If your noses are aren't at a forge, you're wondering who begat who" he says and lets the condescension sink in for a moment.

"You can, but there's a fee for anything and don't think you're free to simply browse. The head librarian is a frost giant, or she's just of them? Oh, I don't know. I'm sure she'll be... delighted to see a dwarf. I would not expect to find much on Prime history. That Plane is so far beneath us, and I mean in a litteral sense...mostly, there is little cause to record the history from there. We rarely hear of it and you dwarves are not much for Planar travel. But suit yourself, we'd be happy to take your gold" he says with a broad smile.

[thorgrim29]

Those who do not remember the past are doomed to repeat it's mistakes, and you never know when finding a hastily scribbled record can change what you knew. The work of a scholar may not be as exiting as fighting duels for status, First Ober Jerious, but I daresay it's at least as constructive to society as a whole. I thank you for the information, and will not take up more of your time

Hearing those works come from beneath a hydra burned beard and a battered suit of armor is a bit incongruous, to say the least. There is a slight edge to Thordrek's voice as the flighty little popinjay insults his race and his chosen profession in the same breath, but he keeps his tongue civil and his insults implied.

Arrogant little twerp.... Frost giant librarian eh? It IS another world. Sounds like the work of a month rather then an afternoon, I'd better go sightseeing

(Thordrek will go freshen up at the guardhouse then follow whatever group hires a guide)

[mshady]

The near confrontation concludes in The Heathern’s Arms Restaurant without bloodshed, but certainly does not lack for tension. Jerious instructs Carmard indirectly through Johannes to get everyone ready to move out and he would be waiting for them outside. He keeps a wary eye on the battered but dangerous looking mercenary company under Hextros’ command as he leaves.

Alone in the restaurant again, the Patriarchate’s group quickly meet with Hextros and Volkur in the center of the restaurant. Carmard orders the mercenaries to go with the First Ober Jerious to the headquarters of The Fated in Sigil, the Hall of Records in the heart of the Clerk’s Ward, not to cause any problems and see to any of their needs, particularly equipment. When Hextros asks if those needs included the local brothels, Carmard, Thordek and Johannes all sharply inform him it does not. They are to wait there until the Patriarchate’s group meets with the Factol of the Fated, at which point they should be able to help attack the Foundry, if needed. Hextros makes no promises, telling all who will listen he would never trust a Taker with his life but he would grudgingly respect the pittance the dwarfs had paid them and do what they were told unless they were attacked. Hextros’ loud and unexpected rant seems to be an exercise in theatre before his soldiers and watching Lieutenants. The group’s attention to the performance seems to have waned somewhat and most appear unmoved. The chain wielding lieutenant can be seen talking with the other officers while Hextros converses and performs.

It takes the better part of half an hour to iron out everything, but the entire group soon exits the restaurant and marches into the streets. They are greeted by a large crowd of onlookers at this point, who have gathered at the scene in anticipation of any incident. Holding the crowd back is a detachment of over a hundred finely armed and armored halberdiers, along with many other weapons. Their equipment and dress is radically different than the detachment of the Fated that Jerious had brought and appear to be local form constabulary. They look grim and accustomed to violence.
Jerious informs the group that these soldiers are part of the Harmonium, who are indeed the local constabulary and better known as “Hard Heads” for reasons that will soon appear obvious. Moments later, First Ober Jerious is speaking with the leader of the Harmonium force as they engage in a terse discussion about what exactly happened inside. When he returns to speak to the dwarf party once again, he informs them that the Harmonium had no choice but to close the portal and return it to the Lower Wards where it was originally from and it would take several days. Jerious stresses he tried to bribe the official without any luck and it would be up to them if they wanted to have something done sooner.

The implications of this quickly become clear. The portal back to Way Ward, than Faitholme, meant their way home was closed for several days and they would have to find an alternative way home. It also meant that a full hundred Forgemark Legion soldiers, along with Buna and Kerik, would have no way of making it to Sigil. If they were going to have any backup here for any assault on the Foundry, Hextros and the Blood Company were apparently it. A mere two hundred soldiers and their own band against a faction stronghold with massive numbers and resources now seemed even more shockingly suicidal than before.

With that dark thought in mind, everyone begins the hour long walk to the vast Hall of Records and much needed rest. Every step is a great labor.

Towards the back of the formation, Gore lags behind. Hextros is by his side and the two converse, if a dialogue with Gore could be considered such, for much of the journey. Carmard and Thordek share a worried look between each other.

[Katasi]

Arum yaws loudly now that the tension has passed. He is bored, and while he is glad there was no fight, he was hoping for more excitement. He knows his innate racial magic can't be traced to him. He looks around and finds an innocent bystander near him, and focusing on his gnomish blood he sends a prestidigitation to send a sound. PFFFFFTTTTT. The sound of a fart rings through the air. He then slowly pushes his badger a ways away and waits, looking to the group's leaders for what the plans are.

[Gorgondantess]

As soon as Jerious is out of earshot, Joh speaks to the rest of the group.
Scan this, yeh Clueless sods, yeh try teh deal wit' da Takers an' you'll be peeled harder 'an any cony out there. An' unless he's a namer- an' I doubt it- it'll be when tha lady speaks you give that blood the laugh. He'll make us pay the music, be it jink or anythin' else. I've been out of touch for a while, an' you may think me a screed, but ye'd better tumble teh tha dark o' what ye're dealin' wit pretty soon or ye'll be conies teh every bobber wit' a brain box."
He sighs after his rant, and spreads his arms apart, addressing them wearily.
"I would have rather found a way to not have to deal with this man. With the Takers, they may seem fine at the beginning, but by the time you're done dealing with them they'll leave you with much less than you gained, if anything. Now, denying him would most likely earn his enmity, which might be a worse fate than just letting him know we're on to him, so for now I advise we play the fool. However... we need to cut off all dealings with him as soon as possible." He eyes Carmard as he says this.
"Now, if I'm correct, we can find the Sensates at the Civic Festhall. They're a bit eccentric, but in general a goodly sort- and if you want to learn anything, that's the best place to go. I'll be seeing if any of my contacts there are still extant. All those who trust me, I advise you follow."
As he says, Johannes heads to the Festhall, looking up anyone who might remember him. There, he tries to secure a room for a few days, tries to catch up on the goings-on since he's been out of town, and looks up Jerious with those who might be in the know- specifically, whether he's as unscrupulous as most Takers, and if he's known as much of a womanizer.

[Melody]

Sable listens to Joh with the expression of someone trying to figure out what someone is saying. With a furrowed brow she speaks quietly while the First Ober is still having a heated discussion with the Harmonium guards.

I think you just said that the Takers are like a dockside whore. They smile to your face and cut your purse strings while you aren't looking. Except they would be worse since they're basically also the law in this section of the city. So the longer we deal with them the more we'll owe them as they figure out more ways to take our money. Though I'd appreciate you going slower with all of that slang. It makes it really hard to learn it when you lay it on so thick.

I don't see any other choice then going along as the clueless umm.. berk was it, that he named me at first. Also, I don't really mind playing arm candy as long as I don't have to pay him for the priveledge of it. So saying she removes Wyatt's pack from inside her own and hands it over to him along with his bow. Looks like you'd better hang onto these since we're splitting up for a bit.

She stops speaking as one of the bystanders apparently lets loose a rather loud and undignified bout of flatulence. Raising an eyebrow she looks at the unfortunate for a moment as people step away from him in the crowd. Shaking her head she shares a brief smile with Wyatt and notices Jerious walking back towards their group. As he rejoins them he explains the Harmonium's removal of the portal and their refusal to take his bribe.

She smiles and speaks. Thank you so much for being so kind First Ober. It warms my heart to see you doing so much for our little group. I believe Joh is going to act as a guide for the others. A tout I believe you called it? She walks along beside the First Ober. You have so many ways of saying that someone is ignorant or clueless, do you also have special ways of saying someone is beautiful and intelligent? She continues in a similar vein the entire walk to the Hall of Records keeping the topic either about culture in Sigil, the impending duel, or something else equally inane.

[Strangie]

Wyatt takes his pack, bending his knees a little from the weight - he was still weak from the Narin's Oil.

"Oof. I forgot to ask Harold for an antidote, damnit... man, 'dis is gonna suck for a while, thanks though, Sable... have fun with yer new boyfriend, heh."

He tries to hide a chuckle, failing spectacularly, at Arum's trickery, and gives Sable a slight wave as she departs with Jerious. He kneels down, shoving everything he can into his pack to help reduce the weight on himself.

He trudges along with Carmard and co. to the Hall of Records for that rest he has been so desperately needing for a while now. He listens intentively to the conversation between Gore and Hextros, however, becoming concerned as much as Carmard and Thordrek.

He shakes his head, glancing off to the side, muttering to himself. "Damn. 'dat is just a bit unsettlin'. Better be thinkin' of a back up plan... ... I wonder..." He trails off as he ponders the future and what it holds for him and his group. Anybody who happens to be tuning into him will probably only hear incoherent mumbling as he ponders his situation.

[Tharar_Greenleaf]

Kelith

As Wyatt gets his bag from Sable and starts to put it on his shoulder Kelith will step in towards him, "I'll help take your bag until we part at whatever inn they send us too, least I can do after not being able to help cure you though I consider myself a healer.

After a good night's sleep some of that weariness should fade away, and I'll look into what to do about the rest."

[Strangie]

Wyatt turns his head up toward Kelith as he speaks and offers to hold onto Wyatt's stuff.

"Heeey, thanks Kelith. It should, huh? You didn't get hit with 'dat nasty crap too, did ya?" Wyatt unshoulders his pack, taking out only the bare minimum of what he'll need - his buckler, his mace and his potion belt - and passes the rest off to Kelith. To those familiar with it, it is a Handy Haversack, and Wyatt has plenty of stuff in there, but it still weighs all the same, about five pounds.

"It's not too heavy, for a guy like yourself. No peekin' though. 'dere ain't any gold in 'dere anyway," he says with a chuckle. "Nah, you seem like a good guy, so you get 'da privelage of hangin' onto my stuff for me. Thanks again, I 'preciate it. Hard to find people like you n' Sable n' Arman and others who'll cut a little guy like me a break every now and again, eh?"

[mshady]

The dwarfs and their allies walk through the streets of Sigil’s Clerk Ward under a close but seemingly symbolic escort by First Ober Jerious and his contingent of fifty sword and buckler equipped soldiers. None seem to have a care in the world that they are grossly outnumbered, but are armored by their confidence in who they were. With reason. Attacking the Fated so close to their center of power, in Sigil at any rate, was something few would contemplate.

At the front of the column of soldiers, the First Ober walks with his head held high as he proudly strides onward. He is flanked by a soldier holding aloft a standard. Next to him stands another soldier who rings a bell that tolls with an unnaturally deep, penetrating sound. The sound alerts all on the streets who it is that approaches and the masses clogging the streets quickly stand aside and let the contingent of The Fated pass. They stand not respectfully but sullenly, with downcast eyes and crossed arms. The resentment is obvious and no one in the dwarf doubted that the Fated, particularly Jerious, took delight in that reaction. By their way of thinking, the reaction was a demonstration of respect for their power.

Grumbling aside, none of Hextros’ mercenaries, his lieutenants or himself give any sign of rebelliousness at this point. Hextros seems content to talk with Gore most of the way. The whole mercenary contingent shows some measure of discipline as they walk through the streets, outside of the occasional snarl at someone who commented on their generally poor condition. Oddly enough, that drew more comment than the officers riding the fierce Nightmares for such sights are more common than someone in poor dress in Sigil apparently.

It takes the better part of an hour for the group to make it to the Hall of Records. They soon find themselves looking at a thick curtain of stone surrounding the Hall. It stands a stout thirty feet tall and is dotted with crenulations, but lacks the turrets one might expect of a castle. The walls are an example of truly cunning stone masonry with not a seam between the stones, perfectly sloped and nearly glass smooth. They are also dotted with runes of every description and outlined in gold, a not so subtle statement that the turrets are hardly required. The runes are subtle but to the trained eye of the dwarfs, or at least someone rather observant, they were not part of the original architecture.

The main entrance is guarded by a small contingent of troops in similar dress to Jerious’ soldiers. They stand in front of massive portcullis of some kind of green metal no one in the group recognizes, with the possible exception of Johannes. Above the gateway stands two identical statues of a robed wizard with a name plaque between the two. The plaque simply states the name “Bigby”. The entire group stops in front of the gateway and the guards converse briefly with Jerious. The discussion is briefly quite heated as the guards protest the First Ober bringing two hundred mercenaries into the compound.

The gate keepers eventually relent and with the clatter of chains, the gate is slowly cranked upwards. This takes a fair bit of time and it seems unusual that the gate would be down in the first place. The gate guards view the group with barely disguised suspicion as the throng of mercenaries pass through the gate and into the compound. Now inside the compound, the group is confronted by another sight equally as stark as the thick walls on the outside. The inside of the compound is dominated by a massive tower that stands over a dozen stories high and topped with imposing spikes that seem to exist for no other reason than to be intimidating. Several other structures stand on the grounds and the entire spacious area is dotted with trees and a finely groomed park grounds. The entire grounds are nothing short of immaculate and a few caretakers can be seen tending to them.

Finally stopping, Jerious turns to face the dwarves and their allies with a haughty look on his face. The sprawling compound serves as a backdrop for him as he speaks.

“Welcome to the Hall of Records, which as you can see is much more than an actual Hall. For now, consider yourselves… guests of The Fated. Your presence is required at midday tomorrow at the Faction Hall, if Factol Darkwood deems you worthy of his time. Take no insult from that statement, he has a great many demands on his time, now more than ever I am told. You are welcome to stay at our dormitories, indeed encourage it as I think it wise that someone mind your mercenaries. They are, of course, our guests as well but… moreso shall I say?” he says with a sly smile that earns him several growls from the mercenaries. “Of course, you have your parole until that time and may even chose to stay elsewhere if you feel our accommodations are not to your taste or unworthy of you” he says again, with some degree of menace this time directed pointedly at Johannes who had stated he would be stating at the Civic Festhall.

“I will leave you for now, as I have preparations to make for the event tonight. You all are most welcome to attend the duel, again some more than others” he says, with a wink in Sable’s direction. “I ask you to behave as guests and remember that is your status. You are not bloods here, indeed I think few of you would even be considered for such. I say this with no intent to insult, only as a statement regarding our differing views on how the multiverse truly works. You place your beliefs in the power of your Gods. We believe in the power of ourselves to take what we need to make our own path. Indeed, that is what your Gods did and have won that game leaving the rest of you as truly followers. Such are your ways and such are different than ours, so for now lets politely lead that difference aside” Jerious says with a slight smile on his face.

“Remember, your presence is required here tomorrow. Don’t expect to elude your invitation, either. We will be watching you”

The First Ober lets that statement settle for a moment before spinning on the balls of his feet and walking away.

As Jerious leaves, Carmard takes his place in front of the group and addresses them.

"Oi, what a lovely park. Make an elf cry to see such a fine lawn. Fine stonework too all 'round. Damn shame it all has to be despoiled by greed and heresy. He be right, its no place for a dwarf" Carmard declares. He has a rather sour look on his face now, removing his mask of neutrality.

"We 'ave to be getting to the Foundry. I'd like to take a few of ye to scout it out a bit before we convene a moot to discuss matters. Johannes, could ye suggest a place from here where we may discuss dwarf business?" he says, turning to the enigmatic dwarf scholar *** rogue.

"The rest of ye, go out and scout the area as best ye can and enjoy the furlough. Anyone who brings back some food and a good cake'll be rewarded richly at this point" he says with a half smile. "See if ye can find other assets that can aide us, or 't least aide yoiu in the task. If someone be wanting to visit the dwarf temples here, mayhaps some succor can be found there as well. If the records here can be o'use and ye have an idea how, try to nose 'round a bit. Just don't kill their giantkin librarian. I understand a few of ye had a tangle with frost giants lately, but no one notch yer axes with that one. I daresay they not think us be polite guests if we did that" he says, than stops and crosses his arms across his chest.

"Any of ye have anything you'd like to say? I'm for a few hours o'sleep before head'n out but now's yer time to speak words to us. The moot be open, as the longbeards say. Oh, and a word with ye before you go Sable, aye?"

[thorgrim29]

I wouldn't mind knowing what this fated business is about. Are they just your typical self important nobs, or is there something more to them? Other then that, I'll be heading for the temples, see what I can find out about the Foundry, and about how good the master brewer is in such a place. There, I'll ask where one might find a reasonably honest guide, so anyone who wants to sightsee might as well follow me.

[Strangie]

"Heh. I don't wanna be wanderin' around without my stuff, since I'm still in a rather cruddy state as it stands, but if I spot something interestin' I'll take note on it, eh? I'm thinkin' I might get in on watchin' 'dat duel though - if anything, just to see Mr. First Ober get slapped around a little. 'den some well deserved rest, freakin' finally."

After putting his stuff somewhere where it'll be safe (unless it is discovered that leaving it with Kelith would be wiser), Wyatt will head out to watch said duel when it occurs, and then once that is over, come back and rest his weary body at a dormitory. Freakin' finally.

[mshady]

"I 'hink we'd all like to see the dear Ober get slapped 'bout a bit" Carmard says with a tight smile under his beard in reply to Wyatt. His gaze returns back to Thordek anod nods in reply.

"The Takers be a bit more than just self important snobs" he continues, than gestures towards the palatial compound. He seems a bit deflated as he gestures towards the area. "I think they be a great deal more than that. They call themselves the Takers or the Fated? They control all the records and clerks? That be power in a city. Mayhaps Johannes knows some more and we can all gather 'round a campfire later" he says with a snort.

"Now... who's coming with me to the Foundry?" he says and looks around at the group. "Make no mistake, there be a good chance this may be our last day 'mongst the living. We 'ave a day? Maybe two? We 'ave to recover the Stoneburner. The 'ctual chances of us doing that, 'specially without the Forgemark, means it be damn near impossible" he grimly states and looks around the group. He sets his jaw and grimaces.

"For me, this be a matter of honor and that be my cart to bear. Victory or death. Even for those of ye part of the Patriarchate, you are under no oath to commit yourselves to near certain death. For those of you who be friends, allies or mercenaries... your assistance has been invaluable but this is dwarf business. You may stand aside, and if I survive this, none will think less of ye. Now would be the time to depart and find yer own ways home, if you so wish. For all of ye though, while I think some of ye may abhor what the Stoneburner is, and does, and how it was made it is now an enormous amount of concentrated power commanded by a vengeful soul. It be best in our hands than free to roam" he says and grimaces once again.

"So, who's coming with me to the Foundry? Stand over by me if yer accompanying me"

[Werewhale]

Nalrak Ironfist

"I am, of course, always at yer side, Carmard." Nalrak states loyally and stands at Carmard's side. "Better a short and glorious life that live a long and dull one. Besides, it's a good story to tell the grandchildren. Not that I'll have any if we all die here..." Nalrak trails off and scratches his beard awkwardly.

[Strangie]

Wyatt thinks on Carmard's words. He'd only been with this group for a short while, but every bit was worth it so far.

"... Well. You all saved my ass from a bunch of orcs in a cave. When I said to Sable 'dat I pay a debt owed I meant it. So I'll consider this truly it - done a lotta dumb things in 'da past, but 'dis might be one of the dumbest, but, what 'da hell. Not like I got much else goin' for me at 'dis rate, in any event..." He takes his stand near Carmard and Nalrak. "If we go out, we'll be doin' it in a blaze of glory, eh?"

[thorgrim29]

Thordrek steps over to Carmard's side after running a hand through his beard a few times.

Aye, no public shame perhaps, but I would rather stand in the Halls of my ancestors this very night then live the next centuries knowing I left brothers in arms to face near certain death. Besides, I left Mirabar because it was dull, and here I am, about to assault a fortress of madmen and heretics to get back a world shattering artifact in SIGIL of all places. It doesn't get more interesting then that does it?

[ArmanMadero]

My appologies.. I had to reformat my computer. it had something on it.... fixed it...

Arman was tired. His leg hurt. He wanted nothing more than to get some sleep. He was afraid that it would be a human sleep he was so tired, and not his normal reverie. And he still needed to look at his spells...

He wasn't sure if he should go with Carmard, but, he also didn't want to see the stoneburner in hands that would really do harm.

He looked to Carmard. "If a few hours of rest are before going to the Foundry, then I will gladly accompany you. I'm afraid otherwise, that I am too tired to do much else, and would more than likely hinder you."

With that comment, Arman covered up a yawn and looked at Carmard for his answer. Indeed, the elf looked weary. Shadows showed under Armans, eyes, and his back was hunched as he struggled to stay upright, both from being tired and from the pain in his leg. His black hair hung down his back, lank and greasy from all the fighting, blood and being unwashed. His blueish skin also seemed paler than normal, if that was possible for a moon elf.

[Tharar_Greenleaf]

Kelith

"I was never one to leave my comrades in their time of need, nor do I like to leave business unfinished; count me in."

{{I will continue to carry Wyatt's stuff if he can't find a suitable place for it.}}

[mshady]

With little else to say and beyond weary, the group makes their way to the dormitories on the grounds of the Hall of Records. Jerious departs from the group, without so much as looking at Sable beyond telling her that he would send someone for her when the event was set to start. His soldiers remain behind and the equivalent of a sergeant remains escort the Blood Company soldiers to an available barracks in the area. The soldiers look around and grumble about their predicament, almost sullen and angry about it. Neither Hextros or Volkros seem the least bit bothered about the circumstance, but not much would really intimidate them. Obviously at least. The only exception is Johannes, who excuses himself from the group to stay at a place he called the Civic Festhall. Having made it clear he did not trust the Fated whatsoever, he splits off from the group and heads right back out of the gate they just came in. He doesn’t look back. Carmard watches him go and says nothing either, but his jaw works back and forth under his beard as he mulls over saying something but instead turns away, wondering if he had made the right decision. Some rest and treatment for those who had been poisoned, which included himself, would hopefully clarify his muddled thoughts. His mind kept returning to what was going on at the Great Foundry and a burning desire to know what was going on and, moreover, what he was going to do. Unconsciously, he fingers the iron wrought holy symbol of Moradin that hangs from his neck as he limps across the compound. Having been shot twice in the leg in as many days now, Carmard is ambulatory but very sore. It feels like bits of metal are biting into his flesh, perhaps fragments from one of the blades that had struck him or metal from his own armor that had been driven into him.

The interior of the compound is neat, elegant and beautiful. Many of the buildings are made of a fine white stone he was unfamiliar with, but must have involved some sort of arcane stone masonry or the most precise mathematics. Neatly clipped lawns dominate the space between and attendants give them dirty looks if anyone even looks like they are going to set foot off of the cobblestone path. On the southern side of the compound stands a squat, bowl like structure that could only be the aforementioned training grounds. A stream of carts wait outside it, preparing for the late evenings’ festivities.

After a walk of several minutes, the guards that accompany them usher the Blood Guard into the barracks portion of the dormitory. The Dormitories themselves are elegant and large, clean and magnificent. Many in the weary group feel a pang of shame for their unkept, bloodied appearances. The rest of the group is left alone to fend for themselves. After looking around for a moment, they head into the main entranceway. A plump old woman with silver hair and warm smile greets them, asking how long they will stay. Carmard explains it will be a few days. She nods, smiles and turns around to look at a bevy of brass pipes that stick out of the wall labeled in a language they do not know. Opening the flap, she speaks into one and summons some attendants to show them all to a room. She turns around and smiles once again, but her eyes flick towards Gore and than Jeth, who sits atop his bear without a care in the world. Her look is one of momentary disapproval, but she says nothing. Two white clad attendants show up shortly thereafter, both hurried and panting for breath as it seems they had run over as quick as they could. It seems rather odd behavior for them to be in such a hurry to show up, and no one mistook it for an eagerness for work.

While the dormitory was a large, multi-level building with stairs going up and down on the ground floor, the dwarven party was shown to a first floor room. It is large and filled with military style cots, along with plain trunks at the foot of every bed. Across the hallways is a communal shower, as well as a privy room. The smell of food comes from down the hall. Presumably they are close to a kitchen or mess hall of some sort.

[mshady]

The group quickly turns in for some well needed rest, not bothering to wash or do much more than take off their armor and drop into an immediate slumber. Such is the degree of fatigue that a guard is not even posted, as Carmard rationalizes anyone so assigned would probably fall asleep anyways. Everyone throws their gear off into a pile (unless they don’t) and settles down on to the cots. Sleep comes quickly.

Four hours later, there is a knock on the door. It is not immediately answered, so the knock can be heard again. It barely rouses the sleeping group, who largely ignore the knock although some may be light sleepers. Most are snoring like a masonry saw.

Finally, a voice can be heard with near pitch perfect clarity through a brass tube sticking out of the wall. The sound of a man clearing his voice echoes through the tube, followed by the sound of a bell being rung three times. A moment later, the sound of a voice can be heard clearly and loudly.

“Good eve to everyone” a voice says with a faintly nasal pitch. “The First Ober of 1st Century/2nd Millennium of the Records, Ayers sans Jerious requests the presence of a Miss… Sable. This detachment will escort her to Darkwood Training Facility for the evening’s events in one hour’s time. That is all” the voice says. The bell clangs three more times and it reverberates through the room, magnifying the sound considerably. With another metallic clang, the outside of the tube is loudly shut and that is the last voice heard from the speaking tube.

Sitting up in his bed, Carmard rubs his tired eyes and grumbles at being so awoken. With one hand, he reaches for his canteen and takes a long pull of what is presumably water from it and wipes the excess away from his lips and beard. Bleary eyed, he looks across the room towards where Sable sits and stares at her for a long moment without a word, before finally speaking.

“Well, ye should ‘ave an interesting time” he says. He smiles tiredly at her, trying to reassure her, than lowers his head and rubs his temples before looking up. “For what it be worth lass, I’m sorry”

He frowns and tries to think of something else to say, but shakes his head and flops back down on to the cot and stares at the ceiling of the room with his hands behind his head.

[Strangie]

Wyatt grumbles in his sleep, waving his hand dismissively at the door. "Bleh, go away, mister... man, we... we don't want any..." He faceplants back in his pillow for a moment.

He flails and sits up when the voice rings in, staring at the tube like some sort of frightened cat as it speaks. He relaxes after a moment and sighs, rubbing his face with his hand and frowning.

After the message is delivered, Wyatt stretches and yawns a little, glancing over at Sable.

"Feh... I never sleep easy anyway... now I'll never be able to sleep, I feel. Ya want some extra company, Sable. While watchin' a couple of fops beat each other up sounds like a riot, I'm sure things could be livened up a bit. Eh?"

[Melody]

Thanks Wyatt I'd appreciate the company. Sable hastily washes all of the visible pieces of skin and drags a brush through her hair then twists it and pins it up with something that looks suspiciously like a throwing spike. Then pulling out the familiar battered hat she puts it on. Immediately she is dressed in a gown like those seen fleeing the resturant just after their arrival. The hat is now appears to be a pin holding up her hair. The sword appears to be a small jeweled dagger hanging on her hip. She places her pack, quiver, and bow on the pile of gear in the center of the room.

Smiling at Carmard she shakes her head. I've dated worse. She tucks a few gems into her belt and winking she walks to the door and waits on Wyatt.

[thorgrim29]

Wish the other guy luck from me

Mumbles Thordrek as he falls asleep again (gotta get those 8 hours). When he finally wakes up, refreshed, he jumps out of the blood, sweat and soot stained sheets and wanders around, barefoot, unarmored but with his axe and spell components on his belt, until he finds the bathroom, there, he cuts out the singed hair and soaks for half an hour while pondering the day ahead. After breakfast, he will take his armor to the armory and polish it. If this is the day of his death, at least he will look good facing it.

[Tharar_Greenleaf]

Kelith

Kelith will sleep through the knocking and disturbance as best he can, resting for a full 8 hours before wearily dragging himself out of the bed and finding food.

With his hunger out of the way he finds the bath area and cleans himself before getting his things together and suiting back up.

If there is still time left he'll go in search of the Temple of Kossuth Jerious mentioned earlier.

[Strangie]

Wyatt gets dressed and gets cleaned up. He feels better than he did before, the poison having been diluted from his system. When he comes back out, he approaches Sable, looking up at her and rubbing his chin with one hand. He is still dressed in his normal scouting clothing, his green vest and shirt and pads and all.

"Oh, sure, gotta get all fancy now, do ya." He collects his stuff, packing on his bag. "I feel a bit better now, I think I can manage the trip with my stuff. Ya sure you don't mind me comin' along? I didn't bring my monocle and fancy suit with me unfortunately, or maybe I'd feel more in place 'dan I do now, ahahaha."

Wyatt shakes his head with a snicker and a grin, following along. "It better be a real duel at least. Mr. Fancy Pants better be as good as he thinks he is. He seems like a hustler, too. Me and Grathy got you covered, yeah?"

[Melody]

I'm more worried about what this room is costing us. I'd have taken Joh's advice and gone to the Festhall if we could have all gotten away with it, but.. Sable trails off with a shrug of helplessness. The First Ober needs someone to play big strong man to so I'm happy to oblige if it lets us get out of here without paying as much. She chuckles. Here I am worrying over Carmard's purse strings, but I hate to pay people for the priveledge of visiting their city and speaking to their constabulary. She grins at Thordrek's comment and laughs.

Well let's get going. I hate to keep anyone waiting and the duel actually sounds interesting. Perhaps I'll put some money on the First Ober to win. Though I wish Joh hadn't run off, I like to know how much something is worth before I go spending it. She pauses with a slight frown. On second thought, no spending money till I understand the money system around here. Otherwise I'll get fleeced like a berk. She makes a face as she tries out some of the new slang she has picked up. Bah, gonna take some getting used to.

So saying she steps outside the room to follow whatever escort is waiting for the small group.

[Strangie]

"Hah! 'Big Strong Man' my hairy foot. If you wanna see some strong people, you should see 'da people 'dat I used to work with. People with muscles the size of my head. Like 'dat half-dragon guy. You woulda liked him. Maybe after we get through alla 'dis, I'll see if Carmard'll let me try and get in touch wit' some old co-workers of mine, eh? I'm sure there's gotta be some who'd rather be doing more interestin' things 'dan, uh, nothin'."

He shrugs, stretching his arms out. "Ah, man... yeah, 'dis group has plenty of stuff goin' on it seems. Hearin' about frost giants n' demons and orcs and this Stoneburner thing. Always plenty of things to be doin', yeah? And don't you worry - 'dey can hack it just as well as I can, heh." He says with a grin.

[ArmanMadero]

Arman gratefully followed the rest into the rooms that they were being brought to, and sank into one of the overstuffed chairs in the room when he reached it.

Reaching Reverie, was not an issue, and he soon sank into it. At some point he left Reverie, and went into a human sleep he was so tired. That didn't last long, though, and he was soon back in Reverie.

Some time later, he awoke, shortly before all the others. He was still tired, but it was more from waking up than actually being tired. He was still sitting in the chair, too tired to even have gotten into a bed. At least he hadn't fallen out of the chair.

He sat up a little and stretched, noticing everyone else was still sleeping. He reached for his pack, and withdrew hs spellbook, pleased to have some time to study before things started happening again.

I will have an updated list for you later today M

[mshady]

Sable steps out of the barracks room feeling much more rested than she had before. Not to say she felt completely rested by any stretch of the imagination, mentally or physically. The last few days, let alone the last few weeks since she first encountered the dwarves, had not been kind to her and it was fraying her nerves. She is accompanied by Grathalmor and Wyatt as she walks to the front of the building to meet up with her escort.

Neither Wyatt or Grathalmor seemed any more rested than she was. While the dwarf seemed fairly unflappable all together, Wyatt seemed his usual self. For a fellow who had his previous companions whipped out to nearly a man, than was tortured by an orc shaman's mate who was fond of knives, it was hard to tell. Halflings apparently had a rather unique ability to deal with tragedy and move on. The result was similar to the typical dwarven stoicism to a point, though a dwarf would hold a life long grudge over such a matter.

Dwarves did not just hold a grudge; they wrote it down. These dwarves of the Patriarchate, at least the senior ones, seemed to have such a book dating back a long, long time. They shared its contents as easily as trimming their beards; in other words, they didn't. The Stoneburner they were chasing though was clearly a construct to resolve more than a couple of grudges. This whole mission was, in part, a test. That they cross the Planes going after it, than willingly throw themselves at suicidal odds to get them back, was a bit frightening when she realized her wagon was hitched to them. Well, it beat a lot of alternatives...

Well, at least Carmard had asked Wyatt and her if they wanted to sit the suicidal attack out without loss of face. It was an interesting statement on his part, if not unexpected. He was more concerned about their loss of honor than their lives...

When they reach the front desk, they find four humans standing in the black and yellow livery of the Takers. Or at least the First Ober's detachment of soldiers. One of them holds a large bell in his hand and it is the first time she has been able to get a close look at it. It would make a pretty fair club as well. Next to him stands the leader of the group and she immediately recognizes the voice as the one from the speaking tube.

"We've been waiting" he says, his tone a bit snippy. He clearly though he had better things to do than escort his commander's "date" around. Having his displeasure acknowledged, he slips back into a more professional, if slightly bored, tone.

"I am Third Ober Lodi" he states bluntly. He draws up a breath and continues.

"You will be escorted by me to the Rowan Darkwood Academy of Training. You will be accompany First Ober Jerious for the evening until his duel. You will be seated in a suite reserved for officers of the Second Millenium. Your behavior is expected to befitting an event of class. If you are unfamilar with such circles, do not draw attention to yourself" he says and looks Sable right in the eyes.

"My understanding is you are a ber... a Prime. My statement is a warning for your protection. Any gathering of the Superiors of the Fated is not a sea you would want to swim in, even if you were a blood." This time, his tone is equal part warning and sympathetic.

"The same goes for your retainers" he says and sweeps his eyes over Grathalmor and Wyatt. He sniffs his nose indignantly at the shape the two are in. "It did penetrate your brain boxes that you are going to witness a fight, not join it, yes?" he says with a sigh.

Resting his hands on the hilt of an unadorned rapier, the Third Ober's attention returns to Sable.

"Much more appropriate dress" he says pointedly. "Any questions before we depart? The event has already started, but the First Ober's duel will be later. It would not do to arrive at the same time as the rabble. Oh..."

He reaches for his belt and pulls out a small bag that jingles when it moves. The Third Ober places it in Sable's hand than backs up, returning to his place in line.

"First Ober Jerious instructed I provide you with some coins to cover any expenses" he says with a smirk, amused at giving someone money. "Some coins in there, but all platinum pieces from the First Ober's personal mint"

[Strangie]

Wyatt rolled his eyes at the Third Ober's comments about the state he and Grath were in.

"'Course we know we ain't fightin'. No, we're watchin' out for our lady friend. 'dere ain't anything wrong with 'dat, now is 'dere? Since we're watchin' an even 'of class'," Wyatt says, making quote marks with his fingers, "I suppose I'll hold off on my usual smart guy comments inside until AFTER the event. Bah." Wyatt frowns, shaking his head and looking up at Sable.

"Wow. Gettin' PAID to be here. Ain't you 'da lucky girl, eh?"

[mshady]

"Dressed as you are, feel free to be part of the amusements. Tonight is an open challenge night. If you see anyone particularly...vile, members of the crowd are encouraged to challenge them" he says with a sly smile.

"You may, of course, only challenge those who have already submitted to the Proving. Or just go on down. There are all manner of beasts and.. post living contenstants? I assure you, that is all for the amusement of the crowds. Serious business of our own challenges aside, to fill a night we oft require other diversions. It is a business too, afterall... Next week is a massive slave auction, a bardic performance, a public orgy and a draconic exhibition.

Attendance for that is down, however. We used to sell the leftover slaves for dragon bait. Was quite popular with the children of wealthy class in Sigil. Alas, the new Factol saw that as a waste. So, lets be off yes?"

[Strangie]

"... um, yeah, sure. Let's go." Wyatt says, moving along with the others when they do. He taps Grathalmore's leg armor lightly with his mace as they go, just to get his attention. "Hey clanky. You know how you were talkin' about seein' how Sigil brawls? Here's your chance. Maybe there's some sap out 'dere you can kick around a little bit and give 'em what for. Looks like 'dis might not be such a bad trip after all, heh heh heh..."

[mshady]

With Sable departing, the rest of the group takes the rest of their normal rest. Anyone who falls back to sleep falls into a deep and restful sleep. Some might not have been even awoken by the earlier commotion. Regardless, after a complete rest, Carmard , Arum and Arman spend the extra time preparing spells for the coming trip. As this would be their last chance to prepare before a fight at the Foundry, all preparations are made with that issue in mind. The priests of the party do their own preparations with a similar thought in mind.

Ready to move out, Carmard gathers the group that will be joining him and they make ready to head out.

Leaving separately is at least Kelith….

OOC: If anyone else is going by themselves somewhere, post IC so we can get that resolved, or started at least

[Melody]

Very sorry to keep you waiting Third Ober.

Sable weighs the bag in her hand without being obvious, after a mental calculation on the value of weight per platinum she has a rough estimate of what the purse would be worth in Waterdeep.

The First Ober has been very generous. Perhaps we could place a bet on his winning? He had suggested that I do such, and I can see no better way than to repay his kindness with trust in his skill.

She smiles. I shall of course trust you, Third Ober Lodi, to keep my companions and me out of trouble since you know how to swim in these deep waters. We do know that we are out of our depth and appreciate the great honor of attending the event.

So saying she continues along with the group towards the Academy of Training.

[Werewhale]

Nalrak Ironfist

Nalrak sleeps heavily through the night, only stirring slightly when Sable and the rest leave and mutters something about saving the pretty dwarven women from the hydra-riding demons. As dawn arrives, he wakes pleasantly rested and with no memory of what he was dreaming, although he was quite sure it was awesome.

He sits up and takes a few moments to simply enjoy being fully rested at last. But soon enough his thoughts turn to the task ahead and he realizes that he has much to do in preparation. Most importantly praying. He didn't have time to travel through the enormous city to find a temple to Dumathoin, and he'd probably get lost and 'fleeced' anyway, so instead he grabbed his coinpouch and hammer and left the dormitories. After a bit of wandering around he finds a nice, stony and secluded spot where he sits down on his knees.

After praying in silence for a while, he fishes around in his coin pouch until he finds the elliptical shape of a banded agate and brings it out. It was a meagre offering, yet the only alternative was the large diamond in his pack, and he needed that, although he hoped he would never have to use it. Nalrak places the rock in front of him and, after a few words to his god, brings the hammer down upon it. The rock shatters and a few tendrils of smoke rise from its remains. The runes on Nalrak's hammer still give off a small, red glow. Nalrak collects what pieces and dust he can into a tiny pouch.

After his private communion, Nalrak returns his things to the dormitories, then finds a place to wash himself somewhat, grab some breakfast and then returns back to his bed and spends the rest of his time until Carmard calls sorting his inventory, inspecting his armor, cleaning and repairing what he could, oiling creaky joints, shining his shield and occasionally checking up on any of those he recalled being poisoned in Wayward, especially if they were coming to the Forge.

[mshady]

The Foundry Group

Carmard gathers the portion of the group that will be joining him to check out what was going on at the Great Foundry of the Godsmen. Kelith and Thordek give their goodbyes, along with Gore. He does not explain where he will be going, only that he will be back. Probably. This is much to the relief of Carmard, but certainly of concern to Thordek. The two dwarves meet their eyes as Gore rumbles out of the room and they have a silent understanding: do what you have to. The halfling druid Jeth also elects to leave, along with his curious bear. What he was doing had not particularly been a question on Carmard’s mind, so silent had he been for most of the time in the party outside of a few admittedly dramatic contributions. Johannes had long left for another place, with no one sure when he would be back or how they would link up again.

A few minutes after everyone else has left, the group Carmard is leading heads out as well. It is composed of Carmard, Nalrak, Magnum, Hjalmar, Arman and Arum. The group has rested enough to move about normally (i.e. no penalties), but they are all still sore and weary. Much of their armor is still dented, creased, gashed open or otherwise punctured. Any shields they carry are deeply marked from many blows and blackened from the hydra’s fires. They exit the dormitory and look over at the distant Training Facility and hear the oohs! and ahhs! of the crowd inside and wonder how Sable and her companions are fairing as the First Ober’s guests. None of the dwarfs feel particularly comfortable at the headquarters compound of the Fated. It is a magnificent area. It is opulent in the extreme, actually. The place has a humbling power and the slippery feel of greed that gnaws at the dwarven sensibilities. The squat, imposing tower that reached so high above the other buildings dominated the inside of the area. When they finally exit the compound, it is not without relief. Whatever graciousness they had been extended after their dramatic arrival into Sigil, they had to wonder what the cost of it would be.

With a conjumen like “The Takers”, no one was going to mistake them for a charity.

Out on the streets now, with little idea of where to go, they follow the glow in the skyline that Jerious had indicated was a fire at the Foundry. While the First Ober seemed unconcerned by what was going on there, the dwarves had a very good idea of what might be going on. Inside the massive structure, perhaps the largest such factory anywhere, was a tortured spirit with vengeance on its mind, access to enormous power and thought of itself as a kind of proto-god. That it would seek out the Godsmen, who offered their followers an unlikely path to Godhood but a path none the less, certainly made a kind of sense.

What the Godsmen would think about what Bauruk, the soul possessing the lost stoneburner, had in mind was a very open question. Would they revere it for the very obvious power that the soul possessed? Or would they resist the attempt at forcing himself upon the entire faction in an attempt to claim their ultimate prize for himself, a complete outsider and not a “blood”, or member. If the fires spewing from the smokestacks on the horizon were any indication, there was a divided opinion on the issue. While the fires had clearly subsided, they still served as a beckon for the dwarves. It would take them hours to make it to the Lower Wards, where the Foundry was. Plenty of time to think.

The walk itself was eye opening. Despite their own rough appearance, it hardly earned them a stare. They did much of the staring themselves, actually. On several street corners, they saw what were clearly the undead standing about or walking in circuits around an area. They wore sandwich boards advertising various businesses. Humanoids of all sorts of races walked the streets, many of which no one in the party had seen or heard of before. Hooded workers silently cleaned a street while similarly dressed ones drove carts down the road carrying the dead to places unknown. The list of unusual things they seen on their walk was a long list indeed…

[mshady]

The Rowan Darkwood Training Academy

Sable, Grathalmor and Wyatt are ushered into the towering arena and the sights along the way are a marvel. Although their guide is silent about the sights, there are several statues on the grounds just before the entrance. They appear lifelike and the realistic technique seems far beyond any sculptures any had seen before. For Sable particularly, that was saying something considering her own roots and exposure to fine art in her career – although she was rarely simply visiting. For Grathalmor, the realistic style emphasizing the nude physique of the subject of various races is a shocking difference from dwarf stone work. Rather than the typically stoic look of a grim dwarf statue, the emotions ran a wide, wide range. Most dwarven sculptures were larger than life examples of fallen ancestors in full battle regalia, intended to serve as silent reminders of the subject’s glory. Of course, most were also intended to serve as actual guardians, possessed by spirits of their ancestors who could inhabit a stone form and protect the Clan. While dwarven sculptures may be tougher and far more useful, the actual beauty was something to be admired. For all his experience, Grathalmor is simply not sure how some of the work was even done. As for Wyatt, while his people shunned such permanent expressions as sculpture and contented themselves with a tree carving or a painting here and there, he had seen a lot of OTHER peoples art and little of that merited comparison either.

The newest, and most often featured, statues are painted sculptures of a powerful looking man of significant age, in his 50s or 60s in human years yet barely qualified to be an adult by dwarven standards. He has a short, pointed beard and a scar across one eye. The man is often depicted carrying a broadsword and a black, muscled cuirass. The sculptures that show his complete physique prominently feature quite a few other scars. Under each statue is a name plate.

Factol Rowan Darkwood

If he was the leader of this group, he must certainly be a powerful leader indeed.

The rest of the outside is made of a white stone that approaches the gloss white of true ivory. Any seams between the stone can barely be seen. Although dotted with statues in several alcoves, the outside is primarily a canvas for the most massive fresco any had ever seen. It depicts a humble man who is captured, sent to the lower planes, tortured, released, traveled and than holds aloft a shining ring as all around him bow. This fresco too bears a name.

Factol Rowan Darkwood.

Such is the theme in other places. It feels as if the man is imposing his will on all who enter through the power and skill of his depictions. Which was exactly the idea, no doubt.

Ushered inside, the trio are ushered into a door in the wall and told to wait. It is lined with silver and polished to such a sheen they can all see their reflections Their escort slides the door closed and pulls on a rope hanging from the ceiling. A distant bell rings and they feel the room lift underneath them. It takes a couple of minutes for the odd sensation to stop, but stop it does. When the Third Ober pulls open the door again, it reveals a large room high over the arena floor. The room is crowded with dozens of people and their retainers, both of the finest dress. No one pays the door any heed until they hear the clatter of armor plate as Grathalmor steps forward. All eyes in the room look at them. Eyes that weigh and measure them, than find them not worth their time or pity. The Third Ober’s face goes momentarily red from embarrassment before he practically pushes them all along to a room along the side. The wall is paneled in a rich looking dark brown and black wood. There is a name plate across the top.

Second Millennial – Command Staff Only

The Ober pushes open the door and inside the elegant room sits another woman. Four children surround her, one on her lap. She is a smallish woman and perhaps a half elf by the looks of her. Dressed in blue, she smiles up at Sable and company. By her feet, she lifts up a basket and sets it on one of the chairs and opens it. Inside, she withdraws a small platter with finger sandwiches and sets it down on a marble table between the chairs.

“Oh, you must be Mr. Jerious’ companion? I’m Anrika. It’s soo nice to have company in this drafty old room. The blood sports are just so barbaric, I hate that my children have to even be here except their father is in this useless duel” she says and sighs.

“So!” she says with sudden brightness. “Would you like a sandwich?”

[Melody]

Very pleased to meet you Anrika and certainly. Sable reaches out and takes a finger sandwich from the tray and seating herself nearby.

I am Sable and this is Grathalmor and Wyatt. She indicates each as she names them. We are indeed the guests of the First Ober, though I must admit to being rather clueless as to the details of these bloodsports. Would you mind filling me in on the particulars? I believe Jerious said they were the means of promotion, though I do not believe he mentioned who he would be competing against?

She frowns thoughtfully. Perhaps he did, but it was rather late when we arrived. He also suggested that I place a wager on his winning though I'm not certain how I should do that either. So please, begin at the beginning and I'll try not to act too ignorant. She smiles at Anrika and nibbles on the sandwich while she listens.

[Strangie]

Wyatt catches people staring at him, shrugging with a grin. "Yo. What's happenin'. Come on, ain't anybody ever seen a little guy before. Y'all supposed ain't to stare, it ain't polite. Don't 'dey teach people here manners or what. Geez." He waves them off dismissively as everybody is shoved into the next room, when Anrika speaks.

"Nice to meetcha. Yeah. She's his companion, if you wanna call it 'dat. Sandwich? Don't mind if I do, thank ya kindly," Wyatt says as he takes one with a nod, turning it over between his fingers and eyeing the insides before taking a bite. "Yeah, who's Mister First Ober fightin' anyway. I heard it was for a post or somethin' like 'dat? Another one of his officer fellows, I think?"

[loopy]

Grathalmor

Grathalmor nods his head gratefully in acknowledgement, as he takes one of the sandwiches offered. "Thank you for the welcome. Its seems ye are one of the few around this city who'll take down your airs and graces to let some common manners shine through." He sighs. "No offence intended. Ye wouldn't happen to have something to wash down this sandwich, would ye?"

"Wouldn't mind taking part in these duels myself, I'd say. Would do me some good to show these arrogant types how a real Dwarven knight fights."

[mshady]

"Oh?" Anrika says in reply to Sable. She smiles warmly at Sable and her blue eyes twinkle. With one hand, she pushes away a strand of very blonde hair and pats the small child on her lap gently.

"Well now, that is a bit sideways of him not to explain" she says with a raised eye brow. "The duel is for a promotion, yes. Jerious will be dueling against my husband for command of the Second Millenial. His name is Daryus Malvo. You've heard of him, yes?" she says, again punctuating the sentence with a kind smile. "I do love to see my husband duel. Its all a good bit of sport for him, particulary with Jerious. He his a mentor too, afterall" she smiles again and looks at Sable curiously.

"You should know that, if you are his companion" she says with searching eyes, and than shrugs. "Well no matter, it is good to see Jerious found a good woman. He's as often with his men as anyone else these days"
She leans back and takes a delicate bite of the sandwich before continuing.

"Well, the duel is a simple affair. It is a Trial of Position. The stakes are the command of the Millenial itself, so quite a hit of prestige. Oh, and work for me? I do abhor all the fussing I have to do. It's SUCH a social thing at times" she says with a fiegned sigh. Obviously she rather enjoyed that aspect. "The contest is assessed by a judge. Its quite complex to me, but they each get points for striking the other with a baited sword. Harmless, but QUITE the spectacle" she says with a smile and leans in closer to Sable. "Personally, I'd suggest you bet on MY husband. He didn't win command by being a lazy blood" she says and giggles at what may indeed be a double entendre.

Turning to Grathalmor, she gestures at a crystal pitcher and similarly made goblets. Water sparkles inside the pitcher.

"Help yourself" she exclaims. "Quite the amazing pitcher. It always refreshes itself. A bit of an heirloom of our family, so do be careful though" she says with a prideful smile. "You do look dressed for a duel yourself, and not a points duel either. Ober Lodi?" she says and turns to the now silent attendant.

"Yes, ma'am?" he replies.

"Our dwarven knight friend here wishes a bit of sport! Could we accomodate him? Perhaps something monstrous? The pits are just full of the most awful things. I'm afraid he could not fight one of us, as he is not a blood. But surely we could accomodate him" she asks.

Lodi looks him over and nods.

"I think we could find something that'd be a real test for the berk. Fights aren't supposed to be to the death, but the collars on'em don't always stop them so don't lose if you go in there" he says with a wide smile.

[Strangie]

"Ooh, so it's one of them fencin' kind of duels where they slap each other around with sticks or somethin'. 'dat don't sound too bad. Kinda reminds me of home back when I was an even littler guy, when we'd run around hittin' at each other with sticks... until one of us got poked in the eye, and hadta wear a patch over his eye. We don't play 'dat game no more."

Wyatt shakes his head, taking another bite from his sandwich. "Hey, 's good stuff. I betcha I'd be really good at one of them points duels, but I guess if I ain't from around here or dressed in fancy clothin' I don't qualify, huh. I betcha Sable would testify to how good I am close-quarters and how I'm just about untouchable, eh, Sabes? Eh?"

He grins, taking another bite of his sandwich. He listens to them talk about Grathalmore's challenge, and shakes his head. "Don't be gettin' yourself killed now, Grath. Last thing we need to be doin' is explainin' to Carmard why we had to carry what's left of ya back in a box or somethin'. Just to give ya a heads-up, yeah?"

[Melody]

You are very kind Mistress Malvo, but I shall have to bet on the First Ober being his guest and all. It would be impolite of me not to do so. If you do have time Ober Lodi would you place the bet on Jerious with this purse? Sable hands the unopened purse that had been given to her to the Third Ober. Catching the attention of one of the children she smiles and cups both of her hands together. Leaning forward she whispers into her hand and slowly they begin to glow. Opening her hand a diminutive humanoid figure made of light can be seen dancing on the palm of her hand. Moving her hand away the figure dances in the air.

Hmm, I think she needs some music. With a twinkle in her eyes she pulls a bit of wool from one of the many spell component pouches in her belt. With the illusion on her it looked like she produced the fabric as if by magic. Rubbing the small pinch of fabric between her fingers the sound of soft harp song can be heard. Opening her hand to show that the fabric has vanished she gestures for the dancer to dance slowly through the room and then returns her attention to Anrika.

You've been blessed with beautiful children Anrika. She smiles watching the children play. Turning to look at Grathalmor. I'm supprised you'd want to fight again so soon. Certainly you must be tired? And Wyatt, I'm certain you'd be quite good at a points duel, though I doubt the audience would enjoy it very much. You are altogether too good at dodging and people enjoy seeing an exchange of blows. You'd almost be better suited to a display of acrobatics. Let us just enjoy the spectacle before us and rest happily knowing that no matter the outcome we are among friends. Of course Grathalmor you may be excused to fight if it is your wish to do so.

Casting two cantrips, dancing lights and ghost sound.

[Strangie]

"Acrobatics eh? I betcha I could do ya one better and win BOTH at 'da same time! Besides, what's better than watchin' someone gettin' dominated by a man who knows how to bob and weave and dance around his foe and make 'em look like a fool. I know all kinds of fancy tricks." He watches the little illusion dancer waltz across the room. "... can't really do 'dat, though. Heh, 'dat's pretty neat."

He shrugs, finishing off his sandwich. "Bettin' the whole bag on Jerious, huh. Let's hope his skill wit' a blade is as sharp as his wit, 'den. I'm ready to go see 'dis when you are."

[Melody]

Sable winks at Wyatt. Me too.

[thorgrim29]

((Yeah, I tought we'd be getting a bit of free time before going to the foundry, so Thordrek is leaving with the main group)

[Tharar_Greenleaf]

{{So if we aren't with the main group what are we supposed to do, posting wise?

Do we assume whatever it is we sent you in our PM happens, or do we need to post in this IC thread, or do we need to PM it with you, or what?}}

[mshady]

((Melody will handle your seperate group stuff. We're working things out, no worries))

[mshady]

“Oh!” Anrika says and points out on to the field. “A challenge is about to start” she says and rises. She points down to the arena floor. It is at least 10 stories below them, but the view is excellent. Far below is a field covered in brown sand. Several dark spots can be seen across the field from previous combats. Considering the size of the spots, it is unlikely whomever left them would have survived. The crowd roars as a single swordsmen steps out on to the field and Anrika claps politely, although her smile demonstrates her true enthusiasm. Two of her older children, both boys no younger than 10, walk over to her side and lean over the rail to get a better view. The swordsmen bows to the crowd and launches into a weapons display with curving sword that is both flashy and impressive. The crowd roars with delight as the demonstration continues.

“It’s all a bit of theatre, to get bets and increase his reputation. The rewards for being a known fighter here are… most impressive. People will hire them for all sorts of things, even just showing up for a party. Some women pay most handsomely for such a man. Not I, of course! Just some…” she says and laughs at the thought.

“Please welcome The Terrible Swift Sword, Maaanheim! A master of all weapons, today he uses a scimitar given to him by the Factol himself! With 14 decapitations this season, tonight he tries to break his personal season record! Tonight, we have a special challenge for him!” the announcer’s voice says, echoing throughout the arena.

“Tonight, we have an Anarchist who committed crimes against the Tax. This beast of chaos said he would bow to none and pay no one. That he did not BELIEVE in the values that keep Sigil alive. We all KNOW they want to tear us all down. So tonight… we give their warrior a chance! He even came here voluntarily, to humble us and this crowd with a victory. You know him as The Scourge. The one who sent a group of Taxers to the Dead Book!”

Stepping out of an arena door stands a dark skinned man in a breast plate with a blue metal and two swords. He raises his swords to the crowd and earns thundering jeers that shake the arena slightly.

“Oh, that was such a terrible thing the other week. I can’t believe he’d show up like that! It was supposed to be a fight against a condemned criminal!” Anrika says and covers her mouth in concern.

The announcer waits till the noise dies out and announces the start of the fight.

Both fighters launch into a furious display of sword work, one sword versus two. It is very difficult to follow the exact sword play from such a distance, but both fighters are very aggressive and fluid, with each dodging deadly lunges and sweeps of the blade. The constant ringing of steel fills the arena and when the Taker’s fighter knocks the other to the dirt with a surprising sweep kick, the crowd goes wild. The fighters separation lasts only moments before they rejoin the fight.

…and so it goes on for several minutes, with both fighters scoring light hits to the applaud or jeers of the crowd, depending on who scores the hit. The fight is a rather stunning display of swordsmanship for several minutes, but as they fighters tire the blood really starts to flow. Anrika watches with increasing concern and the crowd grows hushed as the fight draws to a close. Both fighters are winded now and the swords move more slowly. The Taker’s fighter, wielding the larger sword, is swinging slower now and all of his attacks are being parried easily by the other fighter. He rolls back away from the fight to catch his breath once again and takes a defensive stance. His confident opponent rushes onwards at him to finish him.

With a side step and the flash of a blade, the Scourge stumbles and falls to his knees. His head rolls another two steps and the crowd goes wild. Attendants rush towards the Taker’s champion as he is carted off the field, surrounded by priests but he waves to the crowd as he goes. The Anarchist is thrown in the pack of a cart and taken away without ceremony.

“Oh, what a spectacle!” Anrika exclaims. “So long though, I’ve never seen a fight with him go so long” she says with a smile. “Justice at the hand of the Terrible Swift Sword. Too good an end for that monster” she says with a frown.

[Strangie]

Wyatt watches the duel go on, eyes darting between the fighters as they clobber each other. He is silent, though, until the end, when the Anarchist is made just a head shorter.

"Ooh... 'dat guy just got a wee bit shorter. Eh? 'dat's what he gets for not knowing how to move around properly. Rushin' at someone while they wait for ya is just askin' to get clobbered. What a moron."

[mshady]

The Foundry Group

It took several hours to get there, but Carmard’s group eventually made it across Sigil and into the Lower Wards. The poverty in the area was crushing now. The difference between the Clerk’s Ward, or even the very edge of the Lady’s Ward that they had passed by, was extreme. Without a doubt, it would have been easy for those citizens or whatever passed for a government here to lift the area out of its bleak state without feeling the pinch in their purses. Or perhaps not: the scale of the area was enormous. Although he had never seen it personally, the slums alone must have easily been the size of Waterdeep. The whole area had the stink of decay, of sulfur and the bitter, familiar smell of a foundry. Indeed the whole area was covered in soot. The broken cobblestone road ways are covered in a clinging mud. After awhile though, the realization that is not mud but years and years of dung that covered the path. On several occasions, carts tended by humanoids in shapeless brown robes moved around the area. Their carts were laden with the dead. Apparently bodies were the only thing NOT discarded into the streets here. Or at least some people cared to clean them up. Considering the undead they had seen doing various tasks along the way, one had to wonder what happened to those bodies.

Along the way, they had run across legions of beggars and cripples along the roadside that asked for their generosity. For fear of being mobbed, Carmard forbid anyone from giving them a gift for fear of drawing a crowd. Must of the denizens avoided them, were even fearful. They all knew well enough to avoid such heavily armed bands coming into the area; it often meant trouble. Those who paid attention to them realized they were not of a group they were familiar with and fear was partially replaced by mere trepidation. At one point, as the group pushed through a crowd, someone tried to snatch Thordek’s coin purse but was roughly pushed aside by the dwarf. All the while the enormous smoke stacks of the Great Foundry and the fire that belched from one loomed over them.

The streets around the foundry are a jumbled weave of workshops and worker's taverns. They're not luxurious or particularly clean; when a cutter's been at the forge all day, he tracks in a lot of grime. Drinking and dealing are both serious business. There's always somebody haggling over the price of goods. Other deals get cut there, too, for that's the neighborhood where men and fiends meet. Their dark talk doesn't get whispered outside these doors. Grim and dirty men and women work primitive forges, smelting the roughest pig iron. The whole area has the look of a foundry’s floor. The noise, smell and sound of the area is familiar to the dwarves, the familiarity even a marginal comfort. All of them have a look of concern though, as many take breaks to look towards the foundry. Carts draw by stout horses pass through the area gathering finished works. Most of the loads are forge bars, but mundane goods of all kinds are piled in as well. While the work itself was of shockingly poor quality by dwarven standards, the scale of the home industry was at least worthy of respect.

So close now to the Great Foundry, Carmard looks around for one of the taller tenements and thinks back to the ones they recently seen in Way Ward. By comparison, that town was almost palatial. Taking advantage of how they were either feared or ignored, the group simply walks into a building that looked fairly unoccupied. They walk up the creaking stairs and pass one astonished person. She scurries down the stairs, eager to be away from any violence about to commence. People in this area certainly seemed fearful of authority. It certainly did not work for them. After ascending several flights of stairs, they finally reach a ladder on the stair well and climb up it one at a time. Hjalmar breaks one rung of the ladder as he climbs and nearly falls. He curses his luck, and the weight of his armor, and keeps climbing. The group gathers on the room and looks down across at the Great Foundry.

Great Foundry itself now comes fully into view as the group comes over. This is the headquarters of the Godsmen. The foundry is a sprawling complex of workshops, warehouse, storage yards and furnaces. It all appears to be made from a dark, or at least very dirty, stones that are roughly cut. Several of the buildings are burned out, even collapsed. Some of that even appears to be recent. Smoke and steam belch from various squat stacks atop the main buildings. Black smoke pours out of one of the central stacks now, the fire at least partial extinguished. They can plainly see several groups moving about the complex and are certainly armed. Several wagons bearing metal tankards can be seen as well. Water sloshes inside them and their purpose is clear; fire fighting. Each of these wagons are escort as well.

Near a broken portion of a wall lays the crumbled remains of a large golem, along with several bodies laying on the ground. By the looks of it, the golem appears to be a kind of iron golem. The blood toll it took to bring it down is plainly evident. Carmard points the scene out to the rest of the group and frowns. It is hard to tell as time has passed since whatever happened, but there are definite signs of fighting. Or at least an accident of some sort.

Carmard passes his spy glass around between the other members of the group so they can look as well and leans over the railing to watch as the rest of the group views the area.

“While it ways on me conscience… if there’s fighting going on, it’s a good thing. It means allies. Well… unless o’course they’re vengeful about us creat’n the thing to begin with. What do ye think, everyone?

Go down and say hello, try to sneak in or wait for the rest?”

[Werewhale]

Nalrak Ironfist

"I think we're far too heavily armed and armoured to be able to sneak in anywhere, and I think waiting it out leaves too much to chance," Nalrak starts, "We need to know what's really going on. So I say we walk in there and hope to meet someone willing to talk to us rather than attack us on sight." Nalrak shrugs at this. "Or find another way to communicate with someone."

[thorgrim29]

I say we come in saying we're here to stop barauk, but maybe we should avoid saying we're the reason he's here

Thordrek is troubled by the rampant misery, for a group that advocates forge work as a mean to attain godhood, the godsmen have clearly very little respect for the most basic forms of their art.

[Melody]

((ooc: Just in case people missed the post on the ooc thread. Please either PM me with what you wanted to do in your free time or email me at [email protected]! I'll get back to you in the order in which I recive your messages.))

[mshady]

With his back turned to the scene behind him, Carmard strokes his beard in thought and contemplates matters. Mental gears are spinning as he considers how to go about things.

"Aye, lets be seeing 'bout going down there" he says after the long pause. "They're look'n to be real private 'bout this, so anyone who just.. shows up is going to need an explanation. We're here to solve yer problem? Oh, thank ye kindly but how did ye know we had a problem? Fairily obvious we're nay from 'round here first time we open our mouths. Without Johannes at least." Carmard frowns and looks at the smoke stack again.

"O'course, thats a bloody big sign there's a problem, isn't there? Still, we'll hold up 'bout as well as a shale bridge under questions. Or does that matter? Ideas?"

[ArmanMadero]

Arman looked through the spyglass and wondered at how they were going to get down there. Without raising suspicion. He looked to Carmard.

"What about saying a story like you wanted to see the forge? That you wanted to see the production rate and that you were considering armoring your clan from them because they have a higher production rate."

Arman went silent again, rubbing a hand across his face.

"Or we could just say we were visiting and saw the destruction and were curious..."

[mshady]

Carmard looked at Arman quizzically, as if it was the strangest thing the elf had ever said. Than he chuckles in reply.

"With the kind o'smith work they do 'ere? The big production? The quality tis an abomination. Surely they know its nay up to dwarven standards" he says with undisguised pride. "Nay, they'd never believe that tale. Not to deny they 'ave good anvil bangers here, but..." his voice trails off and he glances behind him at the Foundry again. "I nay think they really take visitors either, right now. We did business with'em though. Tis why Bauruk came back here. So... maybe we're checking on THAT production. The glowstones"

Carmard strokes his beard for a moment, than shakes his head. He takes a step over towards Arman and pats him roughly on the shoulder, jostling the elf.

"Tis always amazes me how a bad idea 'an turn into a good one with the proper amount o'sarcasm. Have to remember that one, har!"

He looks around at the group and shrugs.

"So... where 're we on better ideas? Remember, I nay want to get into an actual scrape just yet"

[thorgrim29]

Nothing here. Although if I remember the explanation correctly, those glowstones are the stoneburner's powersource right? That could be bad.

[mshady]

"The glowstones are, aye" Carmard nods and pauses for a moment, than grimaces. "Bad" he says again. "The Patriarch and Glorian, they can make a glowstone. Her less easily than him. Both o'them though be busy and the Patriarch is... older. So it be quite taxing. We came here, reluctantly, to get more. It takes... two dozen or so for one Stoneburner and there be plans for several." Carmard says and shakes his head.

"O'course we nay told'em 'Oi mates, we're build'n a bloody big bomb and need some parts!'. So they don't know what t'was for or really who we be."

He pauses and thinks some things through.

"Could be good, could be bad" he says with an accompanying shrug. "Not many down there can make'em either. Nay their Factol, but there'll be a few senior enchanters. Bauruk's supposed path to Godhood means he has to go through the same ones who make what he needs. Godsmen all compete to be the top dog, the Factol. Eventually they think you'll ascend or some damn fool thing. Very... competitive.

Since I nay think anyone there's willin' to compromise or let'em ahead, their graybeards will oppose'em. That makes his only allies 're the ones below their graybeards. No way they help'em, he has to take the volume he needs by force. Fights like 'hat are short, nasty and violent" Carmard declares, glancing down at the compound.

"It's possible thing're already... resolved" he says. "I think it'd be obvious if'n Bauruk won. So what's goin' on down there?"

[mshady]

Grathalmor announces his intent to fight, but when he does not have a particular opponent in mind, the Third Ober says they will find something appropriate for him. He also said he assumed he was a peerless fighter and something to match his skills would be found. The dwarf bids his farewells to Sable and Wyatt and exits the viewing gallery. The Third Ober explains what is being asked to a steward and the steward listens and nods without saying much. Soon, the quiet steward is leading Grathalmor down and down the stairs and on to the main floor of the arena. Underneath the bleacher seats, the whole area roars with noise. Fans stomp their feet and cheer at whatever fight is going on. It fills Grathalmor with the tingling sense of exhilaration.

It takes several minutes, but he is guided by the steward down a flight of stairs into progressively darker and danker areas. His dwarven senses recognize that the area must be underneath the very arena now. The whole area smells particularly fetid. Blood, sweat and waste all fill his nostrils. There was a great deal of death and suffering here for entertainment. The dwarves certainly had their Testings and the concept was not all that different, even if they were far more bloodless.

Grathalmor’s thoughts quickly return to the present when he walks into a barred room full of the nights gladiators. They all look up at him for a moment, than shake their head. Without words, their attitude is conveyed easily enough to the dwarf.

Another noble here to play. No consequence.

All of them wear an interesting panoply of equipment, ranging from massive plate armor to bare chested. Most appear grim and very rough, crude men. Some sit to the side chatting amicably at a table where tea is being served. Armed guards stand between them and the rest of the gladiators. Presumably, these were members of the Fated who would be tested tonight in various ways.

“Wait here” the steward says quietly, never even looking Grathalmor in the eyes. He almost seems to glide over towards a man standing in the corner by a wide grate that leads up a flight of large stairs.

Its not a man though that he is speaking to. It’s a half man, half horse looking creature. His eyes go momentarily wide at that, having never seen such a creature. It looks powerfully muscled and bears several nasty looking scars on its arms. It is covered in black studded leather and has a sword strapped across its back.

The horse man seems quite irritated by the steward and growls quite a few things Grathalmor did not understand completely. The general tone implied things the steward could fornicate with. Admirably enough, the seemingly meek steward was wholly unphased by this. When he returns, he addresses Grathalmor directly. The horse man bellows for someone to come over and speaks with the poor sod before sending him scurrying off.

“The Pit Boss will make a place for you” the steward informs him. “He is… not happy about such a change in the event. You are most fortunate though, as there is an orc set to fight tonight against an elf. You’ll go out in his place. Now sit and wait to be called” the steward instructs him. He gestures towards an empty bench far away from everyone else, than walks over to be seated with the rest of his faction members.

No one speaks to him at all for half an hour. Twice a fighter is sent up through the gates and both come back. Alive but at least painfully wounded. Blood flows from several wounds. Both are quickly attended to by a healer covered in blood splatter and clearly having seen better days himself. From the way he shakes, he likely has a second career with alcohol or worse.

“Dwarf!” the Pit Boss roars. “Time to go play and impress everyone! Hope you get your beard shaved!” he roars and bangs open the gate once again.
Grathalmor stands, checks his armor and urgrosh one last time and walks confidently up the stairs as the gladiators below jeer him. The walk is a steep grade upwards and he can hear the crowd roaring in anticipation of another bout. In places, the ramp is slick with blood. Much of the stone is stained with the brown-red mark of more blood. Awful place.

When he reaches the top, he walks out on to the arena floor and looks around. All around him are cheering people. He has to cran his neck upwards to see the top of the arena. It fills him with an exhilaration like he has never quite known, as well as the blood lust of battle. He turns and looks, almost stunned by the crowd and waves up at them. The crowd goes wild with the acknowledgement. All of that for him. It’s intoxicating.

In the middle of the field stands a humanoid of some kind with a speaking tube to enhance the power of his voice. The sound it makes is booming beyond any reason save powerful magic.

“Bloods, Berks and Cutters of every sort! This next match is a classic one! A dwarven noble, new to the city but a veteran of bloody wars stands here tonight against the most traditional of dwarven foes! An OOORRRRCCCC! Not just any orc, either! You know him. You fear him. A huzzah for the Black Orc himself!”

The crowd goes quiet now instead of cheering madly.

From the other ramp, Grathalmor’s foe charges on to the battle field. A black skinned orc howls madly and swings a wicked looking two handed sword over his head. The orc is massive. Far bigger than the squat devil orcs from the caves. His armor is bulky, square and thick even if it looks like it was hammered together with scrap. He is covered in spikes and the armor shrieks with every movement. Half a dozen skulls hang off his belt, shrunken and preserved. Two of them are dwarven heads, hung by their very beards.

Now the crowd goes wild, mad. It was not excitement he realized now. But blood lust and it was not particular as to whom. The orcs roar is loud enough to make Grathalmor flinch.

[mshady]

High up in the arena in the box seats, Arika turns to Sable with a fretful look. Her oldest children lean against the rail, breathless with anticipation.
“That orcs a craven killer” she explains. “It’s fought here a year. No one’s prisoner. Blood and money…” she says. “Blood and money” she repeats and taps her ruby red lips before turning to the Third Ober.

“You sent him down to fight THAT thing?” she says with a scowl. “It’ll kill him! That’s no Proving fight for a guest. Look here, it doesn’t even wear a collar of all things. What did you tell the steward to ask for exactly?” she says and spears him with a scowl.

The Third Ober shifts on his feet for a moment and returns the gaze.

“The dwarf asked for a good fight” he says matter-of-factly. “I’d assume that is what the Steward requested. Come now, the dwarf is no fool or inexperienced. He was eager for it even”

She glares at him again and thinks to say something, but thinks better of it. She turns to Sable and whispers in her ear.

“Something, my dear, is afoot”

[loopy]

Grathalmor

Grathalmor almost takes a step back at the sheer intimidating presence of the orc in front of him. Looking around at the crowd, he decides to play the showman. He roars at the crowd, "This? This is all you have to bring against me? Bah, I've got pets bigger than this back at the clanhold! Be with ye in a minutes, people of the Planes, I'll just deal with this wee beastie, then we can get back to gettin' to know one another!"

Saying that, he drops into the Punishing stance with practiced ease, draws a circle with his Urgrosh in the dust surrounding him, then waits, motionless, for the orc to make his move.

((Grathalmor sets his urgrosh to receive a charge))

[Strangie]

Wyatt peers over at the arena floor, raising eyebrows at Grathalmore's opponent. "Damnit, I told 'em not to get over his head. Look what happens! 'dat is a big fellow down 'dere, worse 'dan 'dose orcs from the cave... not 'da biggest fellow I'd seen in my lifetime, but big 'nough. But if I know anythin' about orcs, 'dey not be right in 'da head. Hopefully Grathalmore's got somethin' clever planned, 'lest we are takin' him back to our commander in a box, eh?"

Wyatt frowns, raising an eyebrow at Anrika whispering to Sable, then glances at Sable. "... got 'dat right. Here's to hopin' Grath is as good as he makes himself out to be, yeah?"

[Melody]

Sable nods to Arika and focuses her attention on the Third Ober watching for subtle body language that might implicate him in some sort of complicity in the match between Grathalmor and the Orc.

She had been told before that her silent stare had the effect of unnerving some and she used it to good effect now. The trick was to be completely expressionless. She had tried angry glares in the past, but they didn't work nearly as well. In her line of work if you made a show of being angry it was just as likely that you and your opponent might just get into a glaring contest.

Ah, but the empy gaze was something else entirely. It always made people uncomfortable because they didn't know exactly how you were feeling nor how to react to it. She continues gazing until her silence has made everyone uncomfortable and the Third Ober has had ample oportunity to betray himself by his body language and then turns and picks up a sandwich with a smile to Arika.

I must say thank you again for these sandwiches. We had very little time to rest and refresh ourselves after arriving in Sigil last night. So saying she absently begins to eat the sandwich while she watches the fight between Grathalmor and the aptly named Black Orc.

[mshady]

"I hope he's as good as he thinks as well" Anrika says quietly. "I'm told that foul beast... ate his last opponent. Right in the arena. Foulest thing in here in years. Another fight or two, they might just let it go too. Have to give them something to fight for..." she says with a sigh.

[Melody]

Sable quickly swallows and starts laughing quietly while Anrika stares at her as if she's lost her mind. Controlling her ill timed hilarity after a moment she explains herself.

I'm very sorry Lady Anrika. I was just thinking that if the Black Orc ate Grathalmor he might well die of indigestion. Though I'm sure that isn't exactly the way he intends to defeat his opponent. Be at ease my Lady, Grathalmor is indeed a skilled fighter and this should prove an interesting bout.

She taps a finger against her lips. I do wonder how his employer might take his death if the fight goes badly. Are there penalties for interfering in a fight perchance? I mean it wouldn't be ladylike to fing oneself out of this window into the arena, but if oh Wyatt were to do so, what would happen?

[Strangie]

While watching the fight, Wyatt raises an eyebrow and frowns at his name being mentioned, turning his head at Sable. "Oh, I'm sure 'dat would be hilarious, wouldn't it? Throwin' a little guy like me against a giant orc. 'dat's the kind of fight people place bets on and usually lose. 'dey like to think bigger is better. 'dey couldn't be more wrong. 'den again, people don't usually like surprises. Usually. I don't wanna get butchered, not by the orc but by the rest of this place. And 'den me AND Grath would likely come back in a box. One little one, one big one."

Wyatt turns his head back toward the arena, glancing down at the ground below. He judged how far he would have to get in order to cross the distance to the floor and how far he would have to fall, rubbing his chin... "... wouldn't be the first time I attempted something crazy, though, eh...?

[mshady]

"No, its too late for that" she says. "This are not mere games to us. Our entire philosophy is about overcoming a test. Interference would be a great insult and would reflect... poorly on Jerious. Both of you would be hauled away. Arena slaves until death, I believe?" she says and cringes at that thought.


"Our noble philosophy aside... any major fight, which this one surely is, draws a lot of gamblers. As bets are over now... anything that would change the odds would anger a great many people who have nothing to do with us. You'd be killed on the streets just for that. Sadly, there is a dark side to these games sometimes"

[Melody]

Ah well, it was only a thought. She sighs. Very rude of him to involve himself in a duel to the death when he was supposed to be up here watching the games with me. Just imagine Wyatt, we might have bet on Grathalmor to win this bout. I'm sure the odds are well against him. No one here has ever seen him fight and that Orc seems to be a favorite.

She looks over at Anrika. Would a win against the black Orc reflect in a positve light for Jerious? Since we came as his guests? Or is it only our misconduct that matters?

[mshady]

She touches a finger to her mouth and thinks for a moment. "No" she says finally. "No one really knows who he is with, or his associations. At least not the crowd really, or those betting. In terms of any advantage, it would have no real status at this point. Your interference would, however. As a guest, you are Jerious' responsability and it would reflect poorly on his judgment if you were to do something"

She sighs and pats the head of one of her sons, who has his arms wrapped around her leg.

"Your friend is a disciplines knight against a savage. Skill will see him through. Thats what we believe" she says with a prideful smile that just barely masks the worry.

[Strangie]

"Yeah, well, 'dat's Grath for you. But I'll be rootin' for him to kick the crap out of that orc, in any case. I'm thinkin' I'll stay nice and cozy up here, though. Chances are good if I go down there lookin' for a fight 'dey'll put me up against a freakin' dragon or somethin', y'know? And I've dealt with enough of 'dose in my day, and 'dey are crazy. ... anyway, 'dis fight startin' soon? Grath's gotta show us what he can do already! Back up 'dat dwarven pride of his and alla 'dat."

[mshady]

The Arena Floor

The Black Orc snarls at Grathalmor and circles the dwarf. Even for an orc, it is heavily muscled and has a savage appearance. Greasy black hair hangs in a wild tangle from beneath a leather skull cap. Beady red eyes glare at the dwarf. Grathalmor can’t help but think that the orc is sizing him up for a meal. Considering the abnormally large tusks on this orc, that might even be true. Clearly a half orc of some kind, he absently wondered what the other half was. Grathalmor had killed his fair share of orcs; this one’s chest was broader than any he had seen. There was a savage intelligence in the orc’s eyes; it reminded him of a time he had seen a hungry wolf in the mountains.

The slow circling of the orc gave him time to get a good look at the orc’s sword and it was no piece of scrap, but resembled a knight’s two handed sword complete with an oversized v-shaped cross guard and a large, blunt pommel. Once he gets past the furs and bits of leather and metal sewn into it, Grathalmor notices the orc’s breastplate. It is a thick, black plate covered in engravings of some kind but he is too far away to tell.

It could only be adamantine.

That armor could be a problem; thankfully it was not a complete set of plate mail. Not that orcs were known for wearing full sets of articulating metal armor.

He knew that the orc’s intent was to unnerve him and he would have no part of it. Grathalmor simply stood in an easy stance and waited. The spear point of his urghosh pointed towards the orc at all times as he braced to receive it’s inevitable charge. While he was not about to be intimidated by a mere orc, having faced down a hydra this week among other things, the display made one thing clear.

This was going to be a tough one.

The orc finally stops its circling and the crowd starts cheering wildly now that the fight was about to begin. Eager for blood and battle, the crowd was in a fever for some action. The Black Orc roars and howls, than begins shaking in a fierce rage. Ropes of saliva hang from its mouth and its eyes are blood shot. The orc chops at the ground fiercely, kicking up a cloud of sand as it beats the ground.

This wasn’t going to be fun either

Round 1:

Fully enraged now, the orc roars one last time and launches himself into a headlong charge at Grathalmor. The orc’s sword is held high over his head as he charges inwards at Grathalmor in a reckless rage, intent on felling the dwarf with his first blow.

Grathalmor had seen attacks like this before, however, and knew to not stay in place. The dwarf stepped into the charge by two steps, a maneuver hardly noticed by the orc at the last moment and thrust forward. He drives the urghosh into the onrushing orc, spitting him on the spear point. The momentum is enough to drive the spear point through a crease in the orc’s armor and into its lower left abdomen.

Grathalmor’s Attack of Oppurtunity does 12 pts to the orc, after damage reduction.

The orc yowls in pain at the wound and both dwarf and orc look at the nasty wound. Grathalmor has just enough time to curses his luck that the orc would apparently survive the wound before the massive orc kicks him hard in the chest. He stumbles backwards and pulls the urghosh out of the orc as he does so. Grathalmor shakes his head for a moment as he tries to gather himself from the blow, sending his black dread locks sweeping back and forth on the back of his head.

The orc is back on him in a moment and chops downwards at him with a wild strike from the massive sword. Grathalmor thrusts his urghosh out at the sword to block the strike and feels the sword connect with his weapon with a shock that nearly wrenches it from his hand and makes his arm go numb.
Sparks fly and bits of metal pepper Grathalmor’s face, but he had successfully parried the massive overhand strike. He was not sure how many more of those powerful attacks he’d be able to stop.

That was when he looked at his urghosh. The thick metal haft of the weapon was now bent somewhat and part of the axe blade was sheared off. Indeed the blade itself was now slightly off center.

Shalestone and splinters! Grathalmor exclaims. The orc just tried to sunder his urghosh. Somehow that sword of his could cleave through metal itself with ease.

The Black Orc sunders Grathalmor’s urghosh. The steel dwarftcraft urghosh +1 has a hardness of 14 and 45 HP. The orc does 19 points of damage. Urghosh is at 21/45 HP and suffers a -1 to hit.

[mshady]

Round 2

This won’t end well Grathalmor thinks to himself. He squints his eyes at the orc and examines his movements and the style of his armor. It was difficult to find a weak point in his protection. Savage though he may look, his dress was rather frustrating. So much was covered by furs and straps of leather, some with metal plate sewn into them, he could not see any gaps in its real armor. If that armor was not specifically designed for him though, the breast and back plate of the armor would hardly be a snug fit for him however. That gap would surely be a vulnerabiliy if he could land a blow there with his crooked axe.

As a distraction, Grathalmor lets go of his shield now but instead of it falling to the ground it hovers in the air and follows his movements. The animated shield continues to provide cover for him as Grathalmor switches to a two handed stance.

Grathalmor moves to the orcs side and makes a feigned slash at the orc’s right and then left, his urghosh moving faster than the orc could move his massive sword. The moment Grathalmor got ahead of the orc’s guard, he chopped down hard at the side of the orc’s armor and hoped to find the gap he was looking for.

He finds what he was looking for and hits the gap in the armor. Grathalmor feels the axe bite deeply, cleaving through chainmail and ribs. It lodges in the orc’s side, quite painfully from the orc’s scream, but it does not lodge deep enough to kill this indomitable orc. Grathalmor yanks the bent axe blade out of the orc and the edge is covered blood and bone fragments.

Grathalmor uses a Ruby Nightmare Blade martial maneuver. He make the concentration check to find the gap in the armor and does double damage against the orc by rolling a 30 on his attack. The attack does 18 pts of damage to The Black Orc.

The reply to the attack is quick in coming. The Black Orc roars at him as it sends a sideways swing with his massive sword. Grathalmor grips his urgosh and holds it vertically to catch the horizontal swing, only to be rocked backwards by the powerful swing.

How strong was the bloody orc, anyways?

Grathalmor growls as he looks at his urghosh, realizing his folly at having done exactly what the orc had wanted. A gouge had been torn out of the haft now and the urghosh was now seriously bent.

How do you parry an attack when the bastards WANT to hit your weapon?

He only has a moment to think about that question before the orc whips the sword back at Grathalmor at the same height as the last time with his back swing. This time, Grathalmor is ready for the sundering strike and angles the urghosh drastically. The orc’s sword skitters off the damaged urghosh to no effect, this time.

The Black Orc reduces Grathalmor’s urghosh to 11/45 HP and -1 to hit and damage

[Strangie]

"Ooh, geez... 'dey're really goin' at it out 'dere! But look at 'dat orc, swattin' away at Grath's pole thingy, whatever 'dey call it," Wyatt says, pointing down at the Arena floor. "I hope he's got spares. I sure as hell don't."

[mshady]

OOC Announcements:

Recruiting: PId6 recently joined us to play Hjalmar Crownshield. Unfortunately, life has taken him in a different direction and he no longer has time for Play by Post gaming.

Before I put up a recruiting post, do any of you have friends that would be interested in playing in this campaign? I'd dump the character, but frankly he provides an important role in a party short on melee and his background may be important in the future.

Great Foundry Group: Don't lose heart! I'll be back with you guys tomorrow. With the holidays and my computer dying, plus writing up a heck of a fight with Loopy in the Arena, I've been pressed for time. I've also caught a case of Dragon Age. Highly recommended, but send your loved ones a post card to let them know you're ok!

Kelith: I think Melody wants to finish up your thing by MSN chat. Get with her and work it out.

Thordek: You DID have time to visit the hall of records. If you would have done so, I can write up how that all went. Just let me know what you want information on...

[mshady]

Round 3:

Grathalmor looks forlornly at his battered urghosh and snarls at the orc.

“Oh surely, what a big, brave orc ye are! Trying to get rid of me weapon so ye can take down an unarmed foe!” he says and spits disdainfully at the ground. He returns his defensive focus to the orc and slowly raises his urghosh over his head in a smooth swing. When it reaches its apex, he lunges forward and throws his weight behind the swing but instead of a simple downward chop, he turns the dropping blade to the side and spins. He looks over his shoulder and puts his back into the spin. This time the urghosh connects with the orc far harder than his foe ever expected. Grathalmor’s strike, every bit as hard as what the orc had been throwing at him. Only the orc’s strong adamantine armor stopped the powerful blow from crippling him. The urghosh bounces right back at Grathalmor as hard as he had lashed out, sending a spray of sparks into the air.

No sooner does he have a chance to curse the orc than it imitates Grathalmor’s overhead chop and spin maneuver but this blow is aimed right at Grathalmor’s head. Grathalmor barely has a chance to choke up on his urghosh and use a short parry to knock the sword’s trajectory high enough that he was able to lean under its arc. The massive sword whooshes just over him. Grathalmor looks up to see the orc reverse the arc and send the blade on a low, flashing trajectory. This time, the dwarfs hops to the side and the sword bites against the arena floor with a thump. With a kick of his foot, he sends sand flying at the orc’s face in a futile attempt to blind his foe. If it had any effect, he couldn’t tell.

Around him, the crowd roars at the skillful display by both combatants while Grathalmor curses his animated shield and that it had not been fast enough so far to stop one of the orc’s attack directly.

Round 4

While the adrenaline hid any fatigue for now, this fast moving and brutal fight left him needing a moment to catch his breath and regain his focus. The occasional taunt was always a great way to buy a moment.

"Ha! Orc dog! Sitting in a cage, trained to entertain its betters! You are even playing their game. I'd say your ancestors would be ashamed, but they were all cannibalistic scum. So, ye know I doubt ye could really step any lower than that!" Grathalmor says with a laugh as the two combatants circle each other. The orc understands what Grathalmor said well enough and growls in response, but doesn’t bother with a response.

Taking advantage of having both hands free while his animated shield provided protection, Grathalmor launches into a complex attack, striking the orc three times but never able to get through its thick armor that once again has frustrated his attacks.

Before he can react, the orc turns its guarding stance into a cleaving attack once again and this time he can’t dodge it. More by reflex than training, he throws his urghosh out in front of him and wills his shield to cover him but the attack knocks the shield aside and crashes past his parry. The two handed sword connects hard with his head and Grathalmor’s world goes black.

A moment later, his blurry vision returned and he realized his head was still attached to his shoulders as he staggered backwards. Blood runs freely down the side of his face and his head rings with pain. Every movement brings additional pain as torn metal scrapes against his scalp. It would seem his helmet, the one he had worn for years, had sacrificed its own life to protect his. With no time for sentimentality, he tears the helmet off of his head and tosses the splintered armor aside. The orc mocks with its cruel laughter and sends swings at him again. It stops the blow halfway through its arc, with more strength than Grathalmor cared to imagine, and then thrust the sword right into his exposed face. The cross guard batters him and his nose aches from the hard blow. It’s enough to make his eyes water from the pain and further disorient him.

That was not the real attack however. As Grathalmor staggers back a few more feet, the orc raises its sword high over its head and chops downwards towards Grathalmor’s urghosh once again. Wise to the orc’s attack now, Grathalmor sends his own urghosh out on an upward arc and it knocks the orc’s sword aside and into the arena sand once again with a resounding ring and the thump of the sword hitting the ground once again.

The Black Orc rolled a natural 20, but did not confirm the critical hit. Grathalmor takes 18 hp of damage and is dazed for 1 round from the blow. None of his attacks managed to wound the orc…

[Strangie]

Wyatt winces from the headshot that nearly lopped off the most vital part of Grathalmore. "Oh, damn, 'dat is gonna leave a mark, he'll be feelin' 'dat one for a while..."

Wyatt shakes his head, putting his hand on his forehead. "Ugh. Watchin' dis orc fight is givin' me some bad memories, but not of other orcs. I've seen others who fight like 'dis. And if I know how 'dese ragers fight, 'dey fight hard. REAL hard..."

[mshady]

Round 5

Gripping his urghosh tightly, Grathalmor steps to the left of the orc once again to keep his animated shield between himself and this foul orc. Staying on the orc’s left side also meant he stayed on its “weak” side, for what little advantage that offered. Blood from his head wound soaks the side of his face and he takes a moment to wipe the blood away from his eyebrow lest he be blinded by the wound.

More than a mere warrior, Grathalmor had trained for years in techniques passed down from Shanatar itself to today’s Patriarchate. The ancient methods were nearly extinct now, but his years of study with the only master of them left was why he had stayed with the Patriarchate instead of returning home to the Ironfist Halls. One day, he hoped to master them as well and pass them on to his Clan. Already the Patriarchate taught its elite Forgemark Legion the basics of these techniques to great effect. The stances and techniques were complex offensive and defensive routines, and already the parries and strikes had been to great effect in this fight. Unlike the Levtokuld like Thordek who combined arcane power with martial techniques, his own art relied on intense inner focus and discipline to greater, more sustainable effect.

Just to disrupt his concentration, the orc throws a testing strike at him and it bangs off his shield. Jerk.

Grathalmor shifts into a defensive stance and keeps his weapon close, deciding to let time win the battle for the moment. This orc was a battlerager of some sort, which were incredibly dangerous while enraged but quickly exhausted themselves. If this orc could go over a minute in this savage fury of his, he’d be surprised. Not that he was going to waste time and not try to chop the orc down to size in the meantime. Or specifically its armor.

Moving his shield to a covering position for a moment, and to distract the simple minded orc, Grathalmor pushes the orc back with the shield momentarily than sweeps it aside. Before the orc realizes what is happening, its staggered by a hammering strike with the bent urghosh. The strike was perfectly made, but the urghosh being far from perfect the bent blade bangs off of the orc’s armor once again to no ill effect.

The Black Orc pounds its fist against its breast plate again defiantly, taunting Grathalmor with his invulnerability. Maybe it would have worked if he had put more into it, he thought. Still, it surprised him as it was a solid overhand strike did not cleave through the armor. Even the crowd boos that one.

“I wonder if they'll let me stuff and mount your body to place in the Ironfist halls after I defeat you?" Grathalmor quips. "I'd imagine it'd have a sign saying: 'Here is a nameless orc, the least of the foes we have defeated” he taunts, loud enough for the crowd to hear him.

Finally provoked to speech, the orc snarls at him.

"Your head be my codpiece, dwarf! I wipe my arse with your beard!" it replies. The crowd is going rather wild with the stand off, as this is not turning into a quick fight at all. It also was buying Grathalmor some time. Verbal attacks were far easier to parry too. The orc was a veteran of the arena and knew about playing to a crowd. Maybe he could provoke it into doing sometime dumb.

"You want my head as your codpiece? Oh, you must be one of them-lady-orcs! I hear they are rather common. I'm terribly sorry, but my heart remains with a good Dwarven lass. Besides, and I put this delicately… you are terribly ugly” he says than laughs. “"I mean, my god, was your mother a pig? Or was it your father, did he have one of those wasting diseases?"

No verbal response comes this time. The orc sends its mightiest strike yet right at Grathalmor. This attack is aimed right at Grathalmor’s fine Mithril armor. Clearly, the orc is trying to beat him down for his insolence now. The blow rocks Grathalmor hard, lifting him off his feet. The sound of tortured metal fills his ears as the orc’s sword slices through his armor. It peels apart several of the bands on his armor and leaves them hanging, exposing the chainmail underneath.

The other sound was the orc laughing and cursing at him in their guttural language. Something he didn’t quite catch about codpieces. The next blow is aimed at his armor as well, but this time his armor holds and he only has the wind driven from his lungs.

The orc rolls a critical hit on a sundering attack. He hits Grathalmor’s armor for 35 points, doing 14 points of damage and 7 points to Grathalmor. Armor 46/60 HP and -1 AC

Round 6

Time. Time and air would be good right now, he thinks.

"AND LOOK! NOW SHE'S TRYING TO GET ME UNDRESSED! NOT WITHOUT DINNER AND AN AWFUL LOT OF WHISKEY, MA'AM!" Grathalmor exclaims to the crowd. For what it was worth, they were eating this up. He wasn’t sure in what direction the adulation was going though. Maybe they wanted to see a snarky dwarf a head shorter…

His shield still floating, Grathalmor spins his weapon in a weapons display worth of a drill team in the middle of the fight. The orc holds any action, not sure what unusual maneuver the dwarf was about to try on him next and the crowd cheers the brave display. Having distracted the orc with the weapon display, the next maneuver is not a display at all. He steps to the left of the orc once again and sweeps the weapon low and brings the arc over his head again before slashing at head level again. Predictably, the orc blocks the blow with its massive sword but Grathalmor has it out of position now and launches into a quick and powerful attack.

Two swipes are aimed at the orc’s vulnerable sides, but the orc blocks them almost playfully with the cross guards of its sword. It actually seems to be enjoying this fight. The spear thrust he doesn’t even bother with blocking, letting it hit his thick breast plate to no effect. The orc pounds his chest with his free hand and roars at Grathalmor.

"Yes, you have armor, so do I. Very exciting...” comes Grathalmor’s drool reply.

Two more chopping attacks batter Grathalmor and his armor. He is not sure which blow did it, but the right side of his armor was torn to shreds by this beast. Blood oozes from the torn chainmail and his ribs scream in pain.

I hate this orc! he thinks.

No sarcastic reply this time. Grathalmor settles into a grim defensive stance, holding his urghosh across his body. Armor ravaged and weapon bent. He may not live long enough to wait this orc out.

Cheers of “Black Orc!” and “Dwarf heads!” thunder from the crowd now as the orc clearly had the upper hand. The beast was toying with him, he thought. Destroy his armor and break his weapon, than break him. He shuddered to think what would have happened if the orc had came right out and tried to kill him quickly. That didn’t play well to a crowd, though.

For Sable and Wyatt, they can tell Grathalmor is worried now. This fight was not going his way at all.

I thought honored guests got the easy fights to show off to their patrons? he thought quickly.

Grathalmor suffers 6 more points of damage to his armor, 40/60 HP and now at -2 AC, as well as 3 HP damage

[Strangie]

Wyatt shakes his head, shouting out toward Grathalmore, for what little good it was for. "Would ya quit pokin' fun at it and start smashin' its face in already!? Get your beard in 'da game, Grath!" He frowns, gritting his teeth and turning his head off to the side, glancing up at Sable. "Crud. Aw, Sable. Why'd you let him run off like 'dat? He's gonna get himself killed out 'dere. Maybe if he's as lucky as you are, but I highly doubt 'dat. Is this a..."

He pauses for a moment, giving a glance toward Anrika. "Is 'dis a fight to the death? I can't recall, 'cause, well... If Grath falls, 'dat orc ain't gonna finish him off if he ain't already dead, is he? 'cause we really don't need 'dat right now."

[mshady]

"Its a fight to the death. If he falls, that... thing will take his head and eat his heart right in front of the crowd" Anrikia say quietly, so her children don't hear the last part. "It's just supposed to be a show fight.. Guests of a visitor often go out in the arena to show off a bit against an easy foe. Or at least one that can restrainted should the beast win. No collar on him, like I said."

Anrika turns and glares at Ober Lodi with now cold blue eyes.

"You did this" she says coldly. "Or more specifically, Jerious. I want to know why"

Her look at that moment could spear a boar. Gentle fascade aside, clearly she was a forceful person used to getting what she wanted even if she held that power with easy reigns.

"Lady Anrika, I told the Steward to arrange a guest proving as normally happens. I don't know what the Steward told them though. Or what the arena staff thought" he says plainitively.

She maintains her glare and points a finger at him, as if it were a knife.

"Stop it. Stop the fight now. I don't care how"

Ober Lodi grimaces slightly, at either the look or the demand.

"I'm afraid I can't do that, Lady Anrika. Once a fight starts under those rules, a fight to the death, none can stop it. That rule is inviolate" he says, than looks over the balcony.

"The dwarf does looks to be in a bit of trouble" he says nonchalantly. "The orc's wasting too much time beating him and not going for the kill. If the dwarf can wear it down, he may have a chance. Even money at this point?" the Ober says with a shrug. "He's just a dwarf, and a guard. Why worry so much about the help? He dies, hire a new one"

Anrika looks resigned and steps away from the railing and motions for her flock of children.

"Come here, little ones. Mommy doesn't want you to watch this"

[Strangie]

Wyatt goes wide-eyed at Anrika's response, then glares up at Lodi. "Just a dwarf, a guard? You try tellin' 'dat to our commander and he'll kick you into next week! He's still our friend. You freakin'..."

Wyatt narrows his eyes at Lodi, holding back whatever stinging insult he was about to sling his way, before turning back toward the stage. "Damnit. 'dey set you up to get you killed, Grath. Somethin' ain't right here... I hope your dwarf gods got your back right now, 'cause it don't seem anybody else does."

[mshady]

"So we have to tell your commander he needs to hire new help?" he shrugs. "If there's much left, we'll reanimate him? He's the one who wanted to go into the arena for some easy jink and now he's getting his brain box beat. Fated don't believe in sympathy for those who take a risk and fail, or try for easy gain without challenge. He's on his own down there. If you want to avenge his death later, we can arrange a grudge bout if you like, but that costs jink. It'd be a short match" Lodi smiles at him widely and returns to watching the match.

"That looked like it hurt!" he declares, as Grathalmor is pummeled once again.

[Strangie]

"'dat ain't what Anrika was just sayin' a second ago. Someone set 'em up..."

Wyatt shakes his head, lowering it as he watches Grath fight for his life on the Arena floor, muttering quietly to himself. "Some show fight 'dis was. Stupid, stupid, stupid..."

[mshady]

Lodi doesn't take his eyes from the arena battle below when he replies to the bewildered Wyatt.

"Set him up?" Lodi replies. "He's the one who got into the arena. The Steward saw to that. So the orc doesn't have a collar on? The pits are run by the dregs and greedy. Maybe someone down there doesn't like easy fights? A true Taker would never take something unearned and these guest fights are... unpopular. Sometimes incidents happen" he says with a shrug. "I'm just heartened to see a real proving. Your dwarf has some skill, I'll wager. Well, I bet on the Orc actually..." he shrugs and returns his attention to the fight.

[mshady]

Round 7

Grathalmor shifts into a low guard defensive stance with his bent urghosh as he continually shifts to the left to frustrate the orc. He was hoping the different stance would frustrate the orc. Certainly what he had been doing before was not working very well, now was it? Axes were not the best weapon for defense. The orc snarls and sends a half hearted strike at Grathalmor to test his new defense, but Grathalmor swats it away.

It was the opening he wanted.

As his axe arcs high, Grathalmor stops the upward swing and steps into a powerful downward chop that The Black Orc never saw coming. He understands the damage to his urghosh better angles it correctly this time so the axe blade bites. This time the powerful hammering strike gains purchase, cleaving through the thick shoulder armor of the orc. The armor limits the actual damage, but the wound is enough to break the beast’s collar bone. He yanks the weapon free of the wound and blood runs freely down the wound. The armor itself is rent badly and Grathalmor grunts in satisfaction at returning the favor to the orc. The yowls of the orc as it grasps the wound brings a smile to his face. The rent armor hangs loosely, a strap cut as well.

As quick as he left it, Grathalmor returns to his low guard position and awaits the reply. Whoops of “Dwarf! Dwarf! Dwarf!” can be heard from the crowd now.

"Your bodice break, did it? SHOULD I LET THE POOR ORC FIX HIMSELF UP, LEST WE SEE SOMETHING THAT WOULD HAUNT US UNTIL THE END OF OUR DAYS?" Grathalmor says, laughing heartily now.

At least something went his way.

Grathalmor strikes The Black Orc with a Mountain Hammer strike, doing 14 pts and overcoming the adamantine armor’s damage reduction. The strike also does 14 pts to the armor itself, reducing the orc’s armor class by 2

With Grathalmor's armor damaged equally now, the orc decides to test his defenses. It sends a flashing sideways attack at one of the gaps in the armor, but the animated shield sweeps in to blocks the blow.

With the next blow, the orc shoulders Grathalmor's animated shield aside. A brute but not stupid, he thrusts the greatsword like a spear right at Grathalmor's torn armor. There’s nothing Grathalmor can do to stop the thrust. The thick black great sword’s blade is held vertically, not horizontally. The chainmail beneath the armor is cleaved and the blade crunches against his ribs. Four of Grathalmor’s ribs are shattered by the blow. He hears it, even. The only thing that saves Grathalmor’s life as the thrust lifts him upwards instead of sliding between his ribs and spearing him. Its powerful enough to sends him stumbling backwards. He groans from the pain and is doubled over from the blow.

The orc doesn’t give him a chance to recover though, and chases Grathalmor. The orc follows up with a scything attack aimed at cleaving Grathalmor’s head clean off. With an almost reflexive action, his animated shield moves upwards to cover him. The orc's blow bangs off the shield and he growls at his failed head stroke.

With that, the orc seems spent as the orc’s rage dwindles. Its chest heaves from exhaustion and the wounds it has taken now seem to be finally felt.

Clangeddin be praised!
Grathalmor takes an 11 point hit, bringing him to 47 HP

Round 8

“Oh, you are in trouble now, oh orc-y boy... girl... thing." Grathalmor mutters under his breath, ribs aching with every word. This was what he was waiting for. For the orc to exhaust itself and to begin his counter attack. He throws any pretense of a defensive stance away on a bet that the exhausted orc would play it conservatively. This was Grathalmor’s best chance to cripple the orc and break its arm, so he steps to the left and prepares. His leg placement shifts slightly as he prepares to put all of his weight behind the blow. He swings the urghosh backwards as far as he can and steps forward, sending the bone crushing blow swinging outwards and calls out to Clangeddin as he does. The attack comes in against the orc's "off hand", and his guard is weaker than if it came in on the other side Grathalmor aims right for the orc's already wounded arm. His praise is rewarded with perhaps the most blow he had ever struck in battle. Certainly the best timed one.

The axe blow is crushing indeed. The blow is powerful enough that it snaps the orc's arm like it was a chicken bone and keeps on going. With a scream of rage, the orc gasps in pain as his arm is severed at the bicep. The stump hangs gruesomely and blow streams from an artery.

As the crowd realizes how dramatically the fight just turned, the crowd starts roaring. "Dwarf! Dwarf! Dwarf!" over and over again. The crowd bangs their approval on the wooden bleacher seats...

The orc gasps at the wound, shocked at what just happened. It drops its sword and clutches at the wound as blood flows between his fingers. A wild look returns to the orc as he enters into a second rage and fights off the physical shock of the wound. The Black Orc withdraws, falling back 75 feet. The withdrawal is faster than Grathalmor has a chance to react.

Grathalmor laughs as he goes.

“Clangeddin be praised!” Grathalmor proclaims and raises his urghosh skyward.

Wow. That doesn’t normally happen…

Grathalmor rolls a natural 20 and confirms with a natural 20 hit, severing the orc’s arm. It is suffering -3 HP/round bleeding

[Strangie]

Wyatt sort of just freezes at what just happened. He watches the severed limb flop to the ground. When he gets over the shock of what just happened, a grin spreads over his face. He turns back at Lodi, and points a finger at him.

"HAH." Is what he says first."Talk about a turn around! I guess 'da gods do got his back after all! You bet on the orc, huh? Well. Don't it suck to be you. Well, you know what you said. Incidents happen!" He replies with a mocking shrug, still keeping his grin, and turns back toward the fight.

"Way to get him, Grath! 'Dis fight is all yours! 'Dat orc ain't got nothin' on you now! Send him packin'!" Wyatt stands on his toes, trying to get the best view possible. "Don'tcha just love it when stuff like 'dat happens!? And just when I thought he was gonna get screwed. Hahaha!"

[mshady]

Round 9

Grathalmor watches the savage orc flee from him and looks down at the severed arm at his feet.

Damn

"NOW THE COWARDLY THING RUNS AWAY!” Grathalmor exclaims. He turns his back on the creature boldly and extends his hand to the crowd. He was enjoying working the crowd.

“Ring-masters!! What kind of filth have you put before me? For a greater challenge, the next gladiator could face a rabbit? Maybe a poodle? If everything here runs, at least make it harder to catch!" he roars with laughter and instantly regrets his boldness as his ribs scream in pain.

Definitely feeling that tomorrow…

Pushing the pain aside, he leans down and picks up the orc’s greatsword. It felt heavy in his hands, but was finely made and clearly an ensorcelled weapon. The weapon also felt GOOD in his hands. It was time to finish this fight and he wanted the orc to see it coming, and he was going to do it with the orc’s own weapon. He takes his own urghosh and puts it back on his belt loop, however awkwardly. Next he takes his now sputtering animated shield back in hand, than sets his jaw and grimly strides towards the orc. One heavy footfall after another, he closes the distance with the orc.

Instead of falling back, the crippled orc stands his ground now and Grathalmor is silently glad he won’t have to chase it too far or too long. He can hear the beast snarl something at him as it retrieves a small potion from inside its furs and downs it quickly. The bleeding stump stops bleeding, probably savings its life until Grathalmor could get around to ending it properly. Still, the orc clearly bears several other wounds. Casting aside the vial, the orc falls back another 35 feet to keep the distance open.

Round 10

Better safe than sorry he decides, and plucks a potion from his own bandolier. He downs the sweet tasting potion and feels the tingle and thrilling pain of his wounds being knits back together. Some of them. Not the ribs, damn it. Grathalmor continues his grim walk towards the orc, not breaking into a reckless charge just yet. It was too far for his stubby legs to carry home the charge quite yet anyways.

“Noble Crowd! Citizens of Sigil! Will you allow this pitiful creature to continue running from his doom?” Grathalmor asks the crowd.

“No!” they roar back.

“Then orc, IF you can call yourself that, because even orcs I have fought have had the DECENCY to stand and fight. Why don’t you come and get me, because I’m SICK of CHASING you!” he yells. Grathalmor wasn’t working the crowd anymore, but trying to goad the orc by shaming it with the crowd it was so familiar with.

Grathalmor’s potion heals him for 11 HP, bringing him to 58 HP

The orc has his own reply. This time, the orc does not fall back. Instead, it yanks on a leather wrapped hilt and a long whip uncoils from around his belt. The whip is bound in rings of glistening silver along the length of the coil. The orc roars swirls the whip around his head several times, than cracks it. The ear splitting sound of it surprises Grathalmor, and the crack of the whip was followed by the orcs savage roar announcing it was still in the fight.

It was a lot louder than any whip he had ever heard before, and not simply because of the monstrous strength behind it. What worried him even more were those silver rings that seemed to flow at random up and down the length of the bull whip.

What the hell do those do? I’m about to find out…

The whole display reminded him a bit of watching Kelith use that spiked chain of his, and he had a fair amount of respect for his skills with it after the cavern battle. Training against whip wielding foes was not something he had done before either. His training had generally focused on armored foes using more traditional weapons.

Careful what you wish for, Grath, You just may get it

Round 11

Grathalmor comes to a stop once again and looks at the orc. Clearly, it still had a great deal of fight left in it.

This thing just won’t quit!

So he stands there, shield in one hand and greatsword awkwardly held in the other waiting to see if the orc would charge again.

“Nice to see him show a bit of bravery now!” Grathalmor boldly declares, as he tries to goad his foe, “You see, dear crowd? He doesn’t dare come any closer!”

This time, the crowd ignores the theatrics and instead demands that the fight continue after the brief separation.

If the orc wasn’t going to charge, he was going to have to….

[Strangie]

"A whip? An orc using a whip? Now 'dat I'd never seen before..." Wyatt says, leaning forward a bit and pushing his hair back, keeping his hand on his forehead. "Now somethin' like 'dat, I could dance around easily, no problem, but Grath? I ain't so sure. If he's good at the duck-and-roll, he might, but for some reason I kinda doubt it, and there ain't no way he can do it in alla 'dat bulky armor. But 'den again, I've seen a bunch of stuff 'dis fight that I never saw comin' to begin with already..."

[mshady]

Round 12

Standing 75 feet away, the only thing Grathalmor can do is close with the waiting orc and its deadly looking whip. Clearly wracked by intense pain, the orc nonetheless remains steadfast and taunts Grathalmor to attack it. With his heavy mountain treads, Grathalmor stomps forward the waiting orc with deadly intent. As he closes, he considers just shooting the orc down with his pistol, but he had similar beliefs about that little weapon as he did about magic: he didn’t trust it, and he didn’t need it. Nonetheless, he carried one because Carmard had given him the beautiful silver handled weapon and he had occasional use for it.

No, that’s adamantine. I doubt that gun will do a thing to it. I nay need it anyways. I’ll be a kobold’s cousin before I get beaten by a one armed orc!” he grumbles. Casting that thought aside, he continues his march towards the waiting orc.

In front of him, the orc swings his whip in air as he waits for Grathalmor to get within range. It drones through the air with those silver rings moving about its length in a near blur.

Round 13

Close enough now, Grathalmor moves from a trot to a charge. He throws his shield aside and takes the orc’s own sword in both hands finally, holding it high over his head and screaming “Clangeddin!” as he charges onwards. Instead of his shield falling to the ground, the shield hovers in the air and follows Grathalmor’s charge. It offers him the protection of a shield while using both hands on his weapon; truly the shield was a marvel and he was glad to come by it while at Faitholme.

A moment later, the orc’s whip comes slashing through the air and wraps around the greatsword. The orc jerks the whip hard, but Grathalmor barely has time to fight for the weapon as The Black Orc tears the weapon from his hands. Flying through the air, the weapon lands beyond the orc with a clatter and a thump as it hits the arena’s sand floor.

Unarmed, Grathalmor does not let that stop his charge and instead tries to bull rush the orc. The dwarf lowers his shoulders and slams it into the orc’s chest. The Black Orc grunts from the impact and stumbles backwards, but Grathalmor’s legs keep on churning. He drives the orc back a total of 15 feet and sends the orc tumbling on to its back.
Standing over the orc, Grathalmor tries to use his heavy boots to stomp on the orc’s head but it rolls out of the way.

Around him, the crowd cheers at the sound of metal armor connecting with metal armor and the powerful charge by the dwarf. The adulation lends Grathalmor some energy to his tired, aching body as he overcomes the most recent setback.

The Black Orc rolls to the side and tries to stand, an awkward action with only one arm. Rather than attack with its whip in close quarters, the orc backs away from Grathalmor and opens the distance between the two combatants again. The orc’s action almost makes Grathalmor laugh, until he realized the orc was not scared of him but opening the distance to make the best use of its whip.

Just like Kelith with that damned chain of his…

Round 14

Grumbling at his luck, Grathalmor pulls his damaged urghosh from his belt loop and moves twenty feet closer towards his wounded foe. He grips his urghosh tightly, figuring the orc would try to disarm him of that weapon as well.

I need to get some locking gauntlets… Grathalmor thinks.

Around him, the crowd cheers him on with calls of “Dwarf! Dwarf! Dwarf!” The words bring a small smile to his face beneath his thickly braided beard and mustache.

Instead of staying in place this time, The Black Orc snarls at Grathalmor and now both foes are moving towards each other once again. Once again, the orc sends his whip slashing through the air and it grabs hold of Grathalmor’s damaged urghosh. This time, Grathalmor has enough time to see that the rings on the whip move to the end of the whip as it coils firmly around his urghosh. Holding the weapon in both baths firmly versus the one arm the orc had left to him, the dwarf is yanked forward by the strength of the whips pull. Once again, Grathalmor curses his luck as his weapon is torn from his hand and he wasted more of the time left on the magic from his animated shield chasing after this cursed orc. Dimly, he wondered if the orc was trying to wear him out now instead.

Shalestone! Not a dumb orc after all!

Grathalmor’s bent urghosh lands at the orcs feet. It snaps the whip and uncoils the whip from around the weapon. With its thick boots, it kicks the weapon and it lands 10 feet away. It glances at the weapon and then back at Grathalmor with a sneer.

“Yarr! What does stumpy have left under its beard? Hah!”

[mshady]

Round 15

Not bloody much left under me beard! Grathalmor thinks to himself. He reaches for his belt and finds the familiar grip of a short sword. One of the few weapons he could use in the tight confines of the Underdark’s twisting tunnels where he could not swing his urghosh, a short sword was one of a dwarf’s best friends. It was not something Grathalmor used often, but he had trained with it and knew the dwarven techniques for using them as well as anyone else. Short swords were a thrusting weapon, allowing it’s wielder to put all of their weight behind a straight armed thrust. That was the basic technique. The other way to use it was to stab at an enemy’s side, around their thick frontal armor and cut across the enemy’s belly to disembowel them. With the large gaps on the orc’s armor, he hoped he could find them with the deadly sword and finish this fight.

Sword in hand now, Grathalmor stomps closer to the waiting orc and waits for the orc’s whip once again…

The orc watches Grathalmor’s new approach, closes within range and sends the whip flying right at the sturdy dwarf once again from 10 feet away. This time, the whip is not aimed at his weapon but at his legs. It wraps around Grathalmor’s right leg and the one armed orc pulls hard on the whip. Instead of sending Grathalmor to the ground, the veteran dwarf stops, sets his feet and squats to lower his center of gravity and the whip does nothing. Smiling at the opportunity, Grathalmor reaches down and grabs the whip, than gives it a hard yank of his own but he is unable to tear the weapon away from the orc. Finally the whip is torn away from his leg and the orc recovers the weapon.

So now he wants to get me on my back, eh? Rude bugger, didn’t even buy me a drink first!

Round 16

Ten feet away from the orc, Grathalmor moves forward and immediately feels the lash of the whip trying to pull him down. Grathalmor sets his feet once again and the whip is unable to move him whatsoever.

“That all ye have left!?” Grathalmor yells at the orc.

With text book form, Grathalmor sends a straight armed thrust right at the orc’s neck, but the weapon hits nothing but air as the orc dodges out of the way. Grathalmor’s next attack is aimed at the orc’s vulnerable side and he hits his mark but the angle is wrong. The dwarf curses as the weapon can’t penetrate the chainmail that does cover the gap; not a problem for an axe but quite a problem for a short sword coming in at an off angle.

Shrugging off the wound, the orc falls back five feet and snaps the whip at Grathalmor. The first attempt once again refuses to dislodge the stubborn dwarf. The second lashing comes in much lower and wraps around Grathalmor’s ankle and this time there is nothing he can do as his stubby leg is pulled out from under him. He crashes on to his back with the clang and clatter of metal on metal and the impact is forceful enough to drive the air from his lungs once again. His entire rib cage screams in pain from the multiple injuries he had incurred over the last few days, and that alone is nearly enough to stagger him.

The crowd goes “Ooooh!” as the indomitable orc is toppled, than cheers the orc’ success as Grathalmor begins to lose the crowd. At least a portion of the crowd; it seemed some sections were solidly in his corner and others not.

Looking up into the darkened sky while on his back, Grathalmor grumbles at his misfortune.

"Alright, you know how to use that rope of yours, I'll give you that” he says with bitter charity, He looks over to see the orc guffawing at finally toppling the hated dwarf when it lets the whip go. Instead of falling to the ground, the ring lined whip strobes with a faint blue energy before the entire whip comes flying at him. Not sure what the orc’s whip would do to him, he tries to get his shield to block the attack but the whip can’t be blocked. Instead it wraps around his legs and binds them together. The dozens of rings suddenly lock together like manacles around him legs, immobilizing his feet.

“Frak!” Grathalmor exclaims.

Round 18

Unable to do anything else, Grathalmor sits up and tries to use his short sword as a pry the whip-now-manacles from his leg before the orc fell upon him. He jams the sword between his boots and the manacles and tries to pry them off with desperate energy, but he only succeeds in loosening the manacles only slightly. Seeing the orc readying another attack, Grathalmor pulls the sword away from his ankles and readies for the next attack. He looks around for his shield, but finds that the animating magic has expired and it now lays next to him.

The Black Orc roars at him once again and draws a thin bladed, armor piercing dirk. For an armored combatant on the ground, this was about the last weapon they ever wanted to see because all too often, it was the last weapon they ever did see. Designed to be small enough to be slip between, or at least split apart, even the most closely woven 5 to 1 King’s Mail, the idea was to slip it under the arms or through a tear in the armor and finish a foe. Fortunately, the orc only had one arm, so that would be much, much harder.

Breaking into a charge, the Black Orc leaps at Grathalmor with the dirk. The dwarf is able to put his short sword between him and the orc and the blade slips under the orc’s abdomen, stabbing deeply into its abdominal muscles. He pulls the blade free as the orc howls in pain once again, but it has him solidly pinned in place with its powerful legs. Grathalmor tries to keep the orc away from him by pushing it away with his own free hand….

Grathalmor wounds the orc, doing 5 pts of damage

Round 19

To buy himself a moment, Grathalmor slugs the orc squarely in the face with his mailed fist. With his free hand, Grathalmor lunges for his pistol on his belt with the intent of jamming it against the orc and firing it, hopefully killing it. Before he gets the opportunity, the dirk slams into his side but the orc’s desperate aim is off and it does not penetrate the Mithril bands around him. Before he even realizes he did it, Grathalmor’s pistol fires and he finds himself choking on acrid smoke and his ears ring from the shot. Above him, the orc recoils as the heavy bullet blew through his good shoulder. Blood runs out of the wound and splatters on Grathalmor’s face and beard as the orc screams in pain.

“Unlike you, I have TWO arms!” Grathalmor yells at it, as he tosses the empty pistol aside.

The reply comes as the orc thrusts its dirk at Grathalmor, snaking it under his arm and stabbing through the chain. The weapon comes back red with blood and its Grathalmor’s turn to holler in pain. Having found a gap, the orc goes back to the well a second time and stabs him once again.

Grathalmor does 15 HP damage to the orc. In reply, the orc stabs Grathalmor for 5 HP, than 7 HP leaving him at 53/83 HP

[Melody]

Sable never enjoyed watching other people duel unless she had plans to kill one of the duelists afterward. Throughout the match she had kept silent thinking of those things she would have done differently trying to compose some excuse to Carmard if Grathalmor should die in the contest.

As the duel progressed however, she had found herself holding her breath watching Grathalmor battle the Black Orc. Watching the whip come out she grips her seat. Just like those damned spiders. Tymora but she hated spiders. If it had been her in Grathalmor's place she'd have set the whole damned arena on fire rather than close into melee distance. Inevitably Grathalmor was on his back with his legs bound together unable to cut the bonds holding his legs. She let go of the seat and rubbed a sweaty palm against her leg.

Seeing Grathalmor similarly bound on his back she was unable to escape the memory of mandibles as long as her forearm stabbing towards her face with poison beading the tips. The memory made her chest feel tight as if she wasn't getting enough breath and the world took on a slightly hazy look as if it were graying at the edges. Realizing she was about to faint she forces herself to take slow deep breaths and calm her breathing.

Seeking to break the mood she had fallen into she speaks quietly. What happens to the Orc's weapons after the battle? I believe I'd like that whip as a momento if Grathalmor doesn't object. Fortunately everyone had been focused on the fight and her upset had gone mostly unoticed.

[mshady]

The Foundry Group

Deciding on a course of action, Carmard leads the group down from the tenement they had watched the Great Foundry from. After some discussion, they decided to get closer to the Great Foundry itself. The group stomped down the steps of the shaky building and out into the dense smells of the surrounding dusk. The faint ringing of hammer falls and clatter of mechanical devices can be heard thrumming from inside the foundry, along with the stinging smell of metal being smelted. It is a familiar smell to the dwarves.
Carmard leads the group down the street and they soon find themselves along the damp and sooty stone curtain that surrounds the foundry. As they walk, Carmard turns to Thordek and Arman with a crack of a smile on his face.
“So how do ye think we should be introduce’n ourselves?” Carmard asks the two. “We be here to see a man about a bomb? Or mayhaps just ask’em if this is a bad time for the tenpenny tour?” he snorts.

It takes awhile for them to walk around the thick curtain that surrounds the foundry, but they finally reach the gates to find several soldiers by a thick metal gate. A small door inside the gate sits half open as the guards sit about on barrels, passing a large bottle made with brown smoked glass around. Four of the six are smoking something sweet smelling. Their shields and spears are leaned against the wall, but each bears a short sword on their hip.

Hjalmar stands besides Carmard and wrinkles his nose at the sight of the lazy guards, than shakes his head.

“Lazy humans” he says with disgust, than adjusts his eye piece. “The greatest foundry in all these supposed Planes, and it be guarded by these roustabouts? What about godliness through the value o’hardwork?” Hjalmar scoffs.
“Not what they be cracked up to be, eh?” Carmard snorts. “Nay impressed so far”
The group clusters around Carmard as they stand 20 feet away from the guards. It takes them a moment to so much as notice them. They look up at the group and take a last pull on the bottle between each other before a surly fellow stands up.
“Who are ye and what do ye want?” the guard asks, speaking slowly to avoid an obvious slur.
Carmard looks at Thordek and Arman, than shrugs.
“What’s been goin’ on here?” Carmard asks, than gestures inside with his hand. “We came’ere to check on orders and uh…. Well, we seen the fires? What in the Lady’s lacey undergarments is goin’ on down here? We’d care to have a look and talk to someone, make sure our shipments ‘re ok, aye?”

The six guards look at each other and laugh. The bottle is passed on to another guard.
“Who ju with?” asks another guard. “We be lettin’ no one in. Had an accident inside” he says, than laughs.
“Who are we with? Don’t you know?” Carmard asks with forced incredulity, trying desperately to bluff his way along.
“That be what I asked, you fur faced berk” the guard asks again, than spits on the ground. Carmard looks at the rest of the group for a better idea, than continues.

“Blood Company” he says sternly. “We got waylaid on a job and ordered armaments and our boys here need spares and smith work. Bad job and Hextros be in a bad mood after it. I be his quartermaster, and these be my boys. Sorry lot, but I’d nay make trouble. The shat we’ve been through the last week’d make your short hairs curl” Carmard says, getting into the role a bit.

“Blood Company?” another guard asks. “No one seen you for months! I know that ‘cause we got one of yer contracts” he says, than laughs. It sounds more like a donkey’s “hee haw”.
“Well, who are you shat kickers?” Carmard growls back at them.
“Ferg’s Dragoons!” they all proudly proclaim in unison. At least there was some pride there.
“Dragoons? What are yer mounts?” comes Carmard’s reply. Dragoons were a kind of infantry that moved on horseback, or equivalent, and fought on foot.
“Women!” says the guard presently holding the bottle.

“Yer the smart one, aren’t you?” Hjalmar growls, than stomps forward.
The poorly equipped guards go a bit wide eyed at the massively armored dwarf.

“My boss wants to get in. We’re going in. Stand aside or I’ll bust yer low rent arses. By myself, and don’t ye think I can’t! Ye look about as useful as smelted turds, so get. Say we bribed you” Hjalmar says through gritted teeth.
The guards look at each other, than back at Hjalmar and seem to come to a conclusion.

“Have it your way, tin beard” one of them says. “Go on in. If you’re a hassle, they’ll deal with your armored arses” he points at the open gateway and takes a pull on his bottle.

Carmard looks over at Hjalmar, surprised at his actions but not exactly disproving.

“Smelted turds?” he asks, with a smile.

“Common ‘nough saying down on the Great Rift” Hjalmar says dismissively, than shrugs. “Try being a little forceful and ye won’t have to keep buying ‘veryone off. If your Patriarch lets you anywhere near his treasure rooms, he’s bound to be a pauper king” Hjalmar says without hiding his contempt.

With a grunt, Hjalmar rumbles forward in his massive heavy armor and pushes open the smaller door inside the massive metal gates that protected the front of the Great Foundry.

“Maybe we just let him do the talk’n next time?” Carmard says with a bark of laughter, than follows the grizzled Paladin inside.

[Strangie]

Wyatt glances up at Sable, turning his head to look over his shoulder. "Been kinda quiet... hope you been watchin', heh. It's gettin' good out 'dere. 'dis guy has gotta be at 'da end of his rope. Sooner or later."

Wyatt turns his head back toward the fight. "Bah. I don't want anythin' that orc's got, likely. Carryin' skulls around like 'dere decorations or somethin' is just too unsightly for me, y'know?"

[Melody]

Well it's clearly magical and black and silver go with nearly any outfit.

She watches the conclusion and continues to count her breaths keeping them slow and even. She attempts an expression of unconcern though with the excietement of the moment it's rather hard to tell if she's suceeding or not.

[Werewhale]

(Foundry Group) Nalrak Ironfist

"Aye, Grath, but I have a feelin' that'll get us into a fight even sooner than usual..." says Nalrak as he follows his charge into the Foundry.

[mshady]

The Foundry Group

Lead by the bold Hjalmar, the group heads through the doorway and into the courtyard of the Great Foundry. The Foundry was an unusual combination of Keep and Factory, complete with military fortifications one would expect of a great castle along. Several large buildings spread out inside the courtyard. Of course, the center of the compound is dominated by a squat but massive building with towering smoke stacks. One of the stacks are clearly damaged, but wisps of black smoke continues to pour out of it.

Far to the right of the Foundry structure, a massive hole has been blown out of the wall. Several burlap sheets cover bodies on the ground. Two iron golems lay there as well. The massive constructs are broken and twisted and look like they have taken an incredible amount of punishment. A crew of workers are now trying to drag one on to a large oxen drawn cart, presumably to take it for repairs.

The whole courtyard looks like a major battle had taken place, than efficiently cleaned up. The smells of blood and death have not quite gone away, with the exceptions by the hole blown into the side of the Foundry.

“Think we missed all the fun?” Magnum quips to no one in particular as he takes in the view.

“Aye” Carmard replies after a moment. “I think I’m glad for it, meself” he replies grimly.

At the front of the Foundry stands several more guards. These look like real guards, in mail plate holding shields and broadswords. Two ballista sit high atop the gatehouse leading into the central foundry.

“You there! Declare and be known!” one of the soldiers calls out.
Carmard looks between the rest and shrugs simply before speaking.
“We lied to your guards outside to get in” he declares. “I say declare yourselves!”

The guards look between each other, perplexed by the question.

“What the hell are you on about, dwarf?” the leader snaps. “YOU declare yourselves!”

“That was an odd question there, Carmard…” Magnum mumbles, but Carmard snorts.

“There be a war here, and I care to know who’s side ye were on” Carmard states. “Some…thing, someone came here in the last few days. Are ye on their side or that of the Factol of the Godsmen?”

The guards look between each other and talk amongst themselves for a moment before the leader with the helmet crest replies. Above him, ballistas are trained specifically on Carmard. The tips of the bolts smolder with the wispy red glow of necromantic magic.

“The side of the Godsmen!” he yells back across the courtyard. “Now state your purpose! This is a Godsmen matter”

“We know what it is and how to stop it” he states. “Unless you have already, take us to whomever’s in charge as we have the means to do so!”

The leader of the guards consults with a guard standing next to him, presumably his second in command.

“So you say, dwarf!” he yells back across the courtyard. “Wait here. Someone will be out to see you”

The guardsmen motions for one of his men to go inside. The remaining 11 soldiers and the ballista crews stand at the ready.

[thorgrim29]

You know, I think we're getting the hang of this diplomacy thing, we've gone from slaughter to discussion then slaughter to discussion that might not end in slaughter.

[mshady]

As they wait, Carmard chuckles at Thordek's remark.

"Lad, I think that be the most memorable thing ye've said in awhile. I reckon its as good as any description of diplomacy. I'm hop'n to avoid the slaughter again. Nay plannin' to get in a tangle without the rest, and hopefully Buna comes through with reinformcements" he says, betraying a degree of worry before he pauses and looks around.

"By the looks o'it though, its damn peaceful for a place that has somethin' like that loose inside. Maybe the matter's settled and the fella found out there's always a bigger dragon" Carmard says with a smirk. "Nay that we have that kind'o luck"

OOC: Still with limited computer access; will be back fully soon!

[shaddy_24]

Magnum

"As much as I like a good fight, I'm not sad to miss this one." Magnum responds to Carmard.

Magnum snorts at Thordek's comment. "At least we've figured out how to delay the slaughter 'til we have the advantage."

[mshady]

Arena Fight - Concluding Rounds

Grathalmor and The Black Orc remain locked in their death struggle on the floor of the arena. Sand is soaked with blood as they roll about on the ground. Both mortal foes punch and stab at each other in a brutal back and forth that goes for what seems an eternity. The Rowan Darkwood Training Academy thunders with the cheers of the crowd at the protracted and bloody fight. Several splashes of blood are thrown across the sand, than crushed into the ground as the two roll over the area.

From high up in their box, Sable and Wyatt watch the maimed but fearsome Black Orc fight on against the dwarf. Yennifer glances down at the arena floor and grimaces.

"Thats.. so savage. They'll kill each other.." she declares quietly to herself, her face fraught with concern before regaining her composure. "Brave face and all that. I have to set the example and see all this. Example for the Millennial. Example for the children"

Back on the arena floor, the Black Orc slugs Grathalmor in the face with a mailed fist, than stab at him with the needle sharp dirk fishes for an opening in the dwarf's fine armor, but finds only his metal skin instead. With a roll to reposition himself, Grathalmor sends an elbow flying back at his foe and stuns the orc. With his other hand, he draws his arm back and reverses his grip on the short sword, than drives it downward into the orc's ruined shoulder armor. It screams with pain and stabs back at Grathalmor.

In all, both orc and dwarf manage to stab each other another three times. All are both painful, bloody wounds but none mortal until orc pins Grathalmor for a moment. The orc's blade snakes through the tear in Grathalmor's armor and slides nearly between the dwarf's chain mail, than between his ribs before puncturing Grathalmors right lung. He gasps with pain and chokes as blood enters his lungs.

The orc roars victoriously as it yanks the weapon free from Grathalmor's chest, but the orc is distracted by its own elation just long enough for Grathalmor's sword to find the orc's exposed neck. The slash is wide, but shallow. Its not much of an exchange for Grathalmor, but the orc is by far the more badly injured already. The blow certainly shocks the orc though and its next feeble blow is batted aside by Grathalmor, while the next merely dents his already battered armor.

Feeling the hot breath of the orc in his face, Grathalmor struggles and frees his sword arm from the orc's weight. His arm flies free of the pin, and than he thrusts his arm sideways. With a powerful blow, he slides the blade through one side of the orc's neck and out the other. It crosses the orc's eyes in pain and he gasps from the blow, dropping the dirk on to the blood soaked sand.

Grabbing the impaled sword like a handle, he yanks the orc close to him and snarls at it.

"I've got ya know, orc!" Grathalmor manages to choke out, than twists impaled paled. It severs the thick, corded muscles in the orc's neck and both of the beast's jugular arteries in its neck. He yanks the bloodied blade free and throws the orc off him with his waning energy. The orc lands on its back and wheezes as it chokes on its own blood. It's remaining hand clutches the wound, but each movement is slower than the rest.

Sensing its own impending demise, the Black Orc uses its dwindling energy to turn its large head towards the dwarf. It's wild, red eyes seem somber now as it looks at Grathalmor. Defiance and anger have left it now as its life blood pours out into the sand. On his back as well and clutching his chest, Grathalmor turns to see the orc look at him. It tries to say something to him, but it comes out as a gurgle.

Raucous chants of "Kill!" and "Finish him!", or just jeers at the delay thunder down at Grathalmor. It was like the mob was a blood thirsty hive mind and while he had been buoyed by it before, even played to it, it made him feel revolted now. The noise is so loud that no one besides the orc can hear what Grathalmor says now.

With every once of energy he could muster, Grathalmor staggers to his feet and grips his sword tightly as he uses it to prop himself up.

"Ye just aren't gonna die, are ye?" Grathalmor asks the orc. When it doesn't reply to the impossible question, he moves over to the orc and straddles it, continuing to look at it.

"That..." Grathalmor wheezes "...was a helluva fight lad. I thank ye for that. The scars ye left will be somethin' I remember ye by" the dwarf says in his rumbling bass voice. He reaches out with his hand and slaps it lightly on the cheek. The orc weakly grunts in reply. Grathalmor can see that it is not even bothering to slow the bleeding anymore.

"I've got a gift for ya, orkie. Unless this is how ye want it?" he says. He does not brandish the blade to the orc, but shows him the bloodied sword. Knowing the victorious dwarf's intent, it musters enough effort to shake its head in agreement.

"Swift death it is than, eh lad? Shame this fight wasn't 'ver a thing that mattered. Just a victory. No honor in it..." he muses. With his free hand, Grathalmor undoes the remaining straps on the orc's fine adamantine breast plate and pushes it aside with a laborious effort. He takes the sword in both hands and poises the blade over the orc's weakly beating heart.

"Time to go, orkie. When ye get to Grummush, tell'em Clangeddin sends his regards"

With all his weight and mustered energy, Grathalmor drives the sword sword through the orc's heart. It's eyes go wide for a moment from the pain and its remaining arm clutches the wound, almost by reflex as it tries to push Grathalmor away.

It barely has the strength left to nudge him.

With a final twist of the short sword, the orc's life is extinguished.

[Strangie]

Wyatt stands still, slowly panning his head across the roused crowd and their cries for blood and death. "Man. n' I was just cheerin' for Grathalmore to win, but 'dese people don't care one way or another."

The fight comes closer to its conclusion and Wyatt watches Grathalmore finish the bloody job. He seems more surprised that Grathalmore pulled out the win - certainly the skillful, and perhaps lucky, shot to sever the orc's arm is what turned the tables here. Once the dust settles and Grathalmore is victorious at last, Wyatt pumps his fist into the air. "Awright Grath! You beat the odds!" He drops his hand, muttering more quietly now, "Let's just hope you survive your own wounds and someone tends to ya before you keel over..."

He folds his arms, tilting his head, turning around to glance toward the Ober, Anrika, and Sable. "So. Betcha all 'dem people who put their wager on 'dat orc are kickin' 'demselves in 'dere rear ends now, eh?" He glances up at the Ober specifically towards the end of his sentence, raising his eyebrows a bit.

[mshady]

The Ober has a slightly sour look on his face at the result of the fight and shakes his head slightly in response to Wyatt's comment.

"Some, perhaps" he allows, "As for me, why bet on one when you can bet on both?" he says. If a snake could grin, it would look just like Ober Lodi right now.

"As you said runt... these people don't care. One way or the other"

[mshady]

OOC Note: Please welcome The Great Skelandro as Hjalmar and Shaddy 24 as Magnum. They will be taking over these characters going forward. King Tius is probably coming back as well, in the roll of Gore the Minotaur!

Lets keep the welcoming to the OOC thread though :)

[mshady]

Carmard's party waits patiently for someone to come out and speak with them. They keep their distance from the guards standing in front of the Foundry itself, which serves as central keep and primary manufacturing facility. Its sheer size is something of a marvel to behold for the dwarves; larger than even their greatest clan holds like Citadel Adbar. Not that they would admit that to these Godsmen.

There is little activity in the courtyard. No wagon loads of materials or finished products lead by hard working teamsters are seen. No one walking about, except for the few guards that are visible. The clattering of machinery and whoosh of bellows can be heard, along with faint rhythms of smith work can still be heard however. After listening closely, none of those sounds seem to be coming from the main building however.

Sitting atop his riding badger, Baurus, Arum moves himself alongside Carmard and Thordek. The eccentric gnomish wizard, known for his powerful command of foul language and trophy collecting for purposes unknown, says nothing for a minute as he looks at the guards and the damage.

"I'll shat in my drawers and drink a flagon of rothe piss if ye haven't heard this before, Boss, but it's too damned quiet for so many. Where they all go?" he says fretfully. His nervous fingers run along his finely crafted arbalest crossbow. The ballistas trained on them from high atop the gatehouse leading inside apparently are making the gnome nervous as his eyes keep flicking back to them. Carmard winces at the language before turning to the gnome, as he managed to break the dwarf's wool gathering.

"If I really had nay heard that before, would ye really?" he asks quizzically and even allows himself a slight smile. He watches the gnomes flushed reaction to the question before replying further.

"Aye, its been the better part of an hour just standin' here and its time I nay be having. Clearly a main assault would do little good here. Still, we wait" he grumbles and returns to his contemplation and waiting.

It's another half an hour before the gates squeal open in front of them. The sound startles most out of their boredom. From the wood and iron gate, guards dressed in fine plate mail march out with weapons brandished. Several wizards also accompany them, identified by their blue and yellow robes and staves. As many as forty solders stand in formation in front of the gate now, along with their attending wizards and the existing guards. One of the guards blows twice on a small, curved horn now and it is answered by two similar notes from behind them. Moments later, the rasping of metal on metal can be heard as the door behind them is barred. With that accomplished, he takes a gold-on-blue standard featuring several stars and a hammer from its bearer and drives it into the ground in front of them. A moment later, a shimmering barrier of transparent energy is erected in front of them.

With one hand resting on his pistol and another on his hammer, Carmard watches the other group's movements without expression. There is little actual tension in him, but he squints his eyes to examines the new arrivals closely. With no other actions taken by the other group beyond standing in formation a 100 yards from them, many in the group look to Carmard for some indication on what to do besides prepare to stand at arms.

"That's a Wall of Force" he says quietly. "No going over, around or through that they way they 'ave it set. Look how its concave and angled upwards, the plane connecting to the wall?" Carmard elaborates in an almost scholarly fashion. "Interesting. Clever even" he declares, clearly admiring what he sees.

That's all he says before returning to his silent watch.

A couple of minutes later, two heralds trot out of the darkness of the tunnel leading inward. Standing at the very edge of the barrier, them too blow a short melody on their long, narrow trumpets. When the notes end, they lower their instruments in exactly the same way and in time with each other; evidence of significant drilling.

"We herald the arrival of Demios Kaladus!" the distant figure yells across the court yard. "You are required to bow before him, for he is a Vessel of the Source!" the herald exclaims.

With that cue, all of the assembled soldiers, guards and wizards take a know and look towards the ground.

"I think not" Carmard replies curtly to the demand, but he does not elaborate further or add anything snarky in addition. Now the Arcanii is tense. The air tingles around him as he mentally gathers the strands of the weave and mentally prepares his own arcane power.

The herald does not say anything in reply at first, looking to his comrade and seems surprised by the response before they come to an inevitable conclusion.

"Bloody berks..." can clearly be heard as one mutters to the other.

Behind them, an man walks out of the tunnel. He is dressed in an elaborate red robe and wears a tall and ornate conical hat. He carries a white staff wrapped in golden vines that has a faint glow to it. His eyes have a slight blue glow to them as well. It is hard to tell his exact race, which may no longer even truly be relevant if there really was something to the beliefs of the Godsmen. The face us weathered and serious. For the most pious of the dwarves, there was an inherent... wrongness about the idea of the Godsmen,

The Demios' stride ends exactly between the two heralds, who bow their own heads and step aside. Both Carmard and the Demios look at each other from across the courtyard.

"The guards tell me some dwarves showed up at the gate. They're heavily armed and not here for the tour" his says in a sharply enunciated and booming tone of a much younger man. He narrows his eyes and surveys the group from behind the force barrier. When his eyes return to Carmard, he continues. "They tell me you know what troubles us and how to stop it. At first I thought that absurd! Nonsense!" he declares, adding a bark of laughter before holding up a thin finger.

"Then I remember seeing the dethek runes all over it. Now I see dwarves at our door saying such non-sense. But its not non-sense. You know what it is, don't you?" the Demios says with great severity. "Don't you!" he demands, and cracks the butt of his staff against the flagstones. The staff crackles from the forceful contact. The stone the staff struck glows red.

"Nasty staff. Wonder what he's compensating for?" Arum says, smiling at his own snarky joke.

"You're not helping.." Carmard hisses at him.

"Never said I was, boss! Ha!" Arum replies, but remains silent after the reprimand. Carmard returns his attention to the waiting Demios.

"What damage has it caused?" Carmard inquiries. The Demios visibly bristles at the question.

"Not answering direct questions, eh?" Demios Kaladus asks, scowling at the dwarves. "So be it. This is Godsmen business, and if you lied about being able to end this dwarf... I will end you. Utterly" he fixes Carmard with a threatening scowl. Reluctantly, he continues.

"A sphere showed up a few days ago in the Foundry a few days ago. It was carried on a palanquin and escorted by many men. Used to be men, any ways. It named itself Bauruk and declared itself prepared for an Apotheosis.

It said it was a vessel of pure power and came here to learn our ways and ascend the ladder to godhood. It wanted to know of our path, as there was nothing left for it here, no more power it could acquire. It asked for our assistance, as we Know one can ascend. Our own Factol now is merely waiting for the day" . the Demios says, than scowls at what he is to say next

"It asked for us to join it and show it the way, and that it would show that path to others when no one else would. It showed up at our door and started coup is what it did!" the Demios shakes with fury as he recounts what happened.

"When our leaders refused its demands, some of our more... opportunistic members sided with him immediately. It roses and sparkled with energy like none I had seen before and informed the Factol, all of the Demios and whomever stood with us that we were either with him or against him in this. One Demios though better of his chances and left us, and that was when it started raining hell and death upon us.

Two Demios were killed and our Factol gravely injured. We fled to the upper levels and it led a march on us until we could organize. Most simply fled. The lowest bloods and prospectives ran for their lives and so did many of the rest. What was left were our senior members, but fortunately our strongest. For a day, we barricaded ourselves up and planned our counter attack and we planned well! Our Factol and the remaining Demios held that... sphere in check long enough for us to push the mob and that things own horde back into one of the foundry chambers."

"We immolated nearly everyone in the room. Our own people" he says with startling coldness. "The place is rubble and fire, only dying out now. A few thousand became a few hundred quickly enough, and no loss to us either! It was only to get the senior mages close enough to it that we could try to Banish it. When that did not work, we drew upon circle magic and cast a banishing maze upon it, not unlike the Lady herself uses!" says the proud Demios. His demeanor quickly returns to grave, however.

"It has only been two days, but the traitorous Demios knows that spell as well as us and is leading him out of the Maze. The thing is too powerful to be thus contained" he grimaces.

"We have the survivors cordoned off, but our own losses are too much and our Factol is wounded yet, a necromancy prevents his healing truly. So you see? Some assistance would be in order to prevent this, but we're ill positioned to do much now" he finishes. The next part he says with a very sour look about him.

"When it returns, we plan to reveal the hidden knowledge he requires for his insanity and wash our hands of it. Likely he destroys himself on his path; its fraught with danger and complexity. Or he does become a God? We're safe here in Sigil from all Gods. Not our problem. We tried" he says and shrugs. "I think he's far more likely to be your problem, however. Am I right? Dwarves here offering help against a power covered in your square cave drawings?" he says and snorts.

"You see how we will resolve this" he says smugly. "Not our... preferred plan. For us, it would be a great blow if he fell from his path in the eyes of our own followers. If that thing cannot ascend, what hope do the rest have? If you want to try and stop him and end this your way? You are free to, but I know not what you find in there. Your responsability too, if I miss my mark. What have you dwarves got up to? You know your choices. Good luck with them! " he says and throws his head back in a laugh.

"In fact, I think your choice is made already" he says more ominously. "For bringing such destruction to us, I think we should all have a... conversation about this matter. Your roles in it. Your only real choice now is when you want to have that conversation" he states with a smile. "I'd delay that conversation as long as you can, if I were you.

It's not looking very good for you right now"

Carmard turns to Thordek with a frown on his own face.

"Well... we figured they'd be upset, didn't we?" he muses. "Diplomacy to slaughter...." Carmard grumbles.

[Strangie]

Wyatt narrows his eyes at Lodi at his twisted snake grin. Something about that came across to him as very unsettling.

"... Yeah. Sure." Is all he says as he turns back around to watch what happens next, shaking his head. "Ain't no runt, either. Nobody's got respect for 'da little people anymore..."

[Melody]

Don't worry about it Wyatt. If they underestimate you due to your size all the better for you I'd say. A dagger kills as quickly as a sword when properly applied. Sable pats Wyatt on the shoulder then turns to look at the Third Ober.

As to your winnings Third Ober. Since you are indirectly responsible for the wounds of my companion and the damage to his armor by not specifying the type of fight he was to undertake, you may spend them on curing his wounds and repairing his gear.

She folds her arms and continues to gaze into his eyes. Unless, of course, you wish me to voice my displeasure to Jerious about the treatment of my companions. I doubt he'd take that very well. The emphasis on the word take is punctuated with a lifted eyebrow indicating she realized the play on words.

[thorgrim29]

Don't know about their path to ascension, but they certainly don't play around, and they're not short on powerful magic. And yet it almost routed them, plus it's learned fine control it seems, and acquired an army. This could be interesting.

[Strangie]

"A dagger, or a blunt object in my case..."

He rubs his arm for a moment after Sable speaks, then turns around, glancing over his shoulder at Lodi. "Yeah, what she said. No better way to spend your winnings 'dan to put 'dem back in your investment, right? Heh." He grins at the comment about Jerious, but stays silent for now.

[mshady]

The Ober flashes his snakiest smile again at the question, reveling in the absurd question he had been posed.

"Give some of my jink to him?" he scoffs. "Your guard is the one who left here to partake in a spectacle because he was... bored?" he shakes his head. "And you blame me for that? I TOLD the Steward to arrange a fight for a guest. Maybe he'd be better health if he was more competent? Hmm?" he says, clearly being antagonizing. "His own fault for nearly getting pealed? I doubt Jerious would have a care about the matter. The Takers always win. We bet both sides and split what extra money the rabble brings us" he shrugs.

"I'll be keeping my jink, thank you" he says, than raises a hand as if remembering something.

"They should be by with the pretties soon" he says.

He turns to the door and opens it partially.

"The paymasters? Are they here yet? I'd rather like to take possession before the next fight. Bring the chest in here with us" he says, his tone irritated.

"Yes, ser!" a voice answers him.

He turns back to Sable and Anrika.

"Hard to find good help these days" he smiles, clearly full of himself.

The diminuitive Anrika fixes him with a steady gaze.

Down on the arena floor, Grathalmor is gathering his damaged urghosh and the orc's sword as stretchers come out for the reeling dwarf and his fallen foe.

Battered as he is, Grathalmor remains on his feet and waives the stretcher away. Blood streams from his wounds and he is covered in dust. He continually gags and steadies himself by using the greatsword as a crutch as he walks off the arena floor.

Accompanying him are two stretcher bearers with the body of the Black Orc. The crowd cheers as the two combatants leave the arena floor, expressing their gratitude for the fine show.

Many cheer "Rematch! Rematch!", not quite grasping the finality of the fight.

The Ober appears in the center of the gallery and looks down at the arena once again, whistling a merry tune as he rolls a coin between his fingers.

"Your guard could make a good bit of coin here for you if he stays" he muses. "May want to tell him next time he can spare a foe instead of carving out his heart, by the by. Rematches pay even better money" he smiles. "Let me know if he does, yes?"

A grounds crew swarms across the field and rakes sand over all of the blood stained grounds. It takes several minutes and the crown grows quite restless with the wait.

During that time, there is a knock on the door and the Ober promptly answers it. The Steward walks into the large suite accompanied by four guards. Two more follow with a small chest in tow. Bowing slightly to Lady Anrika, who only returns a glare and silence, he opens a leather bound ledger.

"Ober Lodi, you placed a bet of 5000 Ladies on the Black Orc at 3 to 1 odds and that goes to the Factol's Purse. The 5000 Ladies you placed on The Iron Dwarf at 5 to 1 odds pays out to you at 25,000 Ladies. Will you take payment in precious gems, platinum or gold?" he asks in a business like tone. The numbers hardly seem to phase him. Business as usual.

"Platinum, if you will. Whistle for a porter to take it to my vault though, yes?"

"Very well, sir" the steward replies drooly. He turns to Sable.

"The bag of coin you bet was worth 1100 Ladies. The bet was placed on The Iron Dwarf. It pays out at 5500 Ladies. How would you like to take your payment, Miss...?" he looks at his ledger. "Ms Jerious? Thats what it says in our records. Hmm"

The payment is furnished to her in whatever form she chooses. They remain after the payout as the steward reviews his ledger.

Down on the arena floor, a man in bright heraldry stands in the center of the arena and holds glowing crystal attached to a wand. Dozens of heralds stand in a circle around the arena edge, facing the crowd with long trumpets in hand

"Ladies, Gentlemen and Other Things! The Rowan Darkwood Academy of Training thanks you for your enthusiasm tonight! The dwarf you just seen fight that amazing match was the guest of our beloved First Ober Jerious of the Second Millennial of Sigil and our main force here!" he says with excessive enthusiasm.

The crowd roars at the name and chants of "Jerious!" reverberate throughout the Arena. The enthusiasm is almost feverish.

"Now you all know what comes next, right?" he asks the crowd. The arena now thunders with the word "Yes!" or simply "Fight!"

"Very good!" he exclaims. "The main event tonight! It is the Taker's Way that all positions must be earned! Challenges must be made and won to move up! To the victor go the spoils! For those of you worthy of us, let a recruiter know if you think yourself worthy of becoming a blood with us!"

Once again, the crowd cheers in response to the announcer and he clearly enjoys whipping the crowd up.

The floor of the arena opens up on either side of the announcer and the crowd goes absolutely wild with anticipation. From the tops of the massive arena, buckets of flower petals are thrown from it by dozens of workers. The air is filled with white and red petals. The trumpets of the heralds begin playing a joyous tune that fills the arena and invoking even more excitement and anticipation.

Two men appear on the arena floor from the elevator shafts. One is clearly First Ober Jerious, with his dashing red cape, rapier and buckler. He waves to the crowd and takes in the crowd's energy like a man who loved the crowd.

Forgetting the previous fight for now, Lady Anrika stands at the balcony of suite with her children. Even she is applauding at the spectacle and her children, young and old, watch as well. Even the smallest cradled in her arm now appears bewitched by the epic spectacle below.

On the other side of Jerious stands a larger man in a breast plate with a rapier of his own, along with his own buckler. He wears a rich blue cape and white armor and looks distinctly different than Jerious.

Turning to Sable, Anrika smiles once again as she watches her husband proudly.

"He's one of the few gentlemen here, you know" she beams. "Such a magnificent man and not a thief like so many. Years and years together. I've watched these duels quite a few times. The first time he won to take his current position, and four other times against other challengers. He is simply... peerless with a sword. Not even his student Jerious is as good. I think, at least" she smiles and waves to her husband on the arena floor below. He sees her and waves, even blows a kiss in her direction.

"A dashing romantic as well! Did I mention that?" she smiles to Sable and turns to her children. "Look down there! It's your father, sweetlings. He sees us, even all the way up here!"

Both combatants bow approach each other in front of the announcer and shake hands. When they are finished, the announcer continues.

"I present to you a rare event!" the announcer declares. "A Trial of Position for the command of the Second Millenial. A prize worth so much, decided by the sword. By the swords of the two best swordsmen in all of Sigil! Everyone, please welcome the challenger, First Ober Jerious!" he declares, and the crowd cheers at his name once again. Jerious tips his sword to the crowd and bows with a dashing sweep of his exotic hat.

"In defense of his position, please welcome The Oberst we all know and love of so many years, Daryus Malvo!"

Once again the crowd cheers and Oberst Malvo bows to the crowd.

When the crowd is done cheering, Jerious walks over to Oberst Malvo and hands him a spy glass and points to where Anrika and Sable watch. Even Ober Lodi, the steward and guards stand at the edge of the suite now for the best view.

Malvo takes the spy glass and looks up at the distant suite and waves at his family once again. Jerious pats him on the shoulder and whispers something to him next, however than points to the suite once again. Malvo pushes him away and crowd "Oohs!" with excitement.

Jerious and Malvo now both approach the announcer and confer with him. It takes at least a minute and something seems to be the subject of heated discussion.

"I wonder what the problem is?" Anrika asks, a note of wary concern in her voice.
"Nothing important, I'm sure. They're both passionate men" Lodi replies distantly.

The two combatants separate once again and stand ready now, but the announcer is not quite done yet.

"Everyone! More EXCITING news! We all love big stakes and tonight is suddenly for even bigger stakes! Can they even GET bigger? I DON'T KNOW!" he says with giddy excitement to a cheering crowd. "Tonight is no longer a MERE Trial of Position. Oh no! To liven things up, both combatants have agreed to a something even better! What is it?" he asks the crowd.

They reply by generally screaming "What???" back at him.

"A Trial of Possession! It's for EVERYTHING! Its not just one man challenging another for his rank, but his entire LIFE! His wealth, homes, titles and even the beautiful women at their arms!"
He holds up a crystal in each hand now and a shimmering blue image of Anrika and Sable appear before the crowds, mimicking their position and movements just a mere moment before.

The crowd goes absolutely wild at the news now. It takes the announcer some time to calm them enough so he can speak again.

Anrika's face goes absolutely white at the news and tears run down her face. The visage of her on the field mimicks her actions a moment later and much of the crowd laughs at it.

"It goes without saying that a Trial of Position is to the DEATH! Are we ready for the duel NOW, good peoples?"

"YES!!!" goes the frenzied answer.

"Then Ober Jerious? Oberst Malvo? Begin!" the announcer says and moves away quickly.

Steel rings against steel as the two are on each other with nearly unnatural speed.

"No..." Anrika weeps. "No, no, no... Why?" she asks. She turns to Sable and glares at her and reaches for the knife on her belt.

"You harlot! You knew all along!" she hisses at Sable.

Behind them, Lodi and all the guards snigger at the scene.

"No Lady Anrika, she did not" Lodi laughs. "She did not, but we all did" he declares. "No please, all of you? Have a seat while we comfortably restrain you"

[Strangie]

Wyatt is completely dumbfounded at these turn of events.

"Oh, hell no. HELL NO." Wyatt exclaims. "'dis was totally NOT in the game plan here, people! Hey!" He glances toward Anrika, keeping a hand ready at his mace when he sees her reaching for a potential weapon. "We didn't know anythin', Anrika. We... see? I said 'dis was a set up..."

Wyatt turns his head back down toward the arena floor, gritting his teeth and narrowing his eyes at the now-ensuing fight. "Man, 'dat Jerious has got a lot of gall for wagerin' alla dat, and 'dat other guy, too! I'm thinkin' everybody's lost 'dere damn minds."

He glances around him, turning back around to put Lodi in his view now. He shuffles closer to Sable, still keeping his hand near his weapon. "Sable, I think you need to get a better taste in men. Looks like yours just put you on 'da betting table."

[mshady]

Anrika brandishes her knife in one hand and pushes her children behind her. Two of the youngest start crying, confused about why the adults are arguing. She has the look of a cornered animal.

"All of you, just... stay away!" she shrieks. "Daryus would never agree to this if he had a choice! Never! I'd sooner throw my children over this ledge and myself after them than ever share a bed with that.. vermin!"

Lodi looks at her with a half smile and deliberetly looks at the dagger she is hold out in front of her. He reaches for his scabbard and draws his own rapier and makes a point of showing her the length of his blade.

"I think mine is bigger than yours, My Lady" he comments, mocking her with her title. The rest of the soldiers laugh behind him.

"Try me" she sneers back. Lodi smirks at the comment, obviously considering the offer in a different context.

"Now before anyone gets the wrong idea, the next room is over is FULL of our soldiers. I happen to have a big chest of money and they don't want to be on the wrong side of the victor tonight. Ober Jerious says you two are free to go after he is victorious, having served your role in this bit of theatre. Keep the money in appreciation and he says you're welcome to stay on as his consort, if you wish. He also said I should remind you this is Taker business, to stand aside if you value your life or your friends upon their return. In the meantime, would someone bring around the rope?"

Three guards with rope move towards the three.

"Please, sit down so we can lash you properly" Lodi says with a smile.

[Strangie]

Wyatt sneers, knowing he's been bound in worse situations before, just recently, and rope holds no bounds on him, but says nothing. He draws his mace out, whirling it around his wrist and holding it and his buckler in front of him in a defensive posture, standing by Sable.

"Hey, if we're all brandishing weapons, why don't I join in. And what if he's NOT victorious? You keep us bound to chairs like prisoners? What 'da hell kinda establishment you runnin' here anyway." His eyes dart about, looking for an escape route of some kind. He mutters to himself, "Boy, what'd we go and do now, Sable..."

Readying to use a Total Defense action (+6 Dodge AC thanks to 5+ ranks of Tumble, making total AC 34) if anybody makes a threatening gesture at or comes within melee range of Wyatt. Like hell he's gonna get tied down again, he's got bad memories from the last time. :smalltongue:

[Melody]

I'm afraid I'm not going to let you touch her Lodi. Sable stands and draws the decorative dagger laying low on her hip. The draw looks somewhat awkward as it isn't really a dagger at all, but her rapier with an illusion cast on it. She positions herself between Anrika and Lodi's men.

Why don't you and your goons just stay over there until this fight is over? Wyatt, you take left I've got right. She moves to the right of Anrika's corner giving room to manuver without getting in each other's way.

I hope your husband is as good as you say he is Anrika because right now I trust Jerious and his goons about as far as I can toss them. Looking at Lodi she speaks to him. Jerious had no right to include me in this bet without asking beforehand. I'm betting you aranged for Grathalmor's fight to make certain he would be in no condition to oppose you when the real fight came up.

However, since I'm still very new to Sigil, Lady Anrika, my companion and I would like to be employed by you for the duration of this fight. I trust that you wish us to keep these men from touching you or your children while your husband fights his battle between himself and Jerious? Our price for siding with you during this time is that our group is free to go where we wish without interference or charges levied by the takers for our arrival or stay.

[Strangie]

Without skipping a beat, Wyatt shows off his agility, quickly rolling backwards with Sable and taking Anrika's left corner, as instructed. In an instant he's up to his feet, retaining the same defensive posture as before.

"Hope 'dat don't sound like a bad deal, Anrika. 'dis snake-faced creeper and his thugs don't scare us and nobody's puttin' any damn, stupid freakin' rope on me, or any other little people for 'dat matter. I been tied down once before and Shaundakul knows I ain't bein' tied down again, so help me gods."

[mshady]

"Oh, put it away" he smiles at the two women and winks at Wyatt. "You're not going to fight in front of the children. They might get hurt" he says, thinking he is calling a bluff. "How many of us do you think

"If Oberst Malvo wins, you'll be released. He already KNOWS what is going on here. Its why Jerious gave him the spy glass, you boffin" Lodi says, shaking his head in disgust. "We back the winner. Its our way. We're just restraining all of you to make sure no one does anything.. stupid. Like throwing children off balconies? Maybe because Jerious knew you'd react like that?" he says and glares at Anrika.

"It's our way and you're part of us" he says sternly. "You can't enjoy the spoils if you don't play the game. Daryus would tell you the same. It's tough. Be an example" he says coldly.

"Now do you two really want to interfere or are you going to sit quietly and watch the damned duel?"

Anrika looks between Lodi and Sable, not sure of which to agree to. Lodi's demand or Sable's offer.

[Melody]

Sable does not shift from her defensive stance as she speaks.

Lady Anrika, I trust you at least to be honorable in this mess. If it is as you say Lodi, have your goons leave the room and let us see how the duel plays out. I wouldn't want Oberst Malvo to believe that his family was in any danger. Besides which, Wyatt here doesn't like getting tied up. So Lady Anrika, if you wish to stand and watch the duel, do not feel pressured to take a seat.

After all, I doubt that Lodi wants to be seen getting his brain pan dented by a halfling with a truncheon.

[Strangie]

As if to put a point to Sable's sentence, Wyatt taps the end of his mace into the palm of his buckler hand, narrowing his eyes at Lodi and gritting his teeth.

"Bonk. Wouldn't 'DAT be a sight to see. Eh?"

[mshady]

Foundry Group - Anyone else have a reaction to the information from the Godsmen? Holding the next post if case some of you have some more response...

[Werewhale]

Nalrak Ironfist (Foundry Group)

"If we didn't need Bauruk, I'd say we'd let him attempt his little journey and fail so that the other Godsmen" Nalrak mutters under his breath, punctuating Godsmen with enough contempt to sound like he was spitting, "could learn from his mistake and turn away from their blasphemy." He absent-mindedly fingers his holy symbol, almost feeling guilty by just being in the presence of these heretics.

Turning to Carmard, and also showing the Godsmen his shield-side, he speaks in a whisper: "We don't want to have that conversation, so I say we simply don't. They seem to be content with us stopping Bauruk, so let's just get in there, subdue him and disappear into the city quickly."

[mshady]

Carmard nods and listens to Thordek and Nalrak's thoughts. He acknowledges them with only a grimace and stares at an increasingly impatient Demios while simultaneously lost in his own plotting.

Arum looks at him and back at the glowering Demios and holds up his hand just as the Godsmen is about to speak.

"Give'em a moment. He's a slow thinker" Arum tells him sternly, before cracking a grin. "Or he's got gas!" he says and sniggers. It's interrupted by a smack on the back of the head from Carmard's direction.

"Ow!" Arum yelps. Carmard glares at him, daring him to say a word more. The gnome wisely choses not to.

Speaking quietly to Nalrak and Thordek, Carmard confers with them quietly.

"I'm inclined to agree with ye, Nalrak" he nods. "I nay want to be hav'n that chat he's talk'n about right now either. They've no truck with us trying on account o'them not liking to be intimidated. We tell'em as little as possible, though" he says, than pauses and chews his lower lip. Through closed eyes, his next words pain him greatly.

"They've paid a butcher bill in the hundreds or thousands on account of me try'n to save a dozen of us. Even if they're a bunch o'heretical sods" he glowers. "Subduing him is going to be a fair to mighty chore though..."

He looks at the ground and thinks again, than shrugs.

"I think we'll take yer... uh, suggestion" he smiles, not weakly but with strength. "We have some other forces here. With yer permission, I'll be lik'n to bring them here"

"Unacceptable" the Demios snaps. "You know what that thing is. You could just be trying to join it!"

Carmard looks at him for a moment, measuring his response carefully.

"Yer an idiot" he scoffs. The effect may as well have been a fireball, judging from the Demios' shock.

"How dare you, you... dwarf!" the indignant Demios responds. Carmard merely shrugs in response to it.

"It takes an army to fight an army, and ye turned down me requiest. Thus, yer an idiot" he says and pauses enough for the Demios to scowl sufficiently. "If I was here to join it, I'd hardly have knocked. Now can we bring in our soldiers or not?"

"Fine..." he finally says through gritted teeth. "I'd know who ye are first though. The truth. Who do ye represent? I'll have your answer divined. Know that I will!" he says and cracks his powerful stave against the flagstones again.

"Well there going keep'n quiet on the details" Carmard grumbles. He takes a deep breath and continues.

"We represent the Jilker Patriarchate, led by Hignar Jilker of the Soulhammer Halls" Carmard says carefully, bracing himself mentally and physically for the reaction.

"Oh?" Demios Kaladus says, with curiosity not the expected anger. "You must be Arcanii Carmard Grindstaff, commander of the Forgemark Legion?"

"Um... yes?" Carmard says, shocked at the foreknowledge.

"You seem surprised? Your reinforcements arrived in the Cage hours ago. Its good to know our allies honor a treaty when they sign in" he says, actually seeming pleased now. "Two of yer friends are inside. One's named Buna and.. not sure of the other one's name. No matter"

Carmard nods at that and smiles fondly with word that Buna had indeed brought help.

"The rest will be here in a few hours" he says. "Your forces will be facing some captured golems, armed traitors of all types, mundane and arcane. We presume many of the ones WE killed in our firestorm have been raised by the rogue Demios as undead as well. The... thing was constructing something inside, but we do nay know what it was. But that was the cause of fires in the smoke stack" he says and pauses.

"We can provide... limited support, considering our own losses. If your band can get close to it, your dwarves, a few of us and whatever else shows might be enough. Otherwise it is as we said, we hand over the knowledge to that...thing and let him seek his own path"

"Huh..." is all Carmard manages to say to that. He turns to the rest of the group, openly showing his shock now.

"We have a treaty with them?"

[thorgrim29]

Thordrek shrugged.

Seems like it at least... Buna might know more, so why don't we go see her? Afterwards, I can take two or three of us and go fetch Sable and the others along with Hextros and his merry band of cannon fodder, that little duel ought to be finished by now. And we might inquire if they have any of our glowstones handy, we're gonna need 100% efficiency to do this.

[King Tius]

Gore

The large minotaur stands off to the side of the group, seeming completely disinterested in the conversation going on between Carmand and the man behind the force wall. At the first sight of the assembling forces the surly bull lets his heavy backpack fall to the ground as he begins to flex and stretch his back. Drawing his mighty axe, he stands for the duration of the conversation glaring at the soldiers on the other side of the wall, making eye contact with those in the rank-and-file, snorting and gripping his axe expectantly.

[shaddy_24]

Magnum

Without anything to offer during the negotiations, Magnum stood steady at Carmard's back and kept an eye on the actions of the Godsmen. He trusted in Carmard to find a way out, or failing that, to give him a warning before they were attacked. However, when it's revealed that Buna already showed up and had everything prepared for their own arival, the cleric laughs and steps up behind Carmard. "Good to see tha lass has us covered! Maybe we've hit a spot of luck after all. Let's see if it holds."

[mshady]

A note on epic combat:

Hey everyone! Its not much of a spoiler to say that there is a big fight coming. You have at least 200 additional dwarves showing up plus your own mercenaries. Plus a few other allies, with luck. Even with all that, expect to be outnumbered.

If you think I'm doing this the same way we did the cavern fight, you're crackers!

The plan is to use Warhammer Fantasy rules, but I'm converting them for DnD. That includes a magic system I'm working on. It will still be a lot of resolution on my end, but not nearly as much. From you end, its going to be pretty much telling me where to move your units. Or your own characters, as people like Arum or Sable aren't someone that would stand at the head of a group of Forgemark but Thordek or Hjalmar, for example, might.

The idea is to get a big fight resolved quickly.

So in the next couple weeks, try to score a PDF version or let me know if you need assistance.

If there are any other comments/questions, head on over to the OOC thread.

Mike

[mshady]

"Luck? What strange words ye be speak'n, priest?" Carmard replies to Magnum and even allows himself a small smile at finally catching a break with something. "I do hope all them dwarves, golems and minotaurs arriv'n didn't ruin someone's dinner again. Or offend Harold's delicate sensibilites" he adds dryly.

He turns to look at Thordek and strokes his short, braided beard in thought for a moment.

"Nay a bad plan, Thordek" he finally allows. "Lets go see Buna and see what showed up. Who as well. They may've sent a proper general. Buna and I'll be too busy work'n our magics to run a fight. Once we've got 'hat all figured, ye can go grab Sable and the rest. Impress upon Jerious that any audience'll have to wait. We're goin' to sorely need those mercenaries, so ye better bring them too" he says, with a sudden look of disgust on his face. Carmard reaches for a flagon and takes a drink from it, than wipes the rest from his dry lips.

"Ack, had to wipe that foul taste outta me mouth for say'n such words" he adds by way of explanation.

[ArmanMadero]

Arman waited with the others and watched the cleanup of the two iron golems. The things were enormous. He had seen a golem once before, but it wasn’t close to this size or apparent strength. Arman kept his thoughts to himself while they waited. The lack of noise bothered him. He would have thought a forge this size would be extremely loud and more active. As it was, he could hear some things going on, but not enough for what he would think.

He was lost in his thoughts when the doors started opening with a bang and squealing of gears. He startled out of his thoughts and got up, stretching a little. The formation coming out of the forge surprised him. It was like they were preparing for another battle, than coming to meet an emissary who wants to see the forge. It was very strange to him, but he passed it off as being a part of Sigil.

A standard was placed into the ground, and Arman watched as the wall of force came into being. It protected the group fully from them, which again concerned Arman just a little. It seemed an awful lot to just be meeting. Arman wondered if Bauruk had anything to do with this meeting committee. Arman was thinking he did.

A fanfare of horns was sounded and ended, and an announcement was made to welcome Demios Kaladus. The Demios soon appeared. He was very precise in his movements. Arman was slightly impressed, but it took more than a show to be a leader. He wondered about that in this place. It seemed that everything was very… orderly and precise… in Sigil. Arman was thankful he was an elf, and still had some wild tendencies. He wasn’t sure he could do so much order in his life…

His fingers twitched a little. This strong of an appearance was making him nervous. He could feel the magic strongly in the air. He played his fingers through it a little, using the movements to calm himself and center his thoughts a little more.

The Demios was controlling his anger as well through use of sarcasm. Apparently the stone burner was behind all this. Not good. Arman heard the jibe from Arum, and grinned to himself, bowing his head slightly to cover it. No sense in making the Demios madder.

He was mad enough it seemed. The staff he held kept getting slammed down upon the earth, the very air crackling and throwing out energy every time he did so. It was starting to hurt every time he did that. Being an elf, he could always feel the magic. Being an elf mage, it just made it worse sometimes.

With a final bang of his stick, the Demios looked at Carmard, expecting an answer. The answer seemed to shock the Demios when he heard it. Everyone beside and behind the Demios took on a more relaxed stance, and Carmard seeme surprised himself with the following words. A treaty? They had a treaty? With who?

[mshady]

The Arena - Pit

Grathalmor's return generates little response from anyone in the pit awaiting for or resting from combat. When the Black Orc comes in dead and on a stretcher, several of the gladiator's seem surprised by that. Some seem respectful but most seem relieved, and at that point he receives a few skeptical looks. One speaks to him from across the room as he runs a whetstone over the blade of a sword.

"Lucky" was all the man allows.

A healer in a bloody smock and reeking of death and booze is waiting for him and he guides the wear Grathalmor to a waiting cot. He takes a look at the Black Orc and tries to check his pulse, but quickly realizes that it's pointless.

"Maybe ye should be the surgeon" the healer says grimly. "Ye got amputation down pretty good"

Grathalmor nods and struggles out of his armor and submits himself to the doctor's examination. It takes an enormous effort. for him to shrug off his battered armor and the healer assists him roughly. Below his armor, his earthsilk arming jacket is a tattered and bloody mess that the healer cuts open with a knife when Grathalmor cannot lift it over his shoulders.

"No worries there. Someone will mend it for you" the healer says and tosses it into a basket by the door. He stops and looks over Grathalmor now and takes out a small cigar, than lights it. Crouching down, he looks at the narrow stab wound from the orc's deadly dirk and the blood on Grathalmor's lips as he gags again. With a finger, he painfully probes the wound and wracks the dwarf in all new kinds of pain.

"Well lad, that's going to be a mortal wound" he says and takes a puff. "Kill you sure as splittin' your daft head with an axe. Shortness of breath? Gagging? Lip're blue? You know that orc dragged that knife through his own crap? Just that'll likely kill you from disease. Couple ways ye could die here" he outlines with carelessness. "Most of the ones I treat this bad are unconscious already. Ye got a spare lung though, so enjoy! Don't mind me talking, do you?" he asks.

Grathalmor's growl answers that question easily enough.

"Well, lay down there dammit" he says and roughly pushes the wounded dwarf down, than reaches for a black satchel. He pulls out a small tin funnel, a bottle of a brown liquid and some powder, along with a vial.

Than the doctor begins humming a jaunty tune, perhaps accompanying an orchestra in his head. With several packs of cloth, he cleans the blood from the wound and painfully probes the area with forceps, pulling out two white bone fragments and setting them in an already red stained dish of water. He next uncorks the bottle and splashes the liquid on the wound. It's touch makes him scream out in pain like he rarely had before. Thin wisps of smoke rise from the wounded area.

"Acid" he explains. "Good for cleaning a wound. So said an alchemist I met last week. Giving it a try"

"Get... my cousin. Nalrak.." Grathalmor croaks out. "Priest.... Doctor. Yer... yer..."

"I'm a skilled healer, thank you!" the balding healer says. He empties a vial of white powder on to the area and it burns as well. This time, he does not bother with an explanation. With that accomplished, he sticks the narrow funnel as deeply as he can into the wound and forces it a little deeper. The result leaves Grathalmor screaming in pain once again. When he finally stiffles the scream, the tortured sound of a wet sucking or hissing can be heard from the wound.

"What the hells are... you doing?" the dwarf asks.
"Saving your life. Now hush!" the healer says. Next, he takes a narrow baster of some kind and sucks any blood out of the funnel and would area than retrieves a potion bottle. He pours a good portion of it down the funnel and pulls the funnel out a bit of the way. He, painfully, repeats this process several times before the funnel is fully out.

Miraculously, the wound is sealed and closed now if quite tender. Looking satisfied, the healer explains.

"Targeted the effects of a curative potion by applying it to the wound site" he explains. "Harder with the wound. You'll be coughing for a few hours and suggest ye sleep" he says.

Next, he takes out a jar of ointment and applies the stinging substance over several other wounds, explaining it will prevent disease from the wounds.

"Now.." he says. "Time to heal the rest a bit" the healer declares. He pulls out an iron wrought symbol with a mailed fist on it and begins chanting. Within moments, several of Grathalmor's wounds are partially healed.

"Not so bad, was it?" he says. "Well, the bill IS bad" he smiles. "Small prices for your life though"

[Katasi]

Arum mutters a rude statement under his breath concerning "heavy handed dwarves" as he considers the spells he knows and wonders if he is powerful enough for the upcoming test of strength.

[mshady]

The Arena Group:

"I don't trust you" Anrika says to Sable, but than turns to Lodi and his group. "I trust you FAR less, Lodi" she says and waves the dagger at him. Behind her, the smallest boy begins to cry and her sister draws the little boy into a hug.

"Miss Sable, I enage your services. Whatever they might entail. I'm hoping a wizard or a psion, something beyond good grace?" she says, briefly glancing at her small knife before returning her angry eyes to Lodi. "For now, I think we all stand and watch"

"What's going on down there might be the Taker's Way. Jerious may have got my beloved to accept that challenge, but what possibly got him to do that? Hmm? What did Jerious say would happen to me if he didn't accept? Thats not our way. Thats criminal. Something I see all too much of"

Lodi looks between Anrika and Sable, than even the diminuitive Wyatt and weighs his odds.

"Be that way" he says with a sneer. "Our orders were to restrain you from any madness of grief when Jerious kills your husband, being a woman and all. See that you keep a brave face" Lodi says with a twisted smile. "For your children"

Anrika tightens her grip on her dagger as she holds it out in front of her. The blade finely wrought and keenly honed, but both Sable and Wyatt soon realize she has little idea how to hold or use a knife. Or at least is not giving the appearance of doing so. The dagger was a meager protection against armored soldiers, the power of fury and grief aside.

"When my husband Daryus kills Jerious, don't think this ends on the Arena floor" Anrika says with an icy tone.

Lodi smiles widely at that, but says nothing in response.

"Lets watch the fight, shall we? It would be a shame if someone died and we weren't watching"

All eyes turn to the arena floor now.

The two brightly dressed combatants are moving about the arena, circling and lunging. From the distance, it is hard to truly follow but the display is hard to follow. Tt keeps the crowd enthralled.

Blades cross repeatedly without consequence before Daryus finds an opening, He begins to roll his rapier forward with fury as he beats at Jerious's defenses. Daryus is by far the stronger of the two, but thanks to his elemental heritage, Jerious is the quicker of the two and manages to get his blade in front of Daryus's furious attack.

Suddenly Daryus's blade stops the rolling attack and he swats at Jerious with his buckler. His rapier goes flying high at his foe's face, but stops mid swing and he thrusts low at Jerious. The blade darts into Jerious's thigh and leaves a red mark.

The crowd roars as Jerious leaps back away from Daryus. The leap turns into a limping hop before settling into a defensive stance again.

[Melody]

As much as Sable would have loved to watch the fight her eyes remained locked on Lodi and his men. The fight was in Tymora's hands now and nothing she did would change it's outcome. For a moment she debated removing the hat so that they could see her undisguised, but decided against it. Better that they be supprised. The thought made her smile.

[Strangie]

Wyatt, as well, never took watch off of Lodi and his thugs. Something about Lodi's twisted smile made him feel sick to his stomach, though not literally. The look of a man who thinks he has you in the palm of his hand. Still, as much as he would like to watch two people beat each other senseless, again, he was thinking more about the ways that his bludgeoning weapon would be used to disfigure Lodi's face should anything go down.

He didn't very much appreciate the mere passing glance he got from Lodi and perhaps his guards, as if Wyatt wasn't a threat. Still, he kept his mace and buckler in front of him and on the defensive, ready to move and get into the action when required. And he remained silent this time, as well, until spoken to. He wasn't exactly feeling inspired like the last time with Harold in Way Ward to throw down a grand speech, so he stayed his ground until the time was right.

[mshady]

With their backs to the arena battle and eyes clearly on Lodi and the soldiers supporting him, Sable and Wyatt stand ready to defend Anrika and her children if anyone makes a move against her. For her part, Anrika splits her attention between the threatening soldiers and the duel in the arena. Her face betrays her worry, and several of the times she winces as the crowd roars as one of the duelists mark each other. She confirms that the fight is not going her husband's way when she whispers to Sable.
"My Daryus" she manages to croak out. "Jerious... he's killing him" Anrika says, her eyes welling with tears. With a shaking finger, she points at the arena below them. Sable and Wyatt turn to look briefly at the arena themselves.

Down on the arena floor, Daryus stumbles in a circle and keeps the distance open between him and Jerious. Daryus holds his lower abdomen, an area just below the coverage of his breastplate, trying to staunch the flow of blood from the wound. For his part, Jerious is also limping but bears far fewer injuries that Daryus. Jerious charges once again and quickly scores another wound against his nearly crippled opponent. The blade stabs into Daryus's shield arm and seems to lame the Oberst. His blade flashes quick enough to stop Jerious' killing blow but its clear the challenger has the momentum at this point.

"So Ms. Sable, I have a question for you" Lodi asks with a thin smile on his face. "If Jerious wins and her husband dies down there, did you have a plan? Seeing as there are hundreds of others in proximity to this box, I'm just not... seeing your end game here. Were you planning on fighting your way out? I understand your mercenaries are locked up and all your friends are coming back. One wonders how that will work out? How Jerious will deal with you killing some of his men? Keeping his new wife from him? I would expect him to be... vengeful?" he asks, again with his twisted smile. "You may be a fair hand with a blade, but we have far more tools than that to deal with unruly troublemakers"

With crosses arms, Lodi watches Sable with a bemused look on his face. He certainly was not looking very intimidated by the situation, feeling confident that he did not need to force the issue at the moment rather than cowed by Sable and Wyatt.

[Strangie]

Wyatt takes a moment to peer out of the corner of his eye at the battle below. All he needed was a quick glance and his keen eyes let him know the battle was indeed not going the way Anrika had hoped. He shakes his head, muttering "Damn" to himself in Halfling, before turning back to Lodi.

"Well, we could always make it a little more sportin' if you wanted, since you seem to be oh so confident in yourself, Snake." Wyatt states, pronouncing the last word with a bit of contempt. "What do you think, Sable?"

[Melody]

It is all in Tymora's hands now Lodi. If Jerious defeats Daryus it is Anrika who must make hard choices. I have given my service over until the matter of this duel is resolved. The fight is not over yet, and Daryus may yet prevail much like Grathalmor against the Orc.

Sable shrugs.

I cannot know the future you see, so I do not worry about it. I do know however that if you or your men attack we will defend ourselves without thought to the welfare of you and your men. From what I have learned about the Takers, I would assume that your death would have little meaning. You would have taken an unnecissary risk by attacking and you would have reaped the reward of your foolish actions. If I had allowed myself to be tied up then you would have been right in doing so, having allowed you to take my freedom.

She smiles without humor.

If Jerious is the winner of the duel I suggest Anrika speaks to Jerious before she acts, since this is obviously staged for the benefit of the crowd. It may be that he will be grateful to see the tragedy that might have ensued from your clumsy bullying averted and things may not be as dire as the Lady believes. But know if you take up arms against us before we have had news from the winner I will destroy you utterly.

[mshady]

The Foundry Group

"Demios, we have other reinforcements elsewhere and friends pursuing separate things for now. If our comrades be with ye inside, I'd like to head in and speak with them and see what forces we brought. Than we can start form'n a plan" Carmard tells the Demios. "So we'd like to come inside"

"Of course! Their commander is waiting inside for you. Quite a lot of you..." the Demios says in a scratchy voice. He nods to one of the heralds and the herald collects the self supporting battle standard. He appears irritated at the fact it takes the herald a few seconds to lower the Wall of Force spell and recover the standard.

"If you're not an enemy, I do have other matters to attend. Like gathering the texts to give our foe for his Ascension" the Demios declares with irritation."My herald will show you to where the other dwarven forces are preparing" he finishes and points at the proud herald, standard in hand and trumpet slung over his shoulder. He wears a sword on his hip and obnoxiously bright livery along with a shock of blonde hair.
"Looks like the jester to me..." Arum quips, earning him a few glares from his companions.

Carmard nods in response and waves for the group to start following him into the entrance way. The Demios turns abruptly and walks back into the massive doorway with the remaining herald and his guards moving swiftly, even chasing, after him. Clearly he was a busy man with other places to be..
The herald approaches Carmard and the rest, than bows with a flourish and takes off his hat in a sweep.

"Good day!" he says brightly. "I'm Lum and I'll escort you to where the other dwarves are. Just follow me, please" he says. His unusually chipper tone makes everyone rather grateful that was all the pretentious herald would be doing.

Carmard's group follows him inside the massive foundry, with some degree of caution. Inside, the area quickly opens up into a open and truly massive work area. Hundreds of anvils and forges are spread out across the floor. Several other kinds of belt and animal powered machinery can be seen as well, from wire extruders to presses and drills. The actual scale of it all is quite impressive, even to the dwarves. The haphazard nature of the factory is equally impressive, although certainly in a different way. The whole area reeks with sweat and the metallic tang of metal; a welcome and familiar smell to the dwarves but rather overpowering to Arman and Arum, to a lesser extent.

While the ground floor is dominated by all of the equipment and forging stations, along with piles of scrap metal and basic goods, perhaps the most surprising thing of all is that the area is largely deserted. The only others visible in the area are roving patrols, who are clearly tense and watchful. Looking upwards, there are several floors above the production floor with some more crafting areas but also several chambers marked with arcane symbols.
An enormous spiral stair case sits in the central stair case made out a wrought iron with a steel beam in the center of it leads the ceiling. While the roof of the facility is darkened with soot, there are several observation windows into other so the literal higher ups can watch the work below.

"So, Ascension through promotion?" Carmard remarks to the herald as they pass the stair case.
"Indeed! The goal of every new blood of the Godsmen is to work their way up the ladder" he says, pointing to the stair case.

"You do realize you took a metaphor and made it into a belief system, aye?" Carmard asks the herald. He looks at the dwarf, unsure of what to say exactly at first.
"So, you like our staircase?" he asks. This time it was Carmard's turn to say nothing.

They continue their long walk to the opposite side of the complex. To their distant right, the group sees a massive vaulted door leading into a separate chamber. The area looks damaged and battered. Numerous guards stand around specifically in the area in a solid, defensive position.

The area certainly looks like a battleground.

Soon the herald leads them to a barracks area set aside for the dwarves, not too far from the battered vault. He opens the door and ushers them all inside, explaining the other dwarves are inside.

And indeed they are.

Inside must be over two hundred dwarves clustered in small groups honing their weapons and going about other camp activities. Two massive iron golems stand silently at the back of the room, along with siege weapons being broken out their crates. Off to the side of the room a group of twenty dwarves stand and seem to going through a series of drills with their axes in unison. The axes trace a shimmering line of blue through the air as they move. Across the room sit over a dozen massively armored minotaurs.

Carmard points to them and smiles at Carmard.

"Friends of yours, Thordek?" Carmard asks. "I believe those are some Levtokuld, like you"

A dwarf immediately notices them and moves quickly to the door. She has a broad smile on her face and is dressed in a tan cloak and resplendid armor.
"Ah! Carmard! Glad you could make it" she says with a smile and gives Carmard an unexpected hug. The older dwarf cringes slightly, resistant to the affection.

"Did ye have a safe trip?" he finally asks her.

"It was an... interesting trip. Met with Harold. He's not a fan of yours. He said you hired the mercenaries occupying his town? That 'as an... interesting move. Did ye know his portal goes into a restaurant? That was amusing too. Quite a town. We came right here!"

"To say I wish we did too would be an understatement?"

[thorgrim29]

Nice to see you Buna, and aye, I do recognize a few. There's not all that many of us is there? I mean I'd bet on that little army against five times their number of orcs or more, but a horde of undead, mutants and gods know what else? We're going to need to stick together, and a dozen or so arcani to dispel and deflect as much area magic as possible.

He looks around a bit.

Speaking of betting, no time like right now to get going is there? I'd like to take Johannes, Arman and ten or so legionnaires and Levtokuld just to be on the safe side when dealing with Hextros, we'll go find out if that ass Jerious got his ass kicked, and gather the 3 others

[mshady]

"Nay a bad idea" Carmard says. "We need to get everyone together for this. Take who ye want to get Hextros and keep'em out of trouble. Ye may want to collect Johannes too. He went off to stay with his friends the...Sensors? Said he'd meet us back with the Takers. He had a right but up his arse about them."

Carmard pauses and shrugs.

"Suppose he was right" he says finally. "Take Nalrak instead. Reckon he wants to see his cousin"
This time the dwarf seems absent minded, lost in thought as he looks around the area.

"Drow got yer tongue?" Buna asks him, patting his helmet with her own gauntleted hand.

"Just thinkin'" he says. "The plan I'm think'n. I don't much care for it. We open yon door and run right in on him"

"Isn't that like most o'our plans?" he says brightly. Carmard gives her a sour look.

"Outnumbered and against powerful magic? A headlong charge does not sense make"

"Well than we best think o'something better" he says, than sighs. "I need a long smoke to think on this. Go talk to the heretics and get some plans for that building and pray the maniac is not a genius...."
Carmard reaches for his pipe and begins to pack it slowly as his gaze returns to Thordek.

"Make sure ye get Sable..." he instructs Thordek under a hooded brow as he strikes a match. "I get the feelin' we're going to need a subversive thinker here. Johannes as well" he says. "He's a daft hand with that pig sticker of his, but his words be sharp enough"

[Werewhale]

Nalrak Ironfist(Foundry Group)

"Aye, I'll go with Thordek," Nalrak responds to hearing his name. "Knowing Grath, he probably joined the fight himself!"

"Do try to not get into a fight while we're gone," he adds unseriously.

[Katasi]

Arum sits off to the side "Just tell me what you need me to kill or destroy when you figure out what we're doing." He then pulls out his spellbook and sits reading silently, occasionally muttering under his breath about how stupid these foundry people are or how screwed bomb-boy is when the group gets at them.

[shaddy_24]

Magnum

The cleric's face lit up when he saw the force that had arrived. "By the Gods, this is going to be a real fight now."

He spends a few moments just looking about and aquainting himself with how many dwarves there were, then noticed Carmard and Buna talking. Grinning, he wonders over to where they were.

"Buna! It's good to see ya again. Things were getting a mite sticky out front 'til the guy in charge realized we were with you."

[thorgrim29]

Well, let's go

[King Tius]

Gore stomps his hooves impatiently, itching for the imminent fight.

[mshady]

"Utterly you say? With your dagger? And the runt?" Lodi says with a sigh. "We'll address your final dispositions after the match. You'll observe my necessity as she wished to throw her brood off the ledge. As a woman, you know your types weaknesses and fragile nature better than I. So let's wait for the result, eh?"

Anrika looks between Lodi and Sable than back at Lodi.

"You really are a pig" Anrika says with a scowl. Lodi merely tips his head in sly acknowledgement.

With their backs to the arena fight, Sable and Wyatt continue to watch Lodi and the guards as the conflict swirls behind them on the arena floor. Several times, the crowd erupts in cheers as one of the combatants scores a hit on the other. The sheer number of times is a testament to the tenacity of both fighters and the brutality of the fight.

"They're both magnificent you know" Lodi observes with a touch of envy. "It's almost done now" he says and points to the arena.

Down on the Arena floor, both fighters are splashed with blood and their robes are in tatters . The two stagger about the arena floor like two drunkards, the weight of their wounds crippling each other. Gone are even the shields now, arms lamed by several wounds and hanging uselessly.

Several times, they feebly strike at each other, now too exhausted to muster their skills or strength properly. Neither makes headway against the other, as both defeat each other's feeble strikes.

Daryus slashes once than twice at Jerious, but both attacks are defeated easily. That was when Daryus lunged right at Jerious in a reckless and bold attack. It gives Jerious the opening he was looking for and he punches forward with his bloodied rapier and drives the blade right through Daryus's shoulder. The blade is driven out the other side of Daryus's shoulder and Jerious follows up with a savage headbutt that crunches his foe's nose.
Jerious drops to the ground suddenly and clutches at his throat. It rolls back at an impossible angle as blood rains in a curtain down his neck and tabbard. With a weak push, Daryus pushes Jerious to the ground as the challenger gasps for air as his life blood pours into the sand.

"Clever" Lodi allows. "He chanced a crippling wound to get in close and slash at Jerious' throat. The Oberst does, indeed, remain the Master of the Sword" he declares, than sighs.

"Now this is awkward" he says and looks at Anrika.

"Yes... yes it is" Anrika says with a terribly thin, cold smile of vengeance. "I think we'll let Daryus decide your fate"

"That would be proper" Lodi says. "Assuming he doesn't die"

Down on the arena floor, Daryus has now collapsed as well. Attendants rush out with a blood stained stretcher.

"For your sake, Lodi... you should hope not" she says. "If both challengers fall in a Trial of Possession, their companions make any decisions. That would be me" she smiles "and her"

"Than I wish my Commander well..."

[Strangie]

"If it comes to 'dat, if 'dat decision involves me breaking some jerk's kneecaps and 'den some, I'm all for it."

Wyatt frowns, glaring up at Lodi. He obviously did not appreciate being called a runt. "'dem's fightin' words, Snake. Size matters not, y'know. You talk big but if you didn't have all your cronies backin' you up and makin' you feel better about yourself I think the situation would be much, much different."

[Melody]

Sable takes a half step to her left towards Wyatt and places her hand on his shoulder.

Oh don't let him get to you. If the Third Ober hasn't learned to look past appearances yet, let him live with his illusions. They'll likely get him killed one day and who wouldn't want that to happen? I bet his mother would dance at the funeral.

She pats Wyatt's shoulder before removing her hand and stepping back into position.

Though with everything that has happened they might have already gotten him killed come to think of it.

[Strangie]

Wyatt mulled over Sable's words for a moment. "Ehh... fine. At least you're off the hook with Jerious now if he kicks the bucket, it seems, eh? He wasn't much of a gentlemen since he tried to bet you off, right from the get-go. He's just as much of a snake as 'dis guy," He gestures toward Lodi.

He grins a little, upon coming across a realization. "Hmm, a recurring theme of double-crossin' backstabbery. Hah. Hah!" He seems to be revelling in the fact that all the Obers are jerks. "I know mercenaries and barbarians who barely have a grasp of the Common language, yet have better manners 'dan 'dat. Guess you'll have to find yourself someone else to hook arms with." He says with a shrug, though a sarcastic grin as he glances at Sable. "You must be heartbroken."

[mshady]

The Pit Clinic - New Arrivals

"So Jerious... is dead?" Daryus asks from his rest bed. His face is very pale from blood loss and he is wrapped in several bandages. The healer in his bloodied smock talks to himself as he changes the dressing on Daryus' wounds. Between the other fights today and Oberst Daryus, he had expended his blessing and much of his potions.
"Yes, my husband" Anrika says and kisses him on his pale forehead. She wears a look of grave concern.

"Than the duel is finally... over" Daryus says with relief. The healer grunts in acknowledgement.

"Yes dear Oberst" the healer says as he fusses with his tools. "A Trial of Possession is till death. Had to wait for one of ye to die proper like before I could treat ye" the healer says, bothered by having to give the explanation. He takes out a small snuff box with a white powder and takes a sniff of it. He seems revitalized for a moment, seemingly electrified with energy for a moment before it fades.

"Another cleric will have to finish with your wounds. Bane's blessing is not an inexhaustible well. I'll do what doctor'n I can for you" he says. "Did much of what I could when Jerious died"

Along the back wall stands Lodi and four of his soldiers sit, wearing the same ropes and shackles they had originally brought.

"Husband... those men back there were Jerious' men. They held us to force you into the fight that nearly killed you" she says and points her finger at them, like it was a dagger. "What justice for them now?" she asks.

Heavy footfalls can he heard down the corridor as the rough sounding voice of the irritated Pit Boss can be heard. Everyone looks down the corridor to see the reason for his return. He stomps in with a torch wrapped in oil that smokes mightily. Behind him several figures walk behind him.

"You have company.. Oberst" the horribly scarred Pit Boss growls. His bare and scarred chest is slick with sweat and splashes of blood from who knows what. The man's face is a grizzly visage with deep scars and a permanent sneer on his face.
He leads the ones trailing behind him in, gestures at them and exits again with a grunt.

In the room now are Johannes, Thordek, Nalrak, Magnum (and anyone else that wanted to come from the Foundry) along with 10 Levtokuld and 10 Legionnaires.

[ArmanMadero]

Arman followed the group in, looking around the forge while he walked. The whole thing stank of melted metal and hot fires and sweat. Very... dwarf like. He did his best to not cough too loudly. The halls seemed eerily silent and empty, and Arman wondered where everyone was.

Arman could see the other levels of the place as well, and off to the side of the place, there was a large staircase spiraling upwards, with landings at each level. Carmard said something about people making it up the ladder, and like Carmard, Arman couldn't believe that they made an actual ladder for ascension. Strange...

They were taken to a room where other dwarves awaited. Arman recognized Buna, and nodded when she walked over to them. He wondered what was going to happen next....

[Melody]

You know Wyatt, I just realized something.

Sable measures the Third Ober with her eyes and then leans over to speak quietly to Wyatt.

If you DID break his kneecaps you'd be taller.

She smiles and shrugs.

Ah well, easy come easy go I suppose. I suppose instead of hooking arms I'll just have to settle for having you at my back hmm? Or my side, or wherever you happen to be. Besides I can't be one and a half without the half.

She grins and then turns to watch the new arrivals. Ah, looks like Buna came through with the reinforcements, and there's Joh to keep us from putting our foot in it.

[Strangie]

"Hah! Now 'dat's funny. I like 'dat. Gonna hafta remember that." Wyatt says, grinning and nodding as he follows along. "Heh... yeah, see, now that's a way I don't mind putting my shortness. Bein' called a runt though, 's more like an insult 'dan anythin', y'know. Hard to find a reliable ally in 'dis dog-eat-dog backstabbin' world out 'dere..."

Wyatt waves at the arrival of Joh and the rest. "Heeeeeey. You guys missed a great show. Hmm, I don't see Grathalmore anywhere around here... oh, by the way, Jerious kicked the bucket. And I've got a good feelin'," gesturing with a thumb toward Lodi, "He might be next. Watch him, he's a snake." He punctuates the last word with a bitter contempt for the rich and snobby.

[thorgrim29]

Thordrek smiles widely as he sees his friends are all right, and grins fiercely when he hears about the demise of the Ober.

So Jerius is dead, well that's a shame, who do I thank? And where's Grathalmore? Things are moving pretty fast, and we need the whole gang, plus our other, less savory assets, which is why I brought these men along, won't hurt to show in force.

[Werewhale]

Nalrak Ironfist

"Aye, where is Grath? Let me guess, he up and went to join one of these fights himself, didn't he?" Nalrak jested, looking around, trying to spot his cousin.

[Strangie]

Wyatt turns to Thordek as he walks along. "You can thank 'dat pastey guy over 'dere," he says, gesturing to the incapacitated but still alive Oberst Daryus. "Clever guy, he is. Suckered Jerious in close and then slit his throat. Like lightning. Pow!" As he swings his fist in front of him. "Just like 'dat. Gotta love it."

Wyatt spins on one foot, walking backwards as he turns to Nalrak. "Grath's floatin' around here somewhere, yeah, he got into one of those fights, against a "Black Orc". It was pretty violent, but Grath got an arm up on him when he sliced off the orc's arm. Hah! You should count him lucky, though, otherwise 'dat thing mighta turned him into paste, to be straight wit' ya. I was afraid we'd have to bring him back to you in a box."

[Melody]

Sable smiles with relief to see everyone come in and listens to Wyatt explain the situation. After everyone is done speaking she gestures to Nalrak.
Nalrak would you mind taking a look at the Oberst? I would feel better if you had a look at him and Grathalmor. Lady Anrika has been very kind and I expect the healer has been overworked with all of the fighting that has taken place today.

She then turns and speaks to Anrika and Daryus.
My Lady Anrika and Oberst Daryus may I present to you a companion of ours by name of Nalrak a priest of the dwarven gods. He is well versed in healing and you have nothing to fear from him. I would feel better if he had a look at your husband since he is still rather pale looking to me.

She gestures to each as she introduces them.
The dwarf there is Johannes and he's the speaker for our group since for the most part we're berks and he's the most experienced with Sigil and its many charms. The fellow there with the impressive beard is Thordrek who is quite the tactician and warrior though dwarven rank is a bit above my head I'm afraid. That handsome fellow is Magnum and the rest are soldiers whom I haven't been introduced to formally. Wyatt, Grathalmor, and I had the pleasure of sitting with your Lady wife so she's already been introduced to us.

My appologies for interrupting but it seemed some introductions were in order.

[loopy]

Grathalmor

A series of metallic scrapes and clinks herald Grathalmor's arrival, pieces of armour trailing behind him as he carries his winnings into the room. He leans heavily on his new sword, using the finely crafted blade as an impromptu crutch. Seeing his friends and companions, he groans. "By Clangeddin, I feel like I've been punted off a cliff."

[Strangie]

"'ey, 'dere's our big winner!" Wyatt says, turning toward Grathalmore. "Nice. Punted off a cliff? I didn't know you were 'dat happy to see us, ahaha."

Wyatt chuckles, covering his mouth. "Heh... you put up a good fight out 'dere. You missed Jerious getting his butt kicked by Oberst Daryus, that pastey guy layin' down over 'dere. Jerious is dead, and nothing of value was lost. Hah." A grin spreads across his face. "The best part was when Lodi the Snake held us up with his goonies and threatened us, but I think he might be next to go, from the way things look..."

[thorgrim29]

Thordrek looks concerned as the heavily wounded Grathalmore walks in.

Got in a fight to the death for fun Grath? That was hardly wise of you it seems... Glad you're alright, Nalrak, if you would see to his wounds before we go?

Well, Mr Daryus is it? I'm a big fan, but my colleagues and I have to go.... Our mercenaries are staying at one of your facilities tough, and I still haven't had a look at your library, so we might see you around. Until then, good day to you, and congratulations.

He motions the party to move as soon as Nalrak is done seeing to Grath's wounds.

Let's go people, we have a band of lowlife mercs to fetch and an old friend to meet. Sable, best put your work clothes.

[mshady]

"Ah..." Daryus wheezes. "Jerious spoke of some mercenaries who used the uh... portal..." The Oberst covers his mouth with a rag and launches into a bloody coughing fit.

"My apologies. My evening has been a trying one" he says with a pained smile. "I would appreciate the attentions of a cleric, though"

Oberst Daryus Malvo coughs again, prompting Anrika and Sable to exchange worried looks.

"Your mercenaries caused me many problems today. They are a rough and horrid bunch. I would be rid of them and consider all fines paid by Miss Sable for protecting my... my wife and children. Now as for other matters..."

Oberst Daryus props himself up enough in the bed to allow him to look at Lodi and his four shackled guards. The Snake seems unmoved by Daryus' glare, even a bit detached from the situation as Daryus mulled his fate.

"I decide Mercy" he says after a long pause. "No blood was shed and he acted in support of a legitimate Taking. His punishment shall be... administrative in nature" he says with a thin smile on his blue lips. "I hear we have need of... clerical staff"

Lodi's eyes went wide at that decision, and than his face turned to anger.

"It was a legitimate challenge!" Lodi blurts out.

"It was" Daryus nods in agreement. "No one shall fault me for an occasioanal abuse of my power. No one can, actually. It's good to be Oberst. If you want to be executed instead, this room is full of the willing..." he concludes and launches into another round of coughing. When he concludes, he waves for Nalrak's attention and say no more for now.

[Werewhale]

Nalrak Ironfist

Nalrak stares at Grathalmor's appearance as he presents himself and for a moment Nalrak seems to be about to explode, "What did you- You sill- Stup- Bearded-" he then stops, grimaces, rubs the bridge of his nose with his thumb and forefinger and lets out a long, deep sigh. After calming down, he speaks in a very exasperated voice: "Just put yer stupid arse on that bench and I'll take a look at you after I see to the Oberst. Don't see what good it will do, since Carmard is going to kill you twice and probably me too for good measure."

Nalrak then approaches the Oberst with a scowl on his face. Remembering his manners at the last moment, he bows his head briefly at him and grunts "Oberst," before turning to the healer who had treated him before, "You could tell me what you've already done and which wounds are the worst, that may expedite matters so I don't have to begin from scratch." With that he examines the Oberst, hopefully with the healer's help, and prepares to build upon what has already been done.

OOC
Nalrak will sacrifice a Summon Monster II to cast Cure Moderate Wounds on the Oberst, at least for starters.

[loopy]

Grathalmor

The wounded dwarf eyes Nalrak and Thordrek, before letting out a brief laugh. "Unwise? Ha! Ye should see the other poor sod. A orc, easily seven feet tall or I'm a halfling. Chopped his arm clean off and he kept coming. I got his butterknife though." He smiles and waves around the sword.

"Anyone got any grog? Better than any potion for healing wounds, or at least forgetting them, do ye ken?" He takes a look at his battered armor. "Bah, I'm gonna need to get a new set, I think. Maybe a good set of Dwarven fullplate..."

[Strangie]

Wyatt busts out into raucous laughter after hearing of Lodi's fate.

"Bahaha! Hah! You know! I think I like the way you think, Oberst Daryus," Wyatt says with a grin. "As much as I'd like to squash the Snake over 'dere myself for callin' me a runt and generally being a jackass, I think I can settle with 'dat instead. Today is a good day, I think!"

Wyatt turns to Thordrek. "What's the news? Old friend? Eh? Whatchoo talkin' about, Thordrek?"

[thorgrim29]

Patriarchate business Wyatt. And Grath.... Don't take me wrong, I'm glad you won, and in my book the multiverse won't miss a dead orc, but that was dangerous and foolhardy nonetheless, especially since it sounds like when you were having fun getting beaten to an inch of your life Sable and Wyatt could have used a hand. And for the armor, we are going to the Foundry, that would seem to be the best place this side of Barakbar to get armor

[loopy]

Grathalmor

He nods at Thordrek. "True enough. Apologies to ye both Sable and Wyatt, I shoulda been around as planned, without chargin' off to get my urgrosh bloodied." He takes the whip from where it sits coiled on his belt, and passes it to Sable. "Took that from the orc, not my type of weapon. Hope that makes up for it."

"Wyatt... Well, I don't have anything for you, but I'll just say I owe ye, and we'll square it. Ironfist family word."

[Strangie]

Wyatt puts his hands on his hips, looking up at Grathalmore. He raises an eyebrow up at him. "Alright, alright. I've got your word. I think I got a favor that I could have fulfilled, but it'll probably hafta wait until after 'dis whole Foundry thing, providin' we ain't dead afterward." He points a finger up at Grath, grinning a bit. "We'll talk. I've got your word and I'm holdin' ya to it, heh. But let's get 'dis show on 'da road, eh?"

[shaddy_24]

Magnum

Magnum walks over to where Grath was resting. "I'm not going to begrudge you a good fight. Sounds like you stood firm and showed your everyone what you were made of." He starts looking over the other dwarf's wounds. "On the other hand, we're walking into another big fight here. You up for it after this?"

Heal check to see how serious his wounds are. How much healing does he need? [roll0]

[Gorgondantess]

Johannes stares around warily, raising an eyebrow. He's obviously very pensive. Crossing his arms, he almost smirks. "Jerious is dead? Well, it seems someone's done my job for me. I don't suppose he treated you all particularily well?"
And I'm back in the game!:smallbiggrin: Could someone give Joh a bit of a recap, I haven't really been paying attention to the thread since I left the group. And I don't really like reading something my character isn't privy to, anyways.:smallyuk:

[Strangie]

Wyatt shook his head at Johannes. "No. Hell no. He tried to bet off Sable like she was his wife or somethin'. Better not be tellin' Carmard 'dat, though, he's probably got enough problems. But we all came out okay in the end. Well... mostly." He gestures to Grath. "Let's say we came out alive at least."

[Melody]

Sable smiles and accepts the whip from Grathalmor.

Wonderful, this truely is a nice piece of work, but I'll have to pay you for it. How about half of what I won for betting on you?
She laughs and hands Grathalmor an emerald, a sapphire, an aquamarine, and three amethysts.
I think you're getting a little more than half, but I figured gems would hold their value better than coin since we're travelling a lot.

She turns and bows to Daryus.
My thanks Oberst, you have been very kind and I'm pleased to see things turn out so well. My Lady Anrika, it was a pleasure meeting you. Perhaps if I am ever in Sigil from the Prime I might pay you a social call if you'd accept.

Turning she faces the Third Ober. She reaches up and takes off the hat extending it into a courtly bow with a flourish as the dress vanishes revealing her usual leather armor and sword belt. She looks up and grins at Lodi.

Relying on appearances can be deadly.
She laughs and leaves the Pit still chuckling, to go collect the gear remaining in their rooms.

Value of the gems is 2800. I made it a pretty accurate split since I figure telling the value of a gem is right up her alley.

[Strangie]

Wyatt turns to Anrika and Daryus, nodding.

"I'm glad everything turned out okay in 'da end. Best of luck to you two, eh? Take it easy for a while."

Wyatt follows along with Sable, watching her pull her disguise off in front of Lodi. As she walks, he stops in front of Lodi, staring up at him for a moment. He makes a 'ssss' hissing sound, like a snake, waving his hand through the air in front of him. Then he just laughs loudly, shaking his head and catching up with Sable.

"Well 'den! I think 'dat went rather well, considering what happened. Two people I hate got what 'dey deserved, the couple lives happily ever after, we're all still alive... did I miss anythin'?"

[mshady]

OOC: Thordek is the de facto leader of the group right now. Lets wrap things up here and return to the barracks when you're all finished. Anrika and Daryus don't have much left really, so call it when you're moving the troops out :)

I like progress.

[Werewhale]

Nalrak Ironfist

Nalrak has few words for the Oberst as he treats him, and once he has a grasp on his condition, he takes his holy symbol in hand and channels some of his god's power into the Oberst's body. Considering the battle looming in the future, he was being a bit generous, but he supposed doing a favour for someone with power like the Oberst was a wise thing to do.

He then turns to Grath, "All right then, let's get you walking properly, and I'll finish you up when we get to Carmard," he growls, and adds something less polite under his breath. His examination of Grath is rather less gentle than Grath may remember it, but soon he grasps his symbol and casts another curative spell, of somewhat less power than the one the Oberst enjoyed.

OOC
Sacrificing Shield of Faith for a Cure Light Wounds on Grath.

[Melody]

Well, the Oberst is picking up the tab for our fines which might include stabling Hextros’ men. Though I don’t suppose I should worry about it too much since it is Carmard’s pocket and not mine. I’ll remind Joh about it before we’re out of the building. He is better at dealing with the takers anyhow. No chance I’ll get any shopping done though.

Sable sighs dramatically. Ah well, what’s a girl to do? Maybe if I’m ever back this way I can talk Lady Anrika into taking me around if she’s still talking to me after they see the bill.

[Tharar_Greenleaf]

Kelith

Kelith meets the arena group as they arrive at the barracks; as he catches sight of them he moves up toward Grath first.

"I'm not going to ask how you got into your shape, but do ya need any help getting back to fit?"

As he checks, or doesn't check, Grath he'll ask to be let in on the important details of the arena visit and the foundry.

{{I'm with Johannes, I only skimmed over most of the foundry talking segments because 1) I'm lazy, and 2) My character wasn't there; so just a brief recap will more than suffice.}}

[mshady]

OOC: In other words, someone give them both an IC recap :)

[thorgrim29]

As they are preparing to leave, an idea strikes Thordrek. He motions the men to wait a bit and goes back to the injured Darius.

Oberst Darius, seeing as we're going to the taker compound, I would like to offer you and your family an escort there.You have my word that you and yours will be as safe as we can make you if you chose to accept

[Melody]

Sable does a quick inventory of her gear by dumping it out all over her bed before tossing it back inside. Out pours a garrote, sap, trade bars, vials with stoppers held in place by wax, odd lumpy cloth packages, flasks, rope, climbing gear, and various other things both sinister and mundane. It pours like a never ending flood from the pack too small to hold it all. Then as the last items fall to the bed with a clink or thump in they go again. Her lips move silently as if she is counting or speaking to herself and any attempt to speak to her receives a raised finger until she finishes with her task adding the brush she left on the vanity last. By this time everyone is in the room.

To make certain everyone understands what happened, First Ober Jerious fought a battle of possession with Oberst Daryus. What that means is that the winner takes all, both position and possessions. Jerious would have been the new Oberst but he would have also owned Daryus' holdings and his family. It is an unusual concept for me, but apparently an accepted practice for the takers. At any rate, Jerious needed me so that it would appear the stakes were more even. I was to be his Lady Jerious in trade for Lady Anrika. The Third Ober Lodi was Jerious' man and he offered Grathalmor a fight for honor to lure him away. In the Pit he set up the most difficult fight he could with a monstrosity of some part blood Orc. I assure you it made those part dragon Orcs look tame in comparison. At any rate Grathalmor succeeded in his fight but was badly wounded which kept him out of the box like Lodi had planned.

When Jerious stated the trial was one of possession instead of position all hell broke out in our box. Lady Anrika initially blamed me for being in league with Jerious, but we were able to convince her otherwise. Third Ober Lodi was going to tie us all up but Wyatt and I moved to protect Lady Anrika. Truthfully I believed our odds better siding with Daryus than Jerious anyway, but I offered our services to Anrika for protection during the duel. My reasons for this were three fold.

She holds up three fingers and folds them down as she makes her points.
Number one, I had no guarantee that Jerious would want us alive to share his part in the deceit. Two, offering our services instead of just moving to protect her gave her a reason for us doing so. People need to see a reason behind why you're acting a certain way; it makes the action more believable. Third, if Daryus did survive they might be grateful and we might get rewarded for doing something I was inclined to do anyway.

As you know, Daryus did indeed win the proving and our reward for protecting his family is he is paying all of the fines we incurred. I believe this also include Hextros' troops, though you might want to make certain that it does Joh. I asked Nalrak to treat the Oberst for this reason as well. I realize we are going into combat soon, but if we want to avoid problems here it was important Daryus not die. Which is why I introduced you all the way I did. Hopefully knowing that our group was also responsible for helping save his life and family will cancel out the pain of paying for Hextros and the restaurant we destroyed. At any rate, that is what happened here in a nutshell. What are we up against at the Forge?

[Katasi]

Arum pats his dire badger on the head. He then begins to give it a good rub as he says to it. "There is going to be some really fierce fighting coming soon, so be ready." He checks the straps on the saddle to make sure they are well secured for later. Then he pulls out his spellbook to read.

Welcome back guys. To the DM,, Arum is using his daily use of speak to animals to make the badger understand

[Strangie]

Wyatt sorts through his belongings, making sure everything is intact. He thumps his haversack on the ground, thinking of each item he wants and reaching into the haversack to retrieve it - mysteriously, the item he desires appears at the top every time at his convenience, and he nods as he finds each item he recalls having, putting it back in the bag and then retrieving another.

When he finds his fancy trap kit, he whirls the ring of picks and other tools around on his finger, catching all of the small and fine tools at the top of the loop and then sorting through each one, just using the fingers on his one hand. "Sable's got it about right. I knew me comin' to the arena was a good idea. Just like throwing myself through a window to confront Harold was a good idea. 'dat's twice we've been let off the hook for somethin' we'd rather not be dealing with. Maybe 'dose fines 'dat were lifted will go into my pocket instead, because I'm pretty much broke."

Wyatt sighs, as he throws his trap kit back into the bag after sorting through it, and lifts an empty sack. He shakes it, and it makes only a slight ruffling sound of cloth rubbing against cloth. "'dis is where I kept the coin I still had. Now it's a sad, empty sack of air." He shakes his head and frowns, and simply tosses it back into the haversack, promptly closing up the haversack and strapping it back onto his back, making himself ready to proceed when everybody else is.

[mshady]

Nalrak, Magnum and Kelith each take their turns looking over Daryus, checking his wounds and general condition.

While their combined curative magic was enough to deal with most of his flesh wounds, but the broken and splintered bones in several parts of his body would require very specific healing. The actual blood loss, nearly fatal in and of itself, has left Daryus weak and anemic. The fight between him and Jerious had indeed been a brutal one. The worst wound they could not treat immediately was a fractured him, caused by Jerious driving his deadly rapier through the bone.

"That would explain the limping" the Pit's physician muses as he looks over Nalrak's shoulder. "Seen that one before. Me and some other priests and physicians take the dead outta here. Study'em, cut'em up and so on. Sometimes ye fix'em and reanimate them, see how they do Surprising what you learn about battle injuries that way. Helps me treat the living..."

Daryus looks up at him and glares at the physician. Its enough to send him scurrying.

"He's a sadist and a necromancer, but a skilled one. At being a healer, not a sadist or a necromancer. Says studying the dead is key to... understanding the living body? Fled here from your Plane. A place called Waterhole? Said he was misunderstood..." he says and sighs.

The three clerics continue to examine Daryus and brace his broken bones. Considering the number of wounds he had accumulated and blood loss, that a major artery had not been severed in the battle was a small miracle.

When Thordek offers to escort Daryus back to his quarters in the same building as the dwarves and their mercenaries had been staying in, Daryus immediately refuses. His wife quickly contradicts him however and turns to Thordek.

"Master Dwarf, while I don't... recall your name, I would... appreciate the guard. After which my husband and I need to have a... talk about how much his position is worth to him, to me and our children. Jerious was nearly family to us. No.. he was not what he seemed, but still... he nearly killed my Daryus"

She turns to her husband and strokes his chin.

"What about the Harmonium this time? They're nothing like the Mercykillers. Surely they'd give you a high title for coming over" she implores.

Daryus looks at her and says nothing, but clearly his tired mind is grinding through some possabilities. The thought process ceases when he sits up long enough to give his wife a gentle kiss on the lips before collapsing back in the bed.

"Dwarf, I'll take your offer of escort..." he says with a smile.

OOC: Thus concludes the scene, unless anyone else wants to post something at the Arena. If so, I leave it to Thordek to handle the write up of moving everyone back to the barracks :)

[thorgrim29]

Thordrek smiles a bit at the exchange

Thordrek of clan Torrun, out of Mirabar in the Prime Lady, at your service. Very well Oberst Darius, can you walk, or should I ask for a stretcher?

Stretcher or not, they leave soon after, the forgemark soldiers forming a box around the Oberst and his family, Thordrek walking in front, and the rest of the party doing what they want as long as they follow. They drop off their charges at the main building, and proceed to the barracks.

[Strangie]

Wyatt plods along with the rest of the group once they are on the move, glancing around at his surroundings and comrades to make sure nobody is missing or anything else is amiss.

"So, off to go fight the good fight, now, are we? Do we even have a plan going into this thing? A battle strategy? Anything? I know one thing for sure, while I'm gonna be down in front with the rest of the fighters, 'dere's no way in hell I'm staying toe to toe with anything, so y'all oughta make room."

Wyatt jogs along, occasionally getting ahead of the group slightly before stopping and jogging in place for a moment while he waits. "I gotta prep myself for 'dis. Mentally and physically. 'dis is gonna be an all-out war, ain't it? 'dis'll be my first. Here's to hopin' my crazy legs are still under me and attached to my body and I'm still sane before the end, eh? None of you die now, 'cause I'm startin' to like you guys, heh. I'll do my best to reciprocate the favor."

[mshady]

OOC Note: A note on the heal checks - I did roll them and all 3 of you rolled well regarding Daryus. Working together, its pretty much a natural 20 anyways. Short of specialized healers, time and a good bit of jink, Daryus has several crippling injuries including: a fractured pelvis and a completely lamed left arm where the tendons were cut, along with broken fingers and skull fractures.

The group escorts Daryus out of the Training Academy under the eyes of several guards and back to his apartment at the Hall of Records, the Keeper's headquarters. Several soldiers gather at the entrance and applaud their commander's victory in the arena, even as he is carried inside on a stretcher accompanied by his wife and children. Apparently Daryus' victory was a popular one, as over a hundred of the Second Millenial's soldiers turn out to see him. At this point, they take over bearing his stretcher from the dwarves and an Ober tells Thordek and company that they will be taking Oberst Daryus Malvo to the Millenial's hospital "promptly". Shortly thereafter, Daryus and his family bid brief goodbyes to the dwarves, as well as Sable and Wyatt specifically.

Having escorted the Oberst to the headquarters, the dwarven detachment and those accompanying them make their way back to the dormitories/barracks to gather the Blood Company. The clerk at the main desk of the dormitories gives them all a withering scowl when she is asked how the mercenaries have behaved.

When they reach the open barracks area in the rear of the building, they find several guards stationed at the door with sour looks and quite a few weapons on hand.

With a grimace, Thordek opens the door and everyone walks in to an astonishing scene.

Equipment, supplies and just general garbage are thrown all over the place. An actual fire pit has been constructed, inside the building and near a smashed window where several carcasses roast. Loud and baudy singers perform at the farside of the barracks where many of the common soldiers gather. Several dozen kegs alcohol are strewn about, tapped and mostly empty.

No one pays much attention to their arrival, actively disregarding it even, until Hextros plows through a throng of soldiers.

"Ah! Dwarves!" he grins drunkenly

[Melody]

Sable looks around her with wide eyed wonder at the mess the mercenary troops have made.

Looks like they've been enjoying themselves. No wonder Daryus was happy to get rid of us all. Can you imagine what this might look like given more time?

She watches in amazement as Hextros barrels through a group of soldiers actually stepping on one before he stops in front of Thordrek.

It's times like these that make me happy I'm not the one in charge.

So saying she waits on someone else to break the bad news to Hextros.

[thorgrim29]

Right.... he did mention fines.

After taking in the sights (and the smells), Thordrek looks the towering mercenary in the eyes and speaks briskly but without being insulting.

Commander Hextros, paymaster Carmard requests of you and your troops that you follow us to the foundry, where we are preparing for battle.

[Strangie]

Wyatt winces a little as Hextros clobbers his way up front and center, shaking his head at the mess.

"Yup. 'dese halls are occupied by mercs," Wyatt states. "'dey sure know how to 'color' it to 'deir own tastes. Also, the majority of 'dem seem drunk. Hopefully 'dat don't impact 'deir ability to hit stuff." Wyatt rolls his eyes a little at the poor state of affairs the room is in.

[Werewhale]

Nalrak Ironfist

First Grath and now this. Is no-one taking this mission seriously? Nalrak thought as he rubbed the bridge of his nose in frustration. Feeling ready to explode(likely at Grathalmor, since he had been composing some scathing remarks for him during the walk), he resorted to reciting under his breath a litany he learned early in his Dumathoin clerical training.

[mshady]

With a stein in one hand, Hextros smiles drunkenly as he staggers through the crowd closer to Thordek and his dwarves. He is now wearing a proper eye patch over his blinded eye, but his face is still horrifically scarred from Sable's acid arrows.

He turns and reaches into the crowd and yanks a terrified female from the throng of soldiers. She is wearing torn leather and many silver bracelets with a long mane of hair. As she is pulled from the crowd, several eyes go wide in the dwarven group.

The woman is half person and half horse, or some planar analogy thereof.

"Moradin's dangl'n pair, what is that?" one of the legionnaires asks with astonishment. "That's just wrong!"

Hextros overhears the astonished dwarf and laughs.

"Or so right!" Hextros says lecherously. "She's a bariur. A lady o'Sigil. I sent for some things for all my men with what your paymaster gave us. He pays us well. Too bad you're all priests!" he laughs and takes a drink from whatever swill he has.

Hextros shooes the woman away roughly and pats his belly.

"Time for your big battle, huh?" he asks, taking another drink. "Can it be wait'n a few days? We've been months in that dusty hell hole, victims of that terrible priest? Oh we'll go, but our weapons be broke and armor rough and my men?" he gestures behind him. "Well, they need some time aye? We need a few days before anything um.. serious, yes?"

Hextros grins at Thordek and takes another drink. Several of his mercenaries begin cheering at something or another.

[thorgrim29]

You'll have to talk to Carmard about this. But as far as weapons and armor go, we are going to the Foundry, so I'm sure something can be arranged. However, you are to come with us now, and do try to keep them from doing anything that would involve the guards, we're already lucky we don't have hell to pay for the mess in here.

[mshady]

"Talk to Carmard?" Hextros smirks. "Talk to Carmard! Ha! Where is he than? Is your beard too short to make decisions? I'm sayin' we stay here for a few days and rest. It's been a looonngg time time since we've been any other place. The Foundry may have the tack for us, but what about my men's hearts!" he says and pounds his chest.

[thorgrim29]

I really hate that one....

Thinks Thordrek as he decides how much diplomacy the situation calls for. As it ends up, not that much.

For a mercenary you have a remarkably poor understanding of how your business works.... You see, it goes like this: You follow the bleeding orders or you don't get paid, simple and efficient.

So you can order your merry band of drunken horse buggerers to follow us back to the foundry, where you can discuss your feelings with the gentleman with the purse, or you can stay here, party till you have no more gold, and explain to a hungover army of demonkin why you've not two coppers to rub together and hope to keep your head. Either way, it's no hair off my back

[Melody]

Sable covers a laugh with a cough and a hastily raised hand as Thordrek finishes speaking.

[mshady]

Deleted and reposted after Johannes' speech.

[Gorgondantess]

Joh steps forwards, staring over Hextros quizzically. He looks at his men, too, as if looking for something in the crowd. He then looks back up at Hextros with a mock questioning tone. "Excuse me, but what 'hearts' are you speaking of? I understand that you fellows are mercenaries, and thus, we have paid you for a certain job. Now, I understand that it would be the best interest of your employers to only apply you fellows at peak condition, but when we hired you, we were under the assumption that you were some of the best. Aren't you? I would expect such a powerful band to be ready at any time, for anything, even when drunk... among other things. I would expect that such a trifling ailment would hamper your efficacy hardly at all. If my expectations are so far from the truth, do tell, and we can put our trust- and money- in more capable hands." He smiles, and bows slightly.
Pah. DM ninja'd.:smallfrown:

[mshady]

Hextros is struck by Thordek's sudden abruptness and blunt direction and narrows his eyes at Thordek. He casts aside his stein full of whatever swill he was drinking and steps into Thordek's space. Standing at twice the dwarf's height, Hextros glowers at him.

"I understand my business just fine" he snarls with sudden anger. "If my "merry band of drunken horse buggerers" are all dead, i'm not in business. I think you'll piss us away just as I'm going to piss away this weak water these Takers serve just to balance your scales. If ye betray us, my lieutenants and I'll be balancing our scales with your blood"

Hextros looks down at Thordek than sweeps his gaze across the rest of the group, including the extra troops Thordek had brought as a show of force.

"I've fought in the Blood Wars. For Demons. Devils. Rich merchants and petty men. I've killed a hundred men in a day myself! Don't think you rank amongst them! Don't think I've never been betrayed either!" he snarls. "I'll bring my soldiers, but you better bring the bloody jink."

Hextros sweeps his gaze over the dwarven party one last time with anger and defiance. The giant half demon radiates danger and menace; he is a towering mass of muscle and intimidation. His point made, he turns back to his soldiers and yells to get their attention. When he has it, he growls his orders out.

"Our dwarven paymasters are here and say its time to leave!" he yells. "Finish your drink, send away the whores and save the blood sacrifices for our return. Nothing is free, and that includes leaving that arm pit called Way Ward. We pay our toll by doing what we do best. We're going to go kill everything that moves and can't run away! They're paying handsomely too!"

The soldiers cheer his words, though his lieutenants stand against the wall and seem fairly unmoved by his words once again. Hextros eyes watch their reaction for a moment, but he ignores it and continues.

"I want everyone ready in half an hour. Anyone not ready to march and in formation will be executed and 1 in 10 of your troop executed so ye know to listen next time! Now go! Go! Get your weapons and ready! Bloody business is at hand!"

He smiles slightly as his men scurry into action in front of him with fear and purpose. He turns to look over at Johannes now and gestures at his men.

"Your not much of a warrior, but your tongue is a sharp one" he growls at Johannes. "We're ready enough and the march will sweat the booze out of the lot of them. Your coin is well spent and no ailment will hamper them. Good spirits come from good drink. They'd be at my balls with cleavers if I restrained them after so many months in that shat hole" Hextros' nostrils flare as he thinks back at his experiences in Way Ward and with Harold.

"We'll get the job done. Where there's jink, our hearts are in the fight. Don't make me fill my jink bag with dwarf heads. My eye's wary for righteous betrayal by you stiff necked dwarves. This... arrangement of ours is not ideal for either group. The only thing we have in common is the prostitution of our beliefs, but if we're each other's whores I better get as good a ride out of it as you get out of us or horses won't be the only thing I bugger before days end. Gold and fair dealing or when we're done with them, I'll come back for you" he says with a menacing gaze. His voice is thick and angry, but also the edge of fatigue can be heard now.

[Gorgondantess]

Joh nods at Hextros, suddenly dead serious. "I assure you, Hextros, so long as you do your duty, you will be paid. You have my word- and if you are refused your just rewards, then I'll be stuffing their heads in your purse alongside you."

[mshady]

Hextros scoffs at the last part of Johannes' remark.

"I can't tolerate a liar" he says darkly. "A good liar is amusing though. Don't worry, beardling. If your righteous friends do betray me, I'll let you run off. Your reassurance amuses me greatly. Someone needs to take your little general's head back to his friends to tell them not to cross Hextros, aye? May as well be you"

[Gorgondantess]

Johannes laughs, then smiles, laying a hand on his chest. "Much obliged, Hextros. Coming from you... that means a lot." His smile turns into a roguish grin, and he nods.

[Melody]

Well let's leave your troops to get ready. If you have everything you need Hextros they can fill us in on what's happening at the forge while we walk. You might have some ideas on strategy that we don't given your previous experiences. They might not decide to use our ideas, but no reason not to give the problem as many different angles of attack as possible. So, Thordrek, if you would please tell us what we're up against we can think it over while we walk.

[thorgrim29]

Don't worry Hextros, a true dwarf pays his debts in full and keeps his word. Now I'll leave you to it.

He closes the door behind the huge half demon. Then, he walks a few steps away from it and wipes his face.

For a moment there he was thinking about killing me wasn't he? I seem to have a knack for making enemies four times my size....

Well, from what little I heard, we're facing mostly strange humanoid foot soldiers and undead, supported by powerful magi, not to mention Barauk himself

[mshady]

Hextros listens to what Sable says with some interest. He seems momentarily distracted and he clasps his fists several times, breathing heavily. After a moment, long after Sable is done speaking, he turns back to her as his soldiers prepare.

"Your bearded generals would do well to listen to me" he says with smoldering anger. "I'm honoring our terms when you have no way to compel me to go with you and left us with the Takers. I hate the Takers" he seethes. "Mercenaries know better than to work with them. They end up dead when the job's done"

He places a meaty hand on Sable's shoulder. The weight of it is enough to make he knees buckle. It takes her a moment to realize the effect was unintentional. Hextros was indeed massive.

"It's time we had our talk"

[Melody]

Ah, right then. I'll, she pauses, I'll just be a second then gentlemen if you'll excuse us.

Sable's voice sounds a little bit nervous which might be understandable since she resembles a rather small mouse caught under the claw of a cat.

As far as being left with the Takers, I wasn't exactly clear if we had the option of not going with them. They rather insisted, but I'm sorry for the necessity of it. You did rather make the best of the situation, and that's all paid for by the way.

She looks up at Hextros, her expression more curious than worried.

[Strangie]

Wyatt raises an eyebrow at Hextros, frowning. He stands behind him and Sable, watching to see what they do or where they go. If they move forward, or leave the room, he tails them quietly, taking care to listen carefully and do what he can to stay on their trail, but making sure he stays out of Hextros' line of sight. If anybody else looks at him as he leaves, he simply holds his index finger up to his lips, shaking his head, before he goes.

OOC: Aww, yeah. Time to enter spy mode and put that +20 Hide and +18 Move Silently to some use. Not to mention +13 Spot and +15 Listen. I'm going to take 10 on all of these checks because I am fairly certain Hextros' Spot and Listen probably aren't worth a damn enough to take notice of little Wyatt even if he rolled a 20 and providing Wyatt stayed a fair enough distance behind, since you take a penalty of -2 for every 10 feet I think you are away from the target. So with results of...

Hide: 30
Move Silently: 28
Spot: 23
Listen: 25

I think Wyatt can stay a pretty fair distance away and not lose track of either Sable or Hextros.

[Tharar_Greenleaf]

Kelith

"So, strange humanoid foot soldiers and undead, supported by powerful magi is it? Certainly the foot soldiers and magi had to come from somewhere; we have a revolt on our hands? Or possibly a hostile take over?

I'm not one for advanced tactics, but I do prefer having a little bit of information on the situation at hand. I hope there is more to tell than just soldiers, undead, and magi?"

[shaddy_24]

Magnum

Magnum arches an eye brow as Hextros pulls Sable off to the side. As soon as they're out of voice range, he comments, "What's the fiend up to now? Better not have hopes for revenge, not if he wants to leave here with his head anywhere besides my belt." He doesn't sound too worried though. Sable was a big girl, she could take care of herself.

[mshady]

Hextros and Sable continue there chat. Sable speaks and when she is done, it leaves Hextros pacing in growling thought. He returns and the two continue to speak cordially enough. Hextros seems quite irate, but it does not seem directed at her.

[Strangie]

Wyatt meanwhile stalks about in the shadows, out of Hextros' line of sight and hopefully his hearing range, too - staying back a fair distance would make him hard to detect, and he couldn't imagine a pinheaded brute like Hex to be able to pick up on his location unless he was cheating somehow, Wyatt thought. What if he was?

The thought bothered him only momentarily as he slips back in once Sable and Hextros return, taking as great care as he could to avoid letting either of them know he had left.

[Katasi]

Arum begins pacing, his energy building as he waits for the action to start.

[mshady]

Wyatt strains to hear what is going on, but with the distance and the clamor of the troops preparing, he is unable to hear what Hextros and Sable are discussing. Absorbed in her own conversation, Sable does not notice Wyatt's eavesdropping.

Hextros finally nods and stalks off, exiting the conversation. He immediately begins barking orders to his troops to expedite their preparations. For those dwarfs with military experience, it would seem that he knows what he is doing. The near giant requires no whips to motivate his men as they strike their encampment and throw their gear together in a haphazard fashion. A few have the 'good fortune' of packing their commander's equipment as well as their own. The five remaining lieutenants stomp around the assembled group and bark their own orders. A squat toad like figure cracks his whip in the air, and occasionally against a slow soldier or simply to make his point that he would whip the rest by randomly whipping one. The troops themselves are a mix of tiefling like creatures and some things more exotic. The blocks of troops that form seem set by race.

Not all of the Blood Company troops are tieflings, nor do they all wield halberds. While all seemed to previously, it seemed a matter of expediency as a garrison weapon and the best weapon against the hydras they had. Now they seem to have a panoply of weapons. Standards are set and a smattering of other minor artifacts seem to be distributed among the groups as well.

Satisfied that everyone assembled in time, Hextros looks them over with a scowl.

"Took too long! Too damn long! If I had the time I'd have Izod whip the lot of you!" he snarls. The words alone have an effect on the group of assembled soldiers. After plenty of examples of actual harsh discipline, the mere threat of it grabbed their attention now.

"We're off to see the Godsmen! There they shat pots and piss nails all day, so long as you can pound a copper down their throat for the trouble! They believe that labor brings them closer to being Gods themselves! Hah!" Hextros snarls.

"Our dwarf masters here told me that unless we helped their heathen friends, and right frakking now, they weren't going to pay us. Now we all know if you shake a dwarf, gold will fall out of their beards, yes? YES??" he asks. The soldiers roar back a response in a variety of languages.

"Some of you are slackers and malcontents, who do not think yourselves ready to go to a fight so soon! Let me assure you, when he find who you are our Nightmares will feast well on you. I already know who some of you are. Don't let me catch the rest! Remember how much I enjoy group punishments as well!" he snarls at the assembled soldiers. Again the threat of violence seems to terrify the soldiers. Hextros' truly massive size only adds to the intimidation.

"Now, get out! Get out and march! March like your lives depend on it to the Foundry! Anyone lagging behind, I wrap a chain around your balls and drag you behind my steed the rest of the way! Dismissed!"

Finished, Hextros crosses his arms and watches the troops move out in some manner of discipline as four of the Lieutenants bark their own orders to organize the chaos and get the Blood Company marching. The yugoloth stands and watches, saying nothing anyone can hear but the yugoloth did not actually speak either. A telepathic drill master must indeed be merciless...

His task accomplished, Hextros clanks over towards where Thordek and the rest of the dwarf group and their allies stand.

"We're off now" he says, towering over Thordek. "We meet at the Foundry. March with us if you can, but I doubt your short legs could match our pace!" he boasts.

Than he winks at Sable.

[Strangie]

Wyatt shakes his head, annoyed that he stayed too far behind to notice what was discussed. He approaches Sable once everybody is off.

"So what 'da hell was 'dat all about, eh? When Hex winks at other women, it puts a chill down my spine. Bleugh."

[mshady]

Last round of posts at the Taker's compound and Thordek will move your group out.

Since the planning is being done by Carmard and Buna at this point and the walk takes hours, you will be able to pass by some good bazaars on the way if anyone wats an official Lady of Pain t-shirt or more practical souvenirs.

[Melody]

Sable chuckles at Wyatt's expression.

He was just worried about not getting paid is all. Since I'm obviously not a dwarf he wanted my opinion on whether everything is on the up and up. I told him it was, and I gave him some pointers on how to deal with Carmard effectively. After all, I want Hextros' input on tactics and Carmard won't listen if he's busy throwing insults and threats.

Hextros has a sharp mind, I imagine he'll have some good ideas on how to use his troops to the best advantage.

[Strangie]

"Yeah, I bet..." He rubs his nose. "Well..." He mulls about a witty response before just throwing his hand across in front of him. "Whatever. Let's just get the hell outta here and do 'dis thing already."

[shaddy_24]

Magnum

The warrior priest watches as the troop shapes itself up and heads out. "That fiend knows how to run his men. More organized than I'd expect of him." He glances over the Legionnaires they brought with them. "Let's show them what our short legs can do." As soon as they start marching, he unleashes a dwarvan marching tune, stomping along in time to the beat.

[thorgrim29]

Yes, let's, I'd rather not have to follow them by the trail of destruction, or, gods forbid, the smell!


The group tries to pace the mercenaries, staying close behind to make sure at least that the march is more or less cohesive, and that no one stays behind.

But before going, he takes Sable aside:

Sable, you seem to have more loose cash then me, not to mention longer legs, so I would like you to stay here a bit. Make sure the "entertainment" was here willingly, and not too banged up. If it seems appropriate I'd like you to give them something, enough to pay for healing at the very least. I'll make sure you get repaid, by Carmard or on my next payday. You can catch up to us on the way. Plus, if there's anything left of worth in this ungodly mess I'd rather it ends up in a friend's purse then in the taker's coffers.

[Gorgondantess]

Johannes reappears from going off with Sable and Wyatt with a smallish crate in his arms. He pops the top off, and instantly the air is filled with an intoxicating, earthy scent: tobacco. Perhaps the finest pipe leaf ever grown, just inhaling the scent from the dry, cold leaves is both relaxing and energizing. Of course, it's nothing compared to the scent of the cigar Johannes has rolled for himself, and is now smoking vigorously. "Bytopian tobacco. The finest in the planes, for a situation like this. And all for the cost of a peridot." He winks, giving a roguish grin, and makes the rounds, passing it out to be shared amongst the dwarves, though he keeps a small pouch at his side for personal enjoyment.
When smoked, initially it feels like any other tobacco, but rather than relaxing, it energizes, like a shot of adrenaline. The smoker feels like anything can be accomplished, that the whole world is right before their grasp- there are things to do, and you will get them done.
Bytopia is a place big on work ethic: their tobacco is infused with the energy of the planes, giving orderliness and a boost to energy so that more can be accomplished. Normally Joh is more keen on Elysian tobacco, but that's hardly something to be smoked right before a battle.:smallamused:
Upon Sable's return, he approaches her, a relaxed smile on his face. "Well, I didn't figure you to be much one for pipes and cigars, but seeing as you funded this treat of mine, I figured I'd pick you up something nice." He hands her a small, white crystal sphere, filled with rolling fog. As she looks into it, she begins to lose her train of thought, and...
The air is filled with heavenly, elating music. It runs about, dancing, palpable in the crystal skies. The grass is cool and soft, a more soothing, caressing bed than the finest silks. Birds of all color and beautiful patterns flit across your field of vision, and the whole world seems so perfect for the first time, clearly outlined, solid, but hazy, as if waking out of a reassuring, blissful dream. There is an amorous, ecstatic feeling all about, and you feel you could lay here forever... each moment is a lifetime of orgiastic beauty, and each second is mulled over, tasted, savored like a fine wine. You turn to the one lying on the grass next to you, your soulmate, the love of your life, and know that this is true happiness.
It lasts only the slightest of seconds. Joh winks, with a smirk on his face.

[Melody]

Sable made quick work of Thordrek's orders. Her quick inspection showed that Blood Company had made off with everything except for the meat on spits beside the broken window, and in some cases they had taken that with them too. The women had dissapeared almost as quickly as the mercenaries, having either already gotten paid or having seen that their reason for being there had left. Seeing Wyatt over her shoulder she had a sudden thought.

"Wyatt, care to go to the temple of Tymora with me?"

"Uh, sure yeah I guess." He looked a little startled that she had asked him.

Sable walked out to ask directions from the takers lined up outside the barracks. Changing her mind suddenly she caught Johannes just before he left.

Later on after Johannes, Wyatt, and Sable caught up with the group...

Sable watched Johannes pull tobacco out of the mystery box he had gone off to buy while they had been in the temple. She was a bit supprised to see that he had bought such a large quantity of stuff with the one gem, though she knew by now that Johannes was good at haggling. Seeing Sable, Johannes walks over and presented her with a clear ball filled with rolling fog.

How pretty! She said as she took the crystal sphere in her hands. She had always been delighted to try to figure out how such things were made. Holding the ball up in her hand she stared down into the fog and, was that music? As she came back to reality she sees Johannes' wink and felt herself blush furiously.

Ah.. thank, you. That was ... nice. The normally voluble rogue has to work to get those few words out and retreats with her ears and neck still red to check her equipment.

[mshady]

Deciding it was better to lead the way instead of follow a potential swath of destruction, or at least outrage, across a foreign city, Thordek led his Levtokuld and Legionnaires along with his comrades out of the Taker’s facility.

Not without protest about being slowed by the shorter legged dwarves, the Blood Company followed behind the dwarves. Hextros and his lieutenants snarled at the delay, but trailed behind. Marching at a slower pace, some of his men found the time to accost pedestrians or dart out of formation to steal a loaf of bread. They often tasted the lash of the sadistic green slaad with the whip named Izod, unless of course Izod got to taste some of the bounty. For his part, Hextros tried to control his soldiers but when his lieutenants were unable to completely control the chaotic salads and tiefling especially he decided plausible deniability was the better part of responsibility and ignored the situation.

After an hour, the entire group was soon accompanied by a large detachment of the local law enforcement, the Harmonium. The heavily armed and armored group followed for a time until their commander talked to Hextros and Thordek directly about controlling the troops or they would be controlled for them. To that end, Harmonium troops walked on either side of the mercenary formation to separate them from the crowd. Thordek was informed of “significant fines” for the disruption.

About half way to the destination, a small group of rough men joined the march. They bore razor sharp greatswords and walked patiently behind. When asked, the Harmonium guards inform the dwarves that these were the Mercykillers, who believed all crimes were generally punishable by death. It did not take long before a tiefling broke formation to ransack a merchant’s tent when the Mercykillers fell upon him. A moment later, the incident was over and the tiefling was minus a head.

For their part, the Harmonium troops shrugged at the execution. A few even found it amusing. That mercenary was the last to break formation.

Farther behind the group, three men in brown and blood splattered robes casually threw the corpse into a cart and continued their walk.

It was like being followed by a pack vultures...

Once out of “civilized” areas and into the Lower Wards, the Harmonium and Mercykillers departed with harsh and cautionary words. Apparently the poor areas were not worth the trouble of protecting from the passage of the mercenaries.

Ahead, the towering smoke stacks of the Great Foundry loomed in the darkening sky…

[Strangie]

Wyatt caught a glimpse of the tiefling getting annihilated by the Mercykillers, wincing and turning his head away as he keeps up with the group. "Gah... sheesh, I'm not sure who is more ruthless, 'dem or the guys we're already with..."

As they entered the poor areas, Wyatt made sure to stick with the group of less-attentive dwarves and others, keeping an eye out for pickpocketers. While he had no gold himself to lose, he'd rather not let his prospective employers get swindled out of their own gold either. He stayed in such a position to keep only his group and those related, such as Thordrek's Levtokuld, in his vision - he didn't give half a crap about Hextros or his mercs. He kept the pace, placing one hand onto the grip of his mace as it was strapped to his belt and gave potential thieves the eye of warning. He gave a casual short of warning to whoever it was that was being threatened of having their pockets emptied, moving toward said target if they still were not noticed for whatever reason before they could get their grubby hands on some gold.

"Keep your eye out for potential looters, folks. Don't want 'dat hard earned gold goin' into some thievin' jerk's pocket, now, do ya..."

[ArmanMadero]

Just waiting on the other group to get with us... i'm not sure what else i can do really until they do get here. :)

[Katasi]

Just waiting as well

[mshady]

The returning group approaches the Great Foundry and the sight is of great relief to the dwarves and their allies collectively. The circus of petty larceny behind is barely, and brutally, controlled by the groups lieutenants after the departure of the Harmonium and Mercykillers. The group of Slaad particularly receive repeated whippings from the green slaad controlling the group named Izod. His whip strikes hard and often, but the lash marks quickly heal but are no less painful at the time.

Deciding it better to warn the locals of their impending approach, Thordek orders the groups musicians to strike up a song. Two dwarven musicians, one with the Forgemark and one with the Levtokuld, each carry finely polished mithril tubes measuring some 12 feet in length with a narrow cylindrical bore that is bent round upon itself into the shape of a broad C and reinforced by a metal bar. A round shield is mounted on the reinforcing bar with the sheath for a shortsword on the inside of it. The tube curves over the dwarf's shoulder. Both dwarves are younger, but play a tune normally reserved for waking up a camp for morning formations. Their cheeks bulge as they play with great gusto and volume.

The instruments have the desired effect of warning most to stay inside. The curious are told to stay inside as the group passes by Johannes, using a language no one else in group is familar with. From the reaction of the various races he tells to get out of the way, it sounds like a language common to all on the Planes.

Not wanting to be outdone by the dwaves, several musicians in the Blood Company play their own tunes. The result is more of a cacophany as the individual musicians try to out play each other. The effect is enough to terrorize anyone who had thoughts of coming out anyways to stay inside.

When they arrive at the Foundry, the gates are thrown open by the guards. The mercenary guards watch in sullen silence as the dwarves, their allies and the mercenaries stream through the doors and right back into the Foundry.

It takes time to get there, but they eventually make it back to the makeshift barracks where the dwarven forces await. Buna and Carmard are bent over a table, along with someone obviously from the Godsmen and a beautiful woman with raven black hair and dressed in tight fitting red leather. Her form is only hidden by the bandoliers, component belt and blades at her side. She turns and smiles in Johannes' direction. He would recognize her as Yennifer. Buna and Carmard acknowledge the returning group as well. Arman and Arum are also at the table reviewing a map of the facility. Hjalmar stands with the Legionnares, directing their own preparations.

The arrival of the Blood Company right behind them, with their drums banging and horns still blaring obnoxiously in the closed area results in everyone even remotely near the door to clear out and give them space. Buna gives Carmard a questioning glance, followed by everyone else at the table but the Arcanii shrugs and returns to his conversation.

Two Arcanii the group had not meant before move the two massive Iron Golems and interpose them between the dwarven encampment and the hired mercenaries. The show of force tells the mercenaries how close they can get. Any thoughts they have of ransacking the area for food or supplies are snuffed out quickly.

"All of you, get your arses over here!" Buna beckons them.

[thorgrim29]

Thordrek lets out a sigh of relief as the finally get back to the rest of the army. He stops only to grab, drain, and then refill a tankard of ale before reporting back to Carmard and Buna.

Well, we're back. You'll be pleased to hear Jerious is dead, and that as thanks to Sable and Wyatt his victor waived the stabling fines for the blood company. Good thing too, they made a, pardon the pun, unholy mess in there. We had a few problems with the harmonium and the mercykillers on the way here, but nothing too bad. Oh and Grathalmore went to play with a seven foot orc in the arena, he survived but he's gravely wounded and will be needing a new suit of armor. I recommend not doing business with the takers anymore, their leader seems like a good enough man, but the place is a nest of snakes

[Strangie]

"Where would you guys be without us sneaky folk, eh? I wonder how much 'dem fines woulda been otherwise..." Wyatt says, tapping a finger to his chin. "Too bad about Jerious. Not. 'dat guy was a jerkface. So was Ober Lodi too, because he's the one who helped set up this mastermind plan and tried to keep us captive. Oh ho! Boy how 'dat failed wonderfully. Anyway... so what'd we miss?"

[mshady]

Carmard holds up his hand to stop Wyatt and others from continuing. His twists into a sour look and his eyes narrow slightly as he looks between Thordek, Sable and Wyatt and the battered Grathalmor. The Arcanii sets his a quill pen down on the table with great care and he draws a deep breath before facing the group. Carmard folds his hands behind his back and looks at the group that stayed behind crossly.

"One of ye, I'd be caring to hear an explanation here" Carmard states with asks. It turns out it was only rhetorically "How is it that Grathalmor went from escorting Ms. Sable to fighting off a 7 foot tall orc with a can opener?" The dwarf's eyes sweep over Grathalmor and his battered state and he shakes his head ever so slightly. "I fail to see the connection 'tween his job and that orc. Did it assault ye?" his eyes swivel back towards Sable, like they're on a hinge.

[Melody]

Sable sighs and rubs the bridge of her nose before she speaks.

Jerious wanted to challenge the Oberst to a challenge of possession. That means that Jerious would recieve not only the Oberst's position, but also his properties, money, and wife. To make the match appear to be fair he needed a Lady Jerious in trade for Lady Anrika, Oberst Daryus' wife. That's why I was invited to the match. Third Ober Lodi, the man Jerious had working for him, offered Grathalmor a points match. It was supposed to be a skill exhibition, but Lodi set him up against one of the toughest challengers they had instead. It was deliberatly planned to entice him into fighting and remove him as a threat.

If they had been dealing with Grathalmor fairly he would have come out of the bouts relatively unharmed. As it was, he did very well in single combat against an Orc that was larger than the part dragon specimens we fought in the cave. After the challenge was announced, Wyatt and I protected Lady Anrika and her children from Lodi's men. Oberst Daryus won the challenge and in his gratitude for protecting his family he declared our fines to the Takers as paid. Grathalmor has already been taken to task by Thordrek for his mistake and he has made amends to Wyatt and I personally.

[mshady]

Carmard exhales slowly and looks between the three with a look of disappointment.

"Yes, Thordek may well have. I am, however, your Commander. To varying degrees" he pauses and than continues. "We dwarves have a word for treachery. It's call beldarak. It is not a word we speak lightly. I am a bit... surprised ye nay expected beldarak" Carmard looks pointedly at Sable.

"I know little of these matters. Of beldarak. We dwarves are simple creatures, create for the forge, battle and honoring our Gods. I do know that if I wished to fell a foe, sundering his defenses first is where I would start. Thus this Jerious did the same to you, Sable"

Carmard looks her over once and frowns slightly and turns back to the planning table as the rest of the people at the table watch with curiousity. He cannot see Grathalmor when he speaks to his own sworn guardian.

"Grathalmor" he says, his back turned to the returning group. "Go see the quartermaster for new armor and see if they can save the runes I gave ye. Next time I ask ye to guard someone, I expect you to guard them. Think about if you wish to continue as one of my own guards, than talk to your cousin Nalrak. Consider yer committment to the Oathes you took. We can talk later"

Carmard rests his hands on the table once again and look it over, than turns his head and looks over his shoulder.

"Anyone else have someth'n to add for the planning?" Carmard asks flatly. His voice is restrained, but there is the edge of irritation to it now. Clearly Grathalmor's actions have drawn his ire, which is a bit of a feat. "Arman, I would like to speak with ye specifically. Tolrin told me ye know how to scry, yes?"

[Strangie]

Wyatt frowns a little at Carmard's scolding of the trio, shaking his head a little. He obviously didn't like the way Carmard made it look like all of them were traitors.

He talks a bit quieter, perhaps not loud enough for Carmard to hear with how he is distracted with something else at the moment, but certainly loud enough for anybody else standing particularly close by, including Sable. It mostly seems like he's grumbling to himself and not anybody else in particular. "Boy. Sure knows how to make a guy feel bad. n' I feel like I didn't do anythin' wrong."

He turns around, folding his arms and staring up at the ceiling, quietly muttering to himself. "No respect for the little guys, 'dat's how it goes..."

Until he is directly addressed by someone, Wyatt remains in his own little world of self-loathing and not speaking to anybody directly.

[thorgrim29]

((I assume there's a chart of the forces assembled somewhere on the table, if you could just tell me about it I'd be able to give an assesment))

[Gorgondantess]

Johannes nods to Yennifer, smiling, and kisses her hand. "Yennifer. It's good to see you."
Johannes interjects after Sable finishes speaking, "Don't try to understand the Takers. To them, beldarak is the same as honor: they're an alien species, and their ways are convoluted and cruel. Indeed, I should think Grathalmor's actions may have been fitting: by defeating this orc, he gained status and prestige amongst the Takers- while it may have strayed from his original goal, it could've been worked to the greater good."

"Well, I don't have anything to add myself... though Yennifer has promised some aid, so long as we meet certain conditions. She can aid both diplomatically, and in combat, if it comes to that, but as is I'd prefer if we can find a way to settle this with as little bloodshed as possible. Of course, she likely knows more about these things than I do..." He looks to Yennifer, here, allowing her to make an entrance.

[mshady]

Carmard stops and listens to what Joahnnes has to say and seems a bit impressed by his more nuanced interpretation of the Takers. That is up until the point where Johannes tries to convince him that Grathalmor's actions may have worked to their advantage. He considers the beardless dwarf, a dabbler in many matters and often a trust advisor than finally shakes his head.

"Aye, you may be right in his actions worked to our advantage somehow" he says and simply shrugs, not seeming to care if they could be beneficial or not.

"The point is he left Sable's side. Whether she allowed or encouraged it is irrelevant as they were my orders" he thinks about saying more, but does not. "That he thought he was just going to show off before a rabble just be making it worse"

Carmard turns and looks at Yennifer and than back to Johannes and pulls at his short, finely groomed beard. He returns his gaze to the beautiful woman and raises an eyebrow. It is clear that Carmard has ignored Johannes' mention of a more bloodless resolution for now, moving towards something of concern.

"Conditions?" he asks her. "You never told me your support was conditional"
The old dwarf grimaces slightly and considers her again with mild irritation.

"In Sigil, everyone wants something, don't they? What is it you want?"

Yennifer smiles prettily and moves her body position slightly, causing the leather to creak slightly and do pleasant things to her form that are utterly ignored by Carmard. His only response is to simply blink at her and remain motionless, looking at her expectantly for an answer.

She turns to look at Johannes with a bit of a pout and turns to Johannes.

"John, why don't you explain?" she asks Johannes. She seems annoyed at suddenly having to explain things.

"Please do" Carmard says and crosses his arms across is broad chest. "I trust you remembered this is dwarf business, yes?"

[Gorgondantess]

Johannes just grimaces a bit at Carmard's reply. He then smirks at Yennifer's discomfort, supporting, but almost mocking.
He fortifies himself, and speaks.
"Well... I've told Yennifer of the Stoneburner. Upon retrieval, first and foremost, she desires custody of the soul of Bauruk- so that she may record his experiences in a sensory stone. Seeing as he's of little use to us, I don't believe I'd be out of line in assuming that would be fine." He inhales, and continues.
"The second condition is that, as soon as the Stoneburner is returned to our hands, that it is dismantled with all haste." Joh almost winces, bracing himself for a vehement 'no'. Still, above all, he keeps his cool.

[mshady]

Wringing his hands and grimacing at Johannes, he gives the considerbly younger dwarf an almost paternal look of disapproval. Than he glances at one of the Godsmen officers, who looks like someone slapped him. The old Arcanii's mind is clicking through ways to navigate the tricky situation that just presented itself.

"Johannes..." he says, drawing out the name. "I doubt such a thing can be dismantled. At least not by any means I know. It is a terrible power possessed by an malevolent intelligence.

That be why we have agreed to purge this creature under mountains on the Prime and far removed from Sigil. The Godsmen have great fear that such an artifact will draw attention of the Lady of Pain. I know ye missed some of the planning, but our plan is to extract it and let it burn itself out under some wasted mountains. The Foundry must remain to make more glowstones for us for our artifacts. "

"Extracting just the soul would be... beyond me" Carmard explains. It is too powerful and has tapped its full power. Best to let the soul be consumed in the fires that consume the rest. A release for both, yes?"

He pauses and looks at Yennifer and back at Johannes before continuing.

"If your sensory stones can record what Ms. Yennifer desires.... I have no objection" he concludes. He glances towards the Godsmen officers. Both have a suspicious look on their faces now.

[Tharar_Greenleaf]

Kelith

Kelith follows along the rest as they head into the meeting room. For the most part he sits back behind the group following the conversation, but not feeling the need to interrupt a dwarf in anger or bring attention to himself.

[Melody]

Sable waits for everyone to finish talking and speaks in the momentary silence.

My appologies for disapointing you Carmard. As for planning, I would suggest that Hextros be allowed to help in planning as he knows what his troops are best suited for. I would also like to speak to you in private whenever it is most convenient.

[Strangie]

Wyatt frowns, glancing up at Sable as she says she wishes to speak in private to Carmard. To that, he just shrugs, and walks off to the side a bit, not too far from the main group, but away from them where he can keep them all in his view and, perhaps to their benefit, keep them away from his quiet grumblings.

"Got a feelin' I ain't gonna get paid squat when I get 'dis done, not for all I done, feels like. Big surprise 'dere, maybe I oughta just find Vikari again if 'dat's the case and start all over..."

[mshady]

Carmard does not turn to face Sable when she speaks to him. Indeed, he does not respond at all as he bends over the map and marks something on it with a quill.

"Aye, I see what ye mean. Tis too small. It goes there but we'd never get them through the turn here" Carmard sighs and looks at the map. "We keep coming back to a frontal attack and I nay like the odds there"

The Godsmen and Yennifer both frown at Carmard's conclusion.

"Perhaps you have some ideas of your own than? None of ours are to your liking" the Godsmen says indignantly.

"It's a factory. A bloody maze. We're not seeing something. A frontal assault will bog down and your rogue Demios will slaughter us. We need more of a plan than walking through the door here. Think! Please" he says emphatically and pulls at his beard with very uncharacteristic frustration.

"We are, damn it!" Buna snaps back at him and pounds the table. Carmard fixes her with a stern gaze and wags a finger at her. The gesture is enough to startle her and she sits down, surprised at her own outburst.

Carmard stands up from his leaning position and takes a deep breath, than turns away from the Godsmen and looks over his shoulder at Sable.

"Sable" he says quietly and looking over his shoulder. "I think its time we took a break here. I 'ave a moment now"

Carmard gestures to the right and walks away from the table. The discussion continues without him now, and it appears heated.

"I acknowledge your apology" Carmard tells her and crosses his arms across his chest once again. "Accepting it depends on if you tell me what ye learned from this. That bein' said, you have enough stock o'trust with me that ye have plenty left regardless. Now what is it?"

OOC: Taken to PMs

[Strangie]

Wyatt glances over his shoulder when he hears the planners arguing. He looks back forward again, sighs and shaking his head and looking down at the floor, and then finally turns back around to walk toward the map table. "Aye, here I go, mopin' about again, time to show 'em who gets things done 'round here, once again..." he mutters, standing up on an empty chair if there is one available to take a look at the map.

"A frontal assault by itself never works unless your foe's made of sticks or somethin'. Which I doubt is the case. Couple it with some kinda distraction, though... somethin' to get the main forces away. Some kinda trick or sabotage or anythin' really... If you're needin' somebody to sneak in and take a peep at things without bein' seen, I think I know a couple people who are perfect for 'dat kinda job." He raises an eyebrow, then glances at Buna. "'Ey, we missed ya. Doesn't sound like you're havin' fun figurin' 'dis out over here. Any way I can help?"

[mshady]

All of the other people sitting at the table seem momentarily shocked when Wyatt sits down. Only some of his chest and head are above the table, but it was the kind of awkwardness a halfling is presumably used to living with "big people".

"Hurm" is all the Godsmen says, not sure what to say. He seems offended at Wyatt's audacity at simply sitting down during a meeting of high ranking commanders.

"Ah Wyatt, pull up a seat. Find a couple of big books too while ye be at it" Buna says with a smile. She glances at the Godsmen and grins at him too, gleeful at the opportunity to needle the pompous man.

"What would a halfling know of a battle of this size?" the Godsmen asks indignantly. "To not get underfoot?"

"Oi!" Buna exclaims. "Be nice to our scout!"

Both Buna and Yennifer glare at the Godsmen, who was wise enough to realize he was defeated for the moment.

Yennifer stands up at the table and looks around at the gathered group that had just arrived. She smiles sweetly at them and motions them to join at the table. The Godsmen groans at this, but says nothing else.

The woman is wearing an outfit of tightly fitted red leather armor with a regal blue cloak draped over one shoulder. It is covered in subtlely tooled runes of gold and studded at several points. It is complements by a pair of heeled black riding boots that rise to her knees. As elegant as they are, they appear to be reinforced with metal and bound in mithril wire. It is fashionable protection, but it is clearly meant to be used. The cost of the set must have been extreme.

She has a long mane of blonde hair with black and red highlights tied into a loose braid. Standing a full six feet tall, she has a very athletic build but an otherwise slim figure and a raptor like gaze. Her most defining characteristic is absolute self-confidence. It is more alluring and captivating than arrogance. Yennifer is not the type of woman one expected to see preparing for a battle. Any martial skill she might have was just not a question anyone would think to ask of her, but it would certainly be a mistake.

"Come here everyone, please?" she asks in her smooth soprano voice. It is not so much a question as an expectation of joining her.

"Oh, behave. No flirting at the command table!" Buna says with a snort.

Yennifer smiles at her sweetly.

"I was just asking them to come to the table" she says a quirk of a smile and a twinkle in her eye.

"You asked. Thus, ye be flirting. Careful, ye minx" Buna warns her, her arms crossed and a defiant look in her eyes.

"Oh, don't be jealous Ms. Buna. You're adorable enough all by yourself for my liking" Again, her eyes twinkle with the mirth of a masterful mischief maker. Buna's face flushes and she tries to stammer out a response, but none comes. People simply did not call Buna adorable, her gifts being ignored in deference or preference of her title as Arcanii.

When the rest of the group crowds around the table after a moment, Yennifer continues.

"Allow me to introduce myself as well. I am Yennifer, daughter of the Factol of the Sensantes and friend of John. You may know him as Johannes though" her eyes twinkle as she looks at the dwarf. "The best plan we have right now is to charge into the factory floor. The planning seems to be how to move once there, but battle is too fluid to truly plan like that" she says and taps the heavily marked up floor plan of the Great Foundry spread across the table.

"Your Commander, Master Carmard, is smart enough to realize what a bloody affair this could be and we are looking for other ways. The cadre of the Godsmen managed to imprison our foe. With great loss, I fear!" she grimaces just enough to show empathy for the losses before continuing. "Their own Demios, a powerful wizard and cleric both. Her name is Regina, Reg'inus in her Elvish tongue. She could wreck terrible damage on any attacks. We know her and several alcolytes are preparing powerful circle magic for a spell of Freedom to free the Enemy from its imprisonment"

She turns and smiles at Wyatt. It was like Sune or Hanali themselves had smiled at him.

"You, Mr. Wyatt is it? Yes, the idea is to create a distraction. We need to figure out a distraction. We also need to find a way to remove Demios Regina from play. The main force would hopefully allow others to neutralize her. Hopefully even save them. Or at least delay the circle magic" she throws her hands up in exasperation. "The how of it is proving most difficult. Some scouting of the area would be of great use. It seems we are a bit... blind about what lays inside. To their disposition and to any traps or fortifications set for us. So... ideas?"

She points to the map.

[Strangie]

Wyatt throws a quick cheesy grin at the Godsmen when Buna and Yennifer both give him the evil eye. Then he returns to the map.

"First of all I know plenty about battles of all sizes! See, I can not just scout, I can fight alongside 'dese dwarves any day," he states, gesturing to his armored dwarven fellows. "I've fought alongside and gone up against armored soldiers, crazed barbarians, spell-slinging casters, ravenous monsters, of different numbers and different powers, you name it. I've been 'dere and done 'dat, so don't discredit me 'cause I'm a halfling, see?" He nods, and gives a quick thumbs up to Buna. "Was afraid you'd kick me off the table, thanks for lettin' me help."

He blinks a couple of times when Yennifer smiles at him. "Well met, Yennifer. Oi, well now... a plan, let's see..." He grins, and pans his eyes across the map. "Now of course a frontal assault, like I said, is no good without somethin' to go with it. 's kinda like havin' a stew, but with nothin' in it. And ya can't have stew without havin' somethin' in it! So, 'dat's out. Without really anythin' else to go on, I'd say scoutin' is your best bet for starters. We can take a look and see what we can make use of for our side dish - our distraction. At the very least, if there isn't anything useful for distraction purposes, scoutin' about will give us the heads up on what they've got planned. Now there's only a couple of people I know of 'dat are good for 'dis sort of thing, and 'dat's me, and..." he points a thumb at himself, and then deftly points a finger at Sable. "Her, who is kinda busy with our commander at the moment. She's a pretty crafty woman, so you ought to get her insight on the matter too when I'm done." He rubs his chin as he looks over the map again. "If you're so worried about a frontal assault though, sending a couple of people for scoutin' about seems like a suicide mission to me without some proper protection! And I'm absolutely certain you folks are gonna send us in for scoutin' purposes, so I wanna get some reassurance 'dat we can get some help from ya..." He holds out his hand, putting the index finger from his other hand down on his outstretched hand's fingers as he counts. "Whatever tools ya got for seein' stuff, sneakin', protective wards, maybe some telepathy to let us communicate what we see silently, and hopefully a one-way ticket out to teleport us out if you can afford it in case things go sour, we gotta have it. We gotta find out absolutely everythin' we can use to gather information without raisin' hell before you guys even do anythin'. And gettin' caught more or less means we're totally screwed, and 'dat 'dey know we're up to somethin' if 'dey already don't. And 'dat I'm probably gonna be a dead man. But I don't intend on gettin' caught."

Wyatt holds up his index finger. "Once we've got 'dat thing, the side dish, the distraction 'dat'll set up the main course? 'dat frontal assault you all want so badly." He slams his fist into his open palm. "Pow! Send in the cavalry. And we'll be havin' us some stew, I think, so to speak." He puts his hands at his hips, shaking his head. "As far as assassination goes, 'dough, 'dat ain't really my style... my job's scoutin', trap-bustin' and helpin' out the armor junkies in a fight, but I think Sable might be a bit better at the whole death in the dark thing."

He then folds his arms, in a Carmard-like way. "So, really, if you don't know what's going on inside, 'den how can you even plan? It's like tryin' to fight blindfolded and 'dat's just way too risky. So let us scout people do our things, let us gather some info about what the other guys' have got so far, and 'den maybe we can make some sense out of things." He pauses for a moment, and then raises his index finger, making a quick glance at the Godsmen. "Oh! By the way. Since I am a professional scout, and I'm gonna be scoutin' and all, and without a scout, you guys are fightin' blind, I think 'dat makes me one of the most important people in 'dis entire room and 'dat I would like to keep a seat at the plannin' table. Just wanted to make note of 'dat to anybody who might think 'dat halflings can't think strategically or anything, y'know, for reasons 'dat obviously aren't born out of racial prejudice. Because 'dere's none of 'dat here." He folds his arms again, frowning deeply and furrowing his brow, obviously annoyed at how the Godsmen disregarded him at not knowing anything.

[thorgrim29]

Thordrek had been more or less ignoring the exchange in favor of concentrating on the plans. Finally he spoke up

Seems to me we have exactly one advantage. We can dispatch units and trust them to make the good decision in the heat of battle. The other side will have a lot of micromanagement to do, and with their magi tied up in circle magic, they're probably going to be short on leadership. So we can expect to fight a disorganized mob. That's the good news. The bad new is that we won't be able to fully make use of the Patriarchate's ace in the hole, the Arcanii, because they'll almost all be on dispelling duty. We'll also be outnumbered, and if this elf you speak of manages to cast her circle magic, we'll also be outgunned.

So what I think is that we need a distraction, and then we arrange our force in small semi-autonomous kill teams of perhaps 10 warriors who try to coordinate together in mini hammer and anvil tactics.

[mshady]

Buna and Yennifer listen to what Thordek has to say and think about it for a moment.

"He has a point..." Yennifer allows and smiles at Thordek. "They should still be focused on their own magics with their Circle. Most of it cannot really be stopped as you lose the power they hold, or at least it does not last long"

She pauses and frowns slightly.

"That is not to say all of their mages will be in the circle. We could be pummeled with fireballs as soon as we throw open the gates"

She casts an eye across the warehouse area at the Blood Company and raises an eyebrow.

"Is that what they're for?" she asks Thordek. "Could work"

Buna clears her throat and speaks as well.

"Counterspelling is something we excel at" she says with pride. "So long as the Arcanii can protect the soldiers, I'd wager our steel against anyone elses"

Buna smiles again with fierce pride before continuing.

"That all being said, the Arcanii will have to be in the front or above the battle. We won't be in much of a position to command either and Glorian took the best commanders when she left Barakbar" Buna looks around at the group and sighs.

"This is most of the garrison" The implications of that clearly trouble her. "We have to make this work. Now as for your tactics Thordek..."

She pauses for a moment before speaking.

"Can you elaborate? Mobility and small groups are fine but how mobile can we be in the press of the shield wall? A hammer an anvil is fine, but when they have considerble numbers? In several small groups? Never run a pincer or the like against superior numbers like that. Your pincer gets stomped" she smiles wolfishly. "That's called a nutcracker"

"True" Yennifer says. "He may be on to something though. A big formation against a magic barrage will end badly for you. Smaller groups may work. Don't try to dam up the stream. Maybe be boulders and channel what they do. Than hit them somehow?" she asks. "This is not my kind of command though"

[thorgrim29]

Seeing he wasn't being shot down, Thordrek continues:

Our troops wouldn't be necessarily physically isolated, but the chain of command should be decentralized, to allow us to exploit whatever gaps in their control we can spot. We're fighting mostly undead and dominated minions if I remember correctly, so their chain of command will be very centralized, and those in charge will most likely be magi. They should stand out. When they make themselves known, they become a target, and are ideally too dead or too concerned with staying alive to provide leadership. But that gap will not last long. That's why we need troops on the field to be semi independent, to exploit that lapse in enemy coherence. But I'm not saying we shouldn't band together when we have enough space and fireballs aren't raining on us. Anyway, that's my take on it.

Besides, the battle itself, while important, is secondary. The main goals are to kill that Regina character and to get a few tombstones in range of the stoneburner. What's the plan for that? Also, Carmard was speaking of glowstones, do we have any on hand? I'm not fully familiar with them but it seems to me they could come in handy. Also, a place like this must have storage rooms full of magic missile and healing wands, our casters and healers should have them. A levtokuld might not be able to cast a fireball, but we're trained to use wands and other magical items, and if the initiates are handling the healing, the higher ranked clerics will be free to use their more impressive spells.

Finally, the mercenaries. Personally, I don't like them, but they seem competent enough, and it wouldn't be very honorable to send them to a certain doom. But, they're not the most disciplined bunch, and I don't trust them not to turn on us in the heat of battle. Maybe we could give Hextros a part of the battlefield to take care of, and see what happens?