The Principality of Valorium. [IC]

[Glyphic]

[Jyo-lan, Soren, Rodion, Kojiro, Caleun]

A sparse drizzle raps against the leaky roof of the old estate house. Gerald, the Sheriff of Re-marr invited you all to dinner, one week ago. The evening thus far has been pleasant; a humble offering of dried fruits before the main course, and gentle inquiries about how each of you is adjusting to, and liking the town. He also makes a small boast about Re-marr's delicious hazel nuts as he slides a meager bowl across the oaken table. A series of knocks emanate from the front hall, and Gerald pushes himself from his chair.

"Ah, if you'd be so kind to excuse me, that would be our other guests for this evening. My wife and a meal should be joining us soon as well."

[Corporal Nightshade, Tasntafaal II -Both of you, check your PM's ..]
Mud cakes your boots as you stride up to the battered door of the aged estate house in the town of Re-marr. Warm light spews from the Inn, Ianiaki's Retreat, promising hearty comforts and a hot meal. Your orders ring in the back of your head, "Report immediately. More are coming." The main and only road out of town is vacant tonight, but it still feels like someone is watching you as you tread onward.

The door creaks open, and pale light from an oil lamp shines out onto the road. After taking a peak, Gerald opens the door with a flourish, "Ah, good friends. Please come in and rest your feet. We've much to talk about, before morning. And much to eat." He steps to the side, directing you down a short hallway..


[Everyone is now in attendance.]
The dining room seats ten comfortably in high-backed, elegant chairs that are worn by age. A large bay window overlooks nothing in particular, and a spiral, wrought iron staircase extends up to a second floor with a balcony above this room. Two doors lead off to other rooms, and the hallway lets in a brisk draft. Gerald invites Trevor and Tasntafaal to sit, before taking his own chair at the high end of the table. The low end is left open, as well as one random seat. A small bowl of hazel nuts sits in the middle. Places for nine people to dine are set out, although the 'silverware' is simple wooden bowls and spoons. A large pot sits to Gerald's right, and collects rainwater from the leaky roof.

Gerald shows signs of two ancestries. Elf blood makes his frame thin, and his features sharp. Human blood represents itself in coarser skin and short hairs that fall over his forearms. His eyes are sunken, with dark circles underneath. He bears both a grey symbol of The Crown, and below it a green symbol of The Flame of the West.

After everyone is seated, Gerald's face creases with a frown. He looks each and every one of you over, doubly for Corporal Trevor and Tasntafaal. He leans forward, setting his elbows on the oaken table.


"Thank you all for attending. The reports sent to me fill my heart with worry for this town, and my citizens. While the matter is pressing.. I don't believe briefing you and sending you off to the wilderness would ensure success. i do wish you to leave at morning light.. And you are free to rest in my abode, or your own. A few others in town have pledged a warm bed and meal, if so you wish it.."

He addresses those already gathered, with a sweeping motion of his hand, "I would like to introduce Corporal Nightshade, and Tasntafaal the Second. They are.." He pauses here, selecting crisp words, "hand chosen members of The Flame of the West. I hope you treat them, and they you, with fraternal respect."

[MorkaisChosen]

Rodion seems slightly uncomfortable in the presence of so many people. He has long since replaced his street rags with simple, loose robes, but he still holds the spirit of an orphan within him.

Getting straight to the business at hand, he asks bluntly, "What is the problem and how do you want us to deal with it?"

[Duke of URL]

Trevor Nightshade

It still sounds strange to hear the phrase 'Corporal Nightshade'... all I want to do is finish whatever this 'mission' is and be done with this outfit. And all over a simple dalliance... she was pretty enough, and talented too, but not worth all of this hassle...

Trevor sits down at the table, and begins to eat. When Rodion speaks, he tries not to roll his eyes. This one has no subtlety. He looks over and says, "why so rushed? We're not setting out this instant, and some of us would appreciate enjoying our host's hospitality for at least a few minutes after a long and difficult journey."

[Beschoren]

Tasntafaal, elven scout

Listening carefully to the words said by both half-humans, Tanstafaal tries not to get upset by the sudden rush and the mention of the Flame of the West "member" as a good thing.

Crunchy. That was his relief for a moment, seeing that the chiken tasted better than it looked.

"Easy, fellow half-human, the road and the rain has not been gentle on us."he says, cleary directing to Rodion withou raising his head or stop adding salt to the potato "Yet your question is valid, and important..." He raises his head to Gerald, expecting a reply.

[Miraqariftsky]

"May thy blood ever blaze
And ever pure, thy spirits be"

Thus Soren Solaren intones in greeting to the host and to his fellow guests.
His red-brown hair glinting in the firelight, the warrior priest in the crimson tabard turns his seeking gaze towards those around him.

Not having had that much time to familiarize himself with his fellow new arrivals because of the hectic happenings with the new Pu'urite congregation, he studies them now, all the while munching on walnuts and idly stroking his moustache. Interesting... these... followers of the so-called Flame of the West accept demihumans into their ranks? Hmm... looks like these soul-seared lowlanders aren't beyond redemption after all...

Drumming his fingers on the table and washing down the nuts with a swig of goat's milk, Soren smacks his lips appreciatively and then says, "Indeed... well, flames do tend to gutter when not tended. Light the way, good sir, tell us where to take the fires of purification and repay you for your magnificent generosity and marvellous fare"

[Tyriq]

Jyo-lan! (www.coyotecode.net/profiler/view.php?id=4046)

Jyo-lan shifts quietly in his chair at Soren's talk of fires and burning. Even the most drastic fire is quenched by the sea, but even so, it's becoming clear that this expedition probably won't follow the Order's usual peaceful methods. He thinks to himself, "Hopefully, I won't be expected to fight in the front line..."

He notices with some relief that some of his new companions seem much more well-prepared for close combat.

[Grey_Wolf_c]

Caleun Tranil (http://www.thetangledweb.net/forums/profiler/view_char.php?cid=12375)

Sitting in one of the corners of the table, Caleun is wearing a simple combination of clothes that are confortable and yet remarkably well made, with large sleeves and a stylish cloak that compliments the rest of the outfit. He is visibly unarmed, and a silver-handled walking stick rests by his side. On first glance, he looks like a well-to-do minor nobleman, probably a member of the ample bureocracy that supports the Principality.

The face of Caleun reveals nothing, but the arrival of two members of the Flame immediately puts him on the defensive, thinking,
"Damn! Two of the Flame! Are they here for me? The elf looks like a tracker, and that one... he feels like a reject from the Eye. But no, a tracker would've found me sooner. I'll just have to keep my eyes open..."
With his best smile, he tips his large-brimmed hat towards the newly arrived, and say out loud,
"Good evening to both of you. I hope that the trip was not unbearable? I am pleased that we will have the might of the Flame in this mission. My name is Caleun, Caleun Tranil, and I myself am on leave of absence from the my job in the capital, seeking to learn of different ways of life of the peoples of the Principality. But where are my manners? Please, join us in our enjoyment the wonderful harvest products of Re-Marr. This simple fruits are amazingly tasty"

So as to prove the point, Caleun takes one of the hazel nuts before turning to their host,
"If you indeed want us to leave early in the morning, I do agree that it will be best to hear what your proposition is. I must say I am rather impressed with the broad espectrum of abilities that you have congregated here tonight, and it does make me wonder what could Re-Marr need that requires such."

Actions: From now till the end of the conversation, Caleun will be Sensing Motive (http://www.d20srd.org/srd/skills/senseMotive.htm) (+4). DM, I assume you'll PM me with anything Caluen picks up.

[DaTedinator]

Kojiro sat idly stroking Kha, his familiar spirit in the form of a raven, while feeding her various morsels. He himself ate sparsely, but Kha was eating like a queen. He longed to release some sarcastic comment, "Well if you have the might of the Flame, why do you need lowly servants such as us?" But he knew better than to antagonize the Flame. Instead of sarcasm, he pushed his curiousity to the forefront of his tongue.

"I have to place my vote towards hearing of the task at hand. I like time to brood."

[Duke of URL]

Trevor

"Not unbearable? Well, unless you count half of the team" the stupid half "killed by bandits on the way, then no, it was quite pleasant." His mode shifts from sarcasm to thoughtfulness. "It was a bit odd, though... they had no trouble letting us move south to here, but when we had tried to turn back to Fort Silvanos, they found ways to check us and drive us down here..."

[Beschoren]

Tasntafaal, elven scout

Tasntafaal replyes with a dry and critical tone
"The flame is not all that allmighty, or else two of our squad would't be dead by penny robbers."
now the tone changes, more smoth and friendly
"yet you all seem far more experienced. i'm glad to have such folks at my side" at my back, actually, since I'll be ahead scouting most of the time. I and dearly hope that this time no one backstabs me for money.
He end his thoughts, takes a look around, and re-focus on the potato, unsuccessfully tring to remove the excess salt.

Action: just to be sure, I want to take a spot check (quiet and non obvious or offending) to see if anyone overhears our conversation (+10 bonus).

[MorkaisChosen]

"Experience? Experience is what I seek here. Training and knowledge, yes, but not experience."

An ironic half-smile, half-snarl crosses Rodion's face.

Unless you count my childhood, he thinks...

[Miraqariftsky]

"Ah, and so are we all shaped, forged by the fires of experience in the crucible of that is life..." Soren says, smiling sadly. "Yet sometimes, we also grieve to ourselves, regretting that experience that we so dearly sought..."

Holding high a piece of rare meat, he contemplates the bloody strip of beef. His lips moving in words of silent prayer, the irises of his eyes fading to the hue of white-hot steel, the strip of meat slowly smokes and sizzles.

Cutting a slice of the now golden-roasted meat for himself, he forks the rest over to Rodion. "I came down from the highlands to bring the word of Pu'ur here, there, abroad on this wide earth... I seek justice for the oppressed and mercy for the maligned. Virtued vengeance also, I seek... If we come across any daemons, though... 'tis the purification of fire and sword that they shall receive for what they did to my hometown"

"You speak of experience, my good sir..." begins the warrior priest. "What do you seek? Do your feet follow the road and wherever it leads or do you have a goal in mind? Do you wander the world a-purpose, or are your footfalls lost in the dust and ashes of this world?"

Bowing his head and smiling somewhat apologetically, "But of course, please forgive me if I probe and poke too much. Sometimes I do tend to get carried away... Ah... and how churlish of me... I have heard some call you 'Rodion', correct? I am Soren Solaren, formerly of Firefell"

[Beschoren]

Tasntafaal, elven scout


"You speak of experience, my good sir..." begins the warrior priest. "What do you seek? Do your feet follow the road and wherever it leads or do you have a goal in mind? Do you wander the world a-purpose, or are your footfalls lost in the dust and ashes of this world?"

Those words are quite heavy to Tanstafaal, and he acts as if he had much to say (for a second) but then keeps it for himself.... it's obvious that a lot is passing through his head now, too much for him to formulate a reply.... he chews hastly now, and starts to shift in the chair, as if trying to get closer to to table and then getting away from it.

[Glyphic]

Gerald settles back into his chair, letting the conversation meander he gives a polite, yet coy smile at those who inquired about the purpose of tonight. His bowl sits empty in front of him, letting you all have choice picks.

"If you would please serve my wife, I would be much obliged. She should be joining us any minute now... And she eats little more than a good berry." He says to no one in particular.

Tasntfall II is the first to see her, a wisp-thin human on the balcony the entry hallway. When she reaches the top of the stairs, she pauses, for a flickering second. A breathy whisper flows from her lips before she descends the curled, iron stairs. She seems to float as she steps, independent of the guard rail. She is wearing a blue hued, textile gown. Curls of brown hair fall to her shoulders. Soundless steps take her beside the low end of the table, where she pauses without sitting.

Gerald stretches his hand out, "I would like you all to meet the gem of Re-marr.; my wife, Adalaide." He then raps his knuckles on the table, "I will abide the wishes to explain your duties. You do seem, on the most part an eager bushel. It pertains to my duties as sheriff, but more to the souls of those who live here.. I speak of the Troglodytes, but more importantly, of the Flame; and those of less pleasant company than those at our table." He takes time to smile at both Corporal Nightshade, and Tasntfall, before addressing everyone again, "The hopes of Re-marr lay on a peaceful resolution, and deferment of their tribe. Simply moving south endangers the both of us; Re-marr garrisoned, or even hosting Agents of the Flame would mean our hamlet would be no more than the ashes of a fire. Burnt and lifeless after the Flame eradicates whatever they see fit. Be it Troglodyte or.."

Gerald takes a quite moment to flex his fingers, letting his sentence trail off into the air, "You've all been selected, for diversity, in action and thought. My deepest held dreams rest on peaceful resolution, but.. You have my trust to act as you deem fit."

Tasntfall, and anyone else able to make a 22 spot, will notice she's slightly insubstantial and faded. When you look directly at her, you can see portions of the wall behind her. The Listen DC to understand what she whispered is 26 (and you've got to have the correct language)

[MorkaisChosen]

[roll0] Spot
[roll1] Listen

Again, the savagely ironic half-smile. "I agree, peaceful solutions are best. When I am allowed to reach one."

Realising his mistake, he adds, "My treatment here has been an exception- I speak of others, not you."

[Duke of URL]

Trevor

Trevor greets Adalaide warmly, though, just in case Gerald knows his reputation, not too warmly.

"For my part, you have no concerns over the Flame establishing a permanent presence here. My attachment to the group is -- hopefully -- temporary, and seeking a resolution to the situation here is my best option for hastening the end of such attachment.

"Peaceful solutions may be preferable, but it also seems that you've assembled a not insignificant force here as well. Negotiating from a position of strength is a good thing, of course, but I have the feeling there's going to be more to this than a simple bargaining."


I'm not even going to bother with the spot/listen checks, as Trevor as a +0 modifier in each.

Just a note/reminder: I'll be AFK starting a few hours from now until probably the 27th.

[Beschoren]

Tanstafaal, elven scout

Short after the coporal's awnser, Tanstafaal adds in a dry tone "The flame tends to complicate things sometimes, so let's try to solve it ourselves"(*sight*)"I don't like bringing such a matter at the table, but now it's important. Who is our foe, exactly? a shattered nomad clan? How many they are? Where are they stationed? Who are their leaders? how do we get to them? How they atack, since when, and why they didn't torch down Re-marr already? I'd like a peacefull resolution too..."
...OK, I'm lieing. No invasor should recive such a mercy, they must be punished or driven to far away whitout anyting they have now...
"... But I find it difficult to just walk in their camp and ask for them to leave, even with a solid taskforce. Anyone knows of troglidite behaviour and tatics?

Realizing he just asked to many harsh questions, Tasntafaal coils back, clears his troath and silently whispers "..sorry..", as if didn't want want people to hear that, but sightly embarassed of having called so much attention.

Damm. Too bad I don't make the decisions here. I will have to act as we all decide.

Bluff check necessary? [roll0]

OOC: No, I won't go on a blood frenzy and screw the party's plan. I'ts jsut that Tasntaffal trusts more on steel than words

[Grey_Wolf_c]

Tanstafaal, elven scout

Short after the coporal's awnser, Tanstafaal adds in a dry tone "The flame tends to complicate things sometimes, so let's try to solve it ourselves"(*sight*)"I don't like bringing such a matter at the table, but now it's important. Who is our foe, exactly? a shattered nomad clan? How many they are? Where are they stationed? Who are their leaders? how do we get to them? How they atack, since when, and why they didn't torch down Re-marr already? I'd like a peacefull resolution too..."
...OK, I'm lieing. No invasor should recive such a mercy, they must be punished or driven to far away whitout anyting they have now...
"... But I find it difficult to just walk in their camp and ask for them to leave, even with a solid taskforce. Anyone knows of troglidite behaviour and tatics?

Realizing he just asked to many harsh questions, Tasntafaal coils back, clears his troath and silently whispers "..sorry..", as if didn't want want people to hear that, but sightly embarassed of having called so much attention.

Caleun Tranil (http://www.thetangledweb.net/forums/profiler/view_char.php?cid=12375)

"If I may interrupt your impassioned speech for a second, sir," says Caleun with a polite nod, "I can confidently say that Mr. Gerald is likely to not have answers to all those questions, or I would not be here sharing this meal. You see, I am sort of suited to the gathering of information. I do agree that we need answers to all those questions, though, and our first path to tread would be towards the answers. If troglodytes are indeed a problem, and the town would like to reach an agreement with them, we will need to know what the troglodytes want that we can provide in exchange for acquiescing to our petitions. But unless I am off my mark, we will have to gather the answers ourselves."

Turning to Gerald, he adds, "What I would like to know is the history of this situation. How long have the troglodytes been in or near Re-Marr? Have there been any incidents? Has any contact been established already: trade, diplomatic, fights...? And, in a far more practical approach, what language do they usually employ when talking amongst themselves, and when talking to outsiders? Of course, if you do know the answers to Mr. Tanstafaal's questions, I'm eager to hear them too"

Edit: (Based on rolls in next post)
While he maintained a carefully friendly expression in his face, Caleun thought to himself, So the elf would rather butcher the whole of them... interesting approach, given the circumstances. Clearly, someone to watch for. I really hope they are not after me

[Grey_Wolf_c]

Caleun Tranil (http://www.thetangledweb.net/forums/profiler/view_char.php?cid=12375) Actions:

Sorry for the double post, forgot the rolls (also allows me to edit the fluff without screwing the rolls)

Sense Motive: Gerald [roll0]
Sense Motive: Tanstafaal [roll1]

Glyphic, by the way, I didn't roll these before because I will be able to tell if I roll badly, so I was expecting you'd want to roll them in secret (but this works too).

[Tyriq]

Jyo-lan (www.coyotecode.net/profiler/view.php?id=4046)

"Are troglodytes superstitious? Maybe we can trick them into thinking this area is haunted, and then they might be scared away. We could save a lot of bloodshed that way, and it would also guarantee that they won't come back looking for revenge..."


Cue Scooby Doo music. Zoinks. Rolling to see if Jyo-lan has any useful information about this topic:

For information about troglodytes in general:
Knowledge: Nature [roll0]

For information about troglodyte beliefs and possible ghosts:
Knowledge: Religion [roll1]

[Miraqariftsky]

Gah! I missed my cue! Ohcrappocrappocrappo... the Director's going to be pissed! Maaaaan!

psst. You're not on a stageplay.

I'm not? Whew!

but you still missed your cue! Get on there, dagnabbit!


Soren Solaren, Paladin of Pu'ur

Looking at Rodion's reaction to his words, the highlander's black brows crease into a knot of worry. Ah, what a burden, inspiration is, sometimes... And yet to purify steel, it must pass through the fire... so it is with the soul... So be it.

"Indeed" Soren says as he lifts his face from steepled fingers. "Please... do so enlighten us of the mysteries of these 'troglodytes', sir Gerald"

Stabbing a knife into a hunk of barley bread, he replies to Jyo-lan's comment, "Well... such subterfuge is good in the proper respect, but if ye ask me, I'd prefer straightforward diplomacy any day"

[Glyphic]

Kha the Raven squawks with impatience as more food is passed around the table. She seems to take no note of Adalaide's presence, but does seem to find a bowl of raisins particularly interesting. Gerald gives a mild frown toward the low end of the table, and then scrunches his eyebrows as he speaks, "The Troglodytes were spotted near three weeks ago. They're making use of a natural rock cave- It is fairly shallow in depth, and a day and a half hike to the north. With a determined step you can arrive in little under a day. At first, we only received reports from a few agents of the Flame. It's the most excitement they've scene here in years. Gradually they've been getting more daring. They still only come during the night..."

With a sigh, Gerald deflates, "Our dogs are our life thread. They're indistinguishable in the night, and don't carry torches. As far as they come, the ones we've found have been smaller than the normal. We've lost two good dogs to their spears. A pack of our dogs evened the score before the Militia could control them. The Troglodytes have been found in silos, and barns. They mostly come for foodstuffs, and live stock. They do spook easily- You'll tell if they've been around by their musk. As for what they speak, I am unsure. We've recognized a few dwarven letters in messages they leave to each other, or branded into their flesh. I do doubt they speak it, however. A few.. Superstitious members swear up and down, that they speak the tongue of Demons.”

"What else I know is left to discrepancies. The Flame reported over one hundred of them- which would be more than enough to threaten our town. Their official reports are often falsified, I've found. They are indeed nomadic, but have a central gathering point, for their festivals. I can mark its general location, if you would so wish."

He stands up, and a fleeting smile washes over his face as he heads to the hall, "I left what we recovered from those our dogs killed, in the study. I will bring it out for all of you. Excuse me for a few moments, please.."

Adalaide remains standing by her chair, her hands folded in front of her. A minute shake of her head sends her curls bouncing, but she otherwise takes no movement.


Jyo-lan: expect a PM about what you learned from your Knowledges, soon.. It has been sent.
Kijiro, I hope you don't mind that I rolled a spellcraft and spot/listen for your raven. There's something arcane about Adalaide, but you cannot pinpoint the effect.

[DaTedinator]

Kojiro was most intrigued by Kha's behavior; she wasn't normally one to ignore details about situations, much less ignore people. In fact, he often relied on her to watch his back in social situations, on their emotional link to warn him when danger was approaching.

This same link was enough to confirm that Kha indeed hadn't noticed Adalaide. Kojiro began taken more careful note of the woman, trying to decipher what magic it was that would cause this.1 He decided to not alert Kha to her presence yet, in case this would alert her; truly, he was worried about his own interest in her and if it was perceived by the others. Oh well, if it was, he could simply excuse it as having lustful thoughts or something, worst case scenario. However, best to be unnoticed; he did his best to hide his interest.2

A small pang in the back of his mind. Kha was aware he was up to something. Curse his reliance on her guidance! He'd subconsciously alerted her to his need for guidance. Thankfully she didn't know, or try to find out what it was.

A simple question to her, then. The Devil's way of subtlety, or the Demon's of bluntness? Subtlety can be discovered and viewed as conspiracy; bluntness can ruin chances of learning. Because of course, one way to seek knowledge as to the magic Adalaide wielded, was to ask, and bank on the hopes that she didn't hold it secret.

He spoke to better conceal his thoughts. "Well, if they do indeed speak fiendish tongues, one could assume they have further dealings with the Abyss. Just how much dealings they have - if they do indeed speak Abyssal - would be important information to uncover."


1Spellcraft check: [roll0]

2Bluff check: [roll1]


Also, I hope I didn't take too many liberties as to Kha and Adalaide; that seemed to be what you were going for, so I went with it. If it's not, I can change things or whatnot. And for the record, feel free to roll checks for Kha, I don't mind at all!

[MorkaisChosen]

"I am not likely to be much use as a negotiator," Rodion tells them, adding- in an attempt at a joke- "As you may have noticed. I would prefer such a solution, and I hope my talents will not be needed- of course, we may be able to help the troglodytes somehow."

A pause.

"If they are taking the town's food, that suggests they cannot get their own- perhaps you could hire them as guards for the town with a payment of food.

Another possibility is that there is something they are afraid of that means they do not hunt, so we may be able to do something for them in that way and get them off your backs."

Another side to the half-orc seems to be coming out now- his blunt exterior, almost stereotypical of his race, hides a tendency to deep thought about the situation at hand.

[Grey_Wolf_c]

Caleun Tranil (http://www.thetangledweb.net/forums/profiler/view_char.php?cid=12375)

Caleun's factions flicker for the briefest moment when he notices Kojiro's interest in Adalaide. Caleun had had her eye on her since he had arrived at the village, but the fact that Gerald hardly ever left her out of his sight and that Caleun was supposed to be laying low had stopped him from doing something about her yet. However, there seemed to be something different on how Koiro had looked at her. Caleun could not figure it out, but made a mental note to talk to Kojiro later.

Listening to Rodion, speak, Caleun is somewhat surprised. The gruff words before the host had been hiding more than just a killing machine. There was something interesting under the heavy set brow, it seemed. "Those are actually excellent ideas," answered Caleun, "They may not be exactly what they want, but it certainly feels possibe. However, so long as we remain here, there will be no more than educated guesses."

Caleun takes a drink from the cup in front of him, and continues, "Now, I too have heard the rumours about the trogs talking demonic, but take into account that these are simple people - anything they do not understand is either from the Gods or demonic - no middle ground. Years of goverment propaganda have not helped either. Trogs are reptilian, and are usually associated to orcs and goblinoids, so my guess is that their language is either reptilian in nature, or a dialect of orcish. Unfortunately, I do not speak orcish, so I cannot tell for certain, but I have heard that orcs borrowed their alphabet from dwarves - this may be a clue, or maybe other languages did too."

After pausing for breath, Caleun says, "Whatever their language, I'm certain that at least some will speak common - likely those in authority, or at least someone close to them. I suggest that we attempt to find one of these people in authority, and at least attempt to hear what their reasoning for these attacks is. Once we know why they are doing them, we will be able to formulate an appropiate course of action. If their Gods have commaneded them to eliminate all humans, we will have a fight in our hands. If they're just looking for a place to stay wth enough food, we may be able to reach an agreement."

"I will gladly be part of the group that attempts to make peaceful contact, and those of you that are much better suited for violence than words should stay close, in case we need to be rescued. Until we meet with the trogs we should travel together - hopefully a show of strength will make them more amenable to talking instead of attacking. However, understand that trogs are mimetic in nature - they are difficult to see, particularly when they stand still. Oh, and they stink; so much so it is hard to fight since your eyes water and you are forced to take shallow breaths. So we could be walking directly to a trap, and one where we may have trouble escaping from. Knowing all this, who would like to come? Or does someone feel there is a better path we could follow?"

[Beschoren]

Tasntafaal, elven scout

"ok, hold on a minute - let's organize our ideads so far." Tasntafaal interrupts, taking his bowl away and leaving space for his hands to gesticulate. He speaks calmly and look to all present people, but don't giving much attention to Adalaide

"Peacefull resolution is an order, using violence as the last resort. However It may be necessary to show off some firepower before they respect us enough to negotiate - they're a hundred, afterall: a 14 to 1 odd is sure win to their eyes, unless we show otherwise. We could just subdue them in the first encounters, to show me mean no harm, unless they press us"

"spooking them is a valid. If they belive it was their idea to leave this place, there would be no reason to return for vengance or something of the like. But I have no idea on how to trick them this way. Also, it could be a cumulative helper to the situation - they may not leave becouse the area is haunted, there is a proposal to move to somewhere else on OR the village is fighting back. but they will be MORE prone to leave if the area is haunted, there is a proposal to move on to somewhere else AND the village is fighting back."

"The dogs seem quite helpfull indead - specialy becouse troglodites stink. maybe we could check on them? if they could fight evenly for a while, we may have an idead of the enemy's power by examining the dogs"

"They use spears. We need to be ready to that. Don't charge in combat. If the situation goes far too grim, could we raise undead to fight them? they're resistent to such wepons. I wouldn't like that, mess with the souls of the dead and stuff is pure evil, but we may have to consider it as a last battle resort."

"If they speak demonic thongues, there will be indeed more dirt behind this... but folk may very well miss abysall for gnome, not only for linguistic ignorance, but to show up to the others - like Changes voice to a silly tone, and gesticualtes anoyed "look! I've meet a demoniac lizzard! And he run away from me!". Were the letters trasnlated? if not, let me look at them, I'm familar to dwarven letters and alphabet" ...atached to arrows and "saying run for your lifes, the humans have arrived"...

"hiring them for food? a 100 lizard tribe? leave them with spears at the border of the village? forever? They would have the potential to slaughter everyone in few minutes if they so wish... They come for food, so we could stock it all in one very protected place at night, hide it, or burn it all, as a last in negotiation - then there would be no reason for them to stay here. We could burn some of it and hide the rest to trick them. If they can't hunt, we may use this, but we will have to ghater more information about it."

Tanstafaal shoots out dramatic proposals with naturality, as if he already had passed by such trials. He leans back and expects some reply.

OCC: sorry for the long text, too many thing to talk about

[Miraqariftsky]

Soren Solaren, Paladin of Pu'ur

"I am fain to--- and, I daresay... adept--- at both parley and fighting" Soren says as he wipes his trencher down with a chunk of bread. "I'll go with ye as spark, blaze and ember"

As he is chugging down some more goat's milk, he suddenly sputters and chokes as the talk around the table drifts to the possibility of troglodytes having daemonic connections and speaking the black tongues of the Abyss. With milk trickling down his beard, he slams the pewter cup down with so much force that he winces, fearing it might break. As his hand leaves the table, Soren's face flushes all the more, this time with shame as well as long-repressed rage.

Grabbing a nearby napkin, he hurriedly wipes himself down and, gripping the table's edge with a trembling hand, he leans forward. His right hand unconsciously drifts to the warhammer strapped to his belt but he checks himself at the last moment, sighs and merely crackles his fists then sits back once more.

"I tell ye true" he says with a sad smile. "If yon 'troglodytes' have dealings with daemons or are shadowspawn or even speak their vile tongue, it WILL take far more than a mere prayer to hold me back from smiting away with fire and sword..."

And then his face grows hard. In the flickering firelight of that hall, there suddenly seem to grow deep the shadows of wrinkled lines of ravensfeet on his eyes and serpentstongues on his cheeks that by rights no man of his age should have. In his black eyes there smoulder the embers of righteous rage. Soren winces as he relives the horror of that night... the grasping tentacles... the unpierceable darkness... the rending claws... the nigh-impenetrable hides... the screaming... the blood... the ashes...

His voice slipping into the accent that he'd been raised with, he near-growls out, "Themma blasted daemons ripped mah hoomtonne aparrt, levvaktus ashes, slew me frenks an'…” And then he pauses and thrusts his face forward into the light, his left hand tracing the path of a ghastly scar slashing down from his left temple, across his cheek to his chin. "...torra meyob. Firefell near burnt ta the groond then, cahnsoomed be theer hellfires an' I near died, d'ye ken... But..."

And then he winces and bows. “May their memories burn ever brightly. Our faith preserved us and we have since risen from the ashes... but we will never forget those who suffered and died that night. Ah, but please forgive me, good fellows, for losing my calm there…”

Turning to Caleun, Soren shrugs and says, “I speak not the tongues of orc nor goblin but I do speak the Dwarven tongue. Mayhap I can still help yonder…”

"Again I say to ye all" says the Solaren scion. "I shall see this through, by spark and blaze and ember. I will do all in my power to purify this problem, avenge any wrongs and see that harmony returns to this troubled land. Whatsay ye?"

[Grey_Wolf_c]

Caleun Tranil (http://www.thetangledweb.net/forums/profiler/view_char.php?cid=12375)

Caleun was saddened at Soren's description of the attack on his village, giving him a fresh view on this strange preacher. After taking in his words, Caleun answered, "Thank you for your words, father Solaren. I am not of your congregation, but I will be glad to have you by my side if we do indeed attempt parley. Already I have a few ideas of how to approach the situation. I think that the group that does so will likely be required to leave their weapons behind, unless they do not seem to be dangerous, so a careful balance of members should be had: those able to fight without weapons, or those that look of little danger. Were we to hide your armour under your priestly robes - the ones I've seen you wear at sunrise - we might pass you as a simple holy man, rather than a holy warrior. As for me... well, lets just say I have a couple of tricks in my hat. Then again, as you can see, I am hardly armed"

Then, turning towards the elf scout, he continues, "Sir, while I do understand your misgivings, I must say that if we start a parley attempt by attacking them, we may loose the chance of a peaceful solution altogether. I have little doubt that when we approach their camp we will be challenged, if not by a patrol, then by their advanced guards. Making an example of them would probably be strength demonstration enough for your purposes without making us the hostile group. I'd recommend leaving one or two alive, that they can take the news back to our camp - if we cannot communicate with them, we can always write a note in both common and dwarven, with the information"

Then, reflexing on what else had been said, he continues, "Beyond that, I must caution against premature conclusions. We do not know if they will be amenable to leaving, or if an arrangement can be reached. I would not discount any possibility until I have met them and can reach my own conclusions. This city already has a big number of non-humans; the troglodytes may just be the next to peacefully cohabit."

And then, suddenly remembering, "Oh, by the way, I wouldn't worry too much about their spears. I had a look at the two dead trogs, and at their weapons. Their spears are meant for throwing. In close quarters, they rather tear your limbs off with their claws - one of the dead dogs, Snout, was actually bitten too. I do like the idea of using the dogs, although I hesitate to rob this town of their only effective protection against further incursions. I'd keep that idea in reserve, until we need to make a full attack - and if things get to that point, I truly fear for us all, since we will be badly outnumbered."

[MorkaisChosen]

Rodion

Rodion's deep eyes gaze at the Paladin with a mixture of bitterness and a touch of sympathy.

His village destroyed? I never had one to call my own, he thinks, but cannot fail to be moved by hearing another had a similar- in a way- experience to his own, of rootlessness. Their methods of dealing with it, too, are similar- both have thrown themselves into martial studies- for a different cause, certainly, but a strong friendship could form...

"I could go with the negotiating group- I have this sword," he says, indicating the rather less than diminutive Elven greatsword he left by the door as he entered- that much politeness, at least, his mentor taught him- and continues, "but I can fight without if need be."

[Miraqariftsky]

Soren Solaren, Paladin of Pu'ur

"Indeed, my good fellows" Soren answers both Caleun and Tasntafaal. "Such is the truth that we all must face... this honest hypocrisy of which we can never be free. Aye, 'tis best to be prepared all 'round, be their reaction fair or foul. We'll match speech with speech and steel with steel"

"Ill it behooves my heart to deceive" he says to Caleun. "If the robes I'll wear, then I'll go armed with naught but blood and prayer. Be that as it may, my desire to bring peace to this shattered land wavers not, nor does my valour. If parley goes awry--- Flame forbid--- I'd gladly face the most fearsome charge armed with my faithful dagger"

He then shrugs and says to Rodion, "Personally though, I'd prefer to follow the wise words of yon swordsworn sage and match words with words and blades with blades... I didn't travel this far south by being meek and defenseless, d'ye ken. Neither did he, so's my wager."

"Nevertheless" says he. "...we all agree that bringing peace to this land and harmony to its peoples is far better a solution that fire and sword, blood and ashes, aye?"

[MorkaisChosen]

"Sword with sword is... appropriate. Matching like with like would be a far better world order than we have at the moment..."

[Miraqariftsky]

Soren Solaren, Paladin of Pu'ur

Soren sighs and smiles sadly. "Really now? If the weather were cold, would you jump into a wintry spring? If your house were burning, would you throw more torches on it?"

Stroking his red-black moustache, the scion of the Solaren honour-name muses then sighs, "We do as we must. We are blest if we do more than our mere duty to life and limb"

[MorkaisChosen]

Rodion glowers. "You know what I mean- why twist my words around?"

He continues, "If a horde of savages-" at this point that ironic half-snarl splits his face again- "were to attack, would you not take up your weapon and go out to fight?"

[Grey_Wolf_c]

Rodion
"I could go with the negotiating group- I have this sword," he says, indicating the rather less than diminutive Elven greatsword he left by the door as he entered- that much politeness, at least, his mentor taught him- and continues, "but I can fight without if need be."

Caleun Tranil (http://www.thetangledweb.net/forums/profiler/view_char.php?cid=12375)

Caleun looks admirably at the ripling muscles and the aura of ability surrounding the half-orc, and answers, "I am sure you could. Most certainly. But I feel that you would be sending the wrong message. If we include our most impressive fighters in the parley team, we may find trouble rather than attentive ears. Besides, I will feel much safer if I can trust you to remain behind with your sword, and the other weapons they take from us and, if we truly need them, you can run to us with them in tow." Turning to the elven scout, he adds, "And I would say something similar to you, sir. I have heard of the scout corps of the Flame, and I know you're good at watching unseen, fast, and good at shooting while moving. I would feel much safer if I knew you had my back, ready to join the fight if indeed a fight were waiting for us"


Soren Solaren, Paladin of Pu'ur
"Ill it behooves my heart to deceive" he says to Caleun. "If the robes I'll wear, then I'll go armed with naught but blood and prayer. Be that as it may, my desire to bring peace to this shattered land wavers not, nor does my valour. If parley goes awry--- Flame forbid--- I'd gladly face the most fearsome charge armed with my faithful dagger"

Listening to the words of Soren, Caleu attempts to explain, "I know some would feel it is deceiving, and when it was explained to me it was under the guise of means to an end - if the end is just, the means are unimportant, they said. I never believed that to be so, though. No, my view is this: a diplomat is not himself, but a representant. Were we to go to the troglodyte chief, it would not be as Caleun and Soren, but as a representation of Re-Marr itself. What is the appropiate representation of Re-Marr? That is for each of us to decide. You would represent its faith, and as such your clothing should reflect that. I would attempt to represent the wisdom of its leaders. Furthermore, one must strive to make any parley confortable for the oponent; people not in fear are more likely to listen and be rational, for fear is the base of irrationality and aggression. Put their minds at ease that you intend no harm, and they will listen to your words and not your weapons." Caleun paused for a moment, giving this time to be mulled over by the paladin.

"Which is not to say that I am not, at the same time, practical. I desire a peaceful solution, I always do, but not everyone feels the way I do. Sometimes what the parties expect, what they believe they deserve, is sometimes too much, or they harbour evil intentions, or simply misguided. I have known such cases personally, and had I not been careful, I would not be here talking to you today. In the end, it is for you to decide, but be aware that I will indeed engage in what you may call deceive if we end up going forward with the parley, because at the end of the day, I believe it will be beneficial for the situation to do so."

[Grey_Wolf_c]

Rodion glowers. "You know what I mean- why twist my words around?"

He continues, "If a horde of savages-" at this point that ironic half-snarl splits his face again- "were to attack, would you not take up your weapon and go out to fight?"

Caleun Tranil (http://www.thetangledweb.net/forums/profiler/view_char.php?cid=12375)

Opening his hands towards Rodion, Caleun tries to defuse the situation, saying with his soft voice, "Friend Rodion, please relax. Father Solaren did not mean to twist your words, only to point out that there is no single rule that always applies. Even his own examples are far from absolutes, as is yours. As for your question, you could say that "savages" are indeed attacking Re-Marr, and yet here we are, enjoying an excellent meal with our hands far from our swords. Yes, if they were, at this time, charging headfirst towards the village, Father Solaren would indeed be the first to take his weapon and fight, and I know this for a fact for I have seen him do so in the weeks I have spent here. But life, reality and the world is hardly ever clear cut, as I am painfully aware and I am sure you are too"

Shaking his head sadly, Caleun continues, "As for his examples, I would say it also depends on the circunstance. In the coldest weather, one can take refuge under water, for no matter how cold the air, water never gets colder - it becomes ice, instead. It is a desperate situation, but some have done so and survived. And I don't know of any houses saved by fire, but I do know that forests on fire are contained by carefully burning sections of the wood, so the wildfire has nowhere to advance. Behind his words, I hear 'sometimes, and sometimes not'. I can only hope that the spears of the troglodytes need not be faced with spears of our own, in this case"

OOC: Please don't make me roll for diplomacy :smallwink:

[MorkaisChosen]

Rodion nods brusquely and replies, "I am sorry, Soren. I do not wish to be so aggressive with you." The half-orc obviously wants to say more, but simply can't find the words to express himself, leaving it to a look half embarrassed but half proud.

After a pause, he says to Caleun, "Your strategy seems sound, Caleun. I have made less study of that than I should- individual swordplay can only go so far, and maybe I missed that in my work. I will stay with the support."

[Beschoren]

Tasntafaal

he is quite silent on the last few minutes...I wonder where our host is. he was to bring more information.... As the talk go over discussing methaphores and definition of a diplomats and diplomacy, he goes a little inpacient. "may we focus on the matter at hand? Not that I dislike your past histories or words of wisdom, but we will have time for that later." pause, looking at the others and them resumes, more calmly: "Ok, I agree being in the back up team, but there is a problem - how could the back team fallow up ready for action if the talk team goes far too deep into the lizard camp? what if you need our help inside the chief's hut or something? And we do need a signal for comunication. I've already used arrows that mimic some birds song as they fly, but I have none of those nor know how to make them"

speaks relaxed again now - "And I don't mean to butcher them all, I just doubt we won't have do drop blood out there, and I'm not sure they will leave for good just by an agreement. but we have our orders."

[Glyphic]

The entire discussion washes over Adalaide, as she stands with near perfect posture by her chair. She exhibits doll-like emotion while Soren tempers his fear-driven outburst, nor does she offer any suggestion or recognition of the proposed ideas.

Gerald's foot-falls are heard, echoing down the main hall before he arrives, holding three separate bone trinkets. A discontented frown lingers on his face as he enters the room. He then takes long strides to his wife's side, and attends to her; Pulling out her chair and serving her a dainty portion, as well as murmuring something private to her ear. He ends by giving her temple a measured, short kiss.

As he walks back to his own chair, he sets out the three trinkets, letting you get a closer look...

The first is a simple bracelet, or perhaps anklet. Fragile bone beads hang from a strand of animal sinew. Each are marked with a single glyph, roughly done.

The second is a pair of worn arm guards. They too attach by animal sinew loops. They look combat ready.

The third item is very much unlike the rest, an ornate set of shoulder guards. The bone they are crafted from is black-tinted, with vein-like red streaks. First glance deducts they they're flimsy and decorative. Etchings meander about the piece, and have been filled with a very robust green dye. the effect is then a very precise series of vines creeping about, coiling over and over. Before Gerald set's this piece on the table, he drops it directly on the floor, where it lands with a loud -CLACK-!

As he picks up the shoulder guards and sets them on the table, he intones, "The first two pieces are quite typical of Troglodytes, as far as I am to believe.. but it is the third piece that worries me. I have shown these to few citizens as a result.. but the black bone there, we believe is Basilisk bone.. This means that this tribe once had very adept warriors, and indeed, time to dedicate to such crafts. It is indeed.. aged." Gerald treads back his chair, and gives you all a lingering smile, "You are welcome to them, if you find use for them. I did over hear some musings from the hall; and I am glad to have placed trust in you. when you do leave, I hope fortune travels with you, and the earth is kind to your boots."


Kijiro, Jyo-lan, and Rodion; You all recognize the glyphs on the bracelet to be in the language of Giants.
If anyone would like to fast forward to morning, let me know in the OOC thread.

[Tyriq]

Jyo-lan (www.coyotecode.net/profiler/view.php?id=4046)

"Soren... If you are to represent the devout among us to the troglodytes, you may wish to remember that their beliefs are somewhat shamanistic, and they worship the spirits of the earth and the water. They may not relate easily to the ideas of a god or righteousness, because their spiritual ideas are more closely tied to nature."

Jyo-lan notices the bones that have been laid across the table.

"These are very meaningful trinkets, connected deeply with troglodyte beliefs. To bestow a shoulder guard like that as a gift is a sign of utmost respect, and might be an opening point for diplomatic relations... On the other hand, the fact that we have one of those at all is a sign that we've killed one of their warriors. Either way, I'm happy to stay in the reserve group, because I am not much good at physical fighting, armed or not. If things do not go well, I can tend to the wounded."

He sits back in his chair and furrows deeper into his robes, happy to have avoided the possibility of physical confrontation for the time being.

[MorkaisChosen]

Rodion answers, "But if those are so important, they probably know we have them- they must know, surely, that we have slain some of theirs. It woul serve to show our goodwill, and that we understand their culture, to return those to them."

He peers at the artifacts for a moment, and adds, "I believe those runes are in Giantish- I cannot read them, but perhaps someone else can?"

[Grey_Wolf_c]

Jyo-lan (www.coyotecode.net/profiler/view.php?id=4046)

"These are very meaningful trinkets, connected deeply with troglodyte beliefs. To bestow a shoulder guard like that as a gift is a sign of utmost respect, and might be an opening point for diplomatic relations... On the other hand, the fact that we have one of those at all is a sign that we've killed one of their warriors.

Caleun Tranil (http://www.thetangledweb.net/forums/profiler/view_char.php?cid=12375)

Caleun listens closely to the words of Jyo-lan, knowing full well his life may be riding on a good understanding of troglodyte mentality, and once he is finished, Caleun enquires, "You seem to be fairly knowledgable on Troglodyte culture. Do you think they are likely to be offended if we wear these as sign of our fighting ability? Or would they be offended if we returned it - maybe offended is not the right word here. More like unimpressed; like admitting weakness because we do not keep what we have wrested away from the vanquished? I am afraid I am used to dealing with humans rather than troglodytes, and I cannot even begin to guess at their motivations. Is there any way you can help me?"


Tasntafaal

"Ok, I agree being in the back up team, but there is a problem - how could the back team fallow up ready for action if the talk team goes far too deep into the lizard camp? what if you need our help inside the chief's hut or something? And we do need a signal for comunication. I've already used arrows that mimic some birds song as they fly, but I have none of those nor know how to make them"

Considering the words of Tanstafaal, Caleun answers, "I do not really know. If we are indeed taken deep into the camp, we will just have to hope that we need not fight our way out. That said, I would be surprised if you cannot find a way to keep an eye on us, at least partially. If it does come down to blood, there will be disturbances in the camp that you can watch and understand their meaning thereof. If you know of a way we can communicate, I will willingly take it, so long as it does not endanger the mission; otherwise, we will just have to trust our ability to reach agreement or, worse come to worst, our ability to survive while you lead the back-up team to rescue us."

[Miraqariftsky]

Soren Solaren, Paladin of Pu'ur

"Good points, you make, comrade Caleun and good sir... Jyo-lan, was it?" Soren says, acquiesing. "There is a time to smoulder and a time to blaze. Methinks on a time such as this, the evangelist's flame may smoulder... the safety of flesh takes precedence over the safety of the soul for what starving man can be talked out of stealing his neighbour's goat?"

Turning to Rodion he says, "My apologies if I may have spoken awry. Sometimes, I am wont to wax philosophical or poetic and..." here he shrugs and continues. "...I just can't hold back from pouring forth of the abundance of my heart"

Answering Tanstafaal, Soren says, "Well, regarding signals and communication if the meeting turns ill... you'll surely be hearing my battle-cries and seeing flashes of fire and steel..."

The scion of the Solaren bloodname then takes the spoils that the sheriff had shown them and he looks at them from every angle. With probing gaze of eyes and fingers and his experience as both as a scholar, smith and warrior, he examines them, trying to deduce their strengths and weaknesses and perhaps even their histories from the composition of the items and the weathering upon them.


*shrug* I dunno if any of these will rightly apply but here goes a try...

[roll0] Craft (Weapons and Metallic Tools/Objects)
[roll1] General Int check
[roll2] General Wis check

[MorkaisChosen]

Rodion nods again, his face blank, as if he doesn't know what expression to use. He replies, "I think you have a little more... refinement, I suppose, than I do. Simple speech for a simple person?"

He does not seem embarrassed, as such, but empty, as if incapable of truly showing his feelings.

[DaTedinator]

Kha's idea was solid.

"Let me see the items. I can see if they have any magical auras, and study any auras they do have."

Kojiro muttered under his breath, weaving his fingers lightly under the table in the patterns of spell that would allow him to view auras of magic, before taking the Troglodyte items, setting them all in front of himself so that he could see the auras of each. He didn't expect anything except for the shoulderguards to be enchanted, but as long as he had the spell up he figured he could check anyway.1

His irises turned a deep, blood red, and he sat straight-backed in his chair, eyes straight ahead, though he could still see the items.

However, the items were of secondary importance. Now that he had the spell active, he could also sense the magic auras of those in front of him... particularly Adalaide.

As he did this, Kha sat on his shoulder, much calmer and less fidgety than she had been before. He let her speak for him as he concentrated on the spell; her voice was an odd mixture of nasally, and sultry. "Kojiro will travel with the team going into the Troglodyte camp. I will go with the backup team and tell them if Kojiro is in danger."2


1Spellcraft checks to determine magic auras on anything (I'll roll for all of them just in case):

Bracelet: [roll0]
Arm guards: [roll1]
Shoulder guards: [roll2]
Adalaide: [roll3]

2Granted this is a bit of a stretch for the empathic link, but I justify it by saying that Kojiro could have been giving Kha clues as to his thoughts with emotional pings during the conversation. If it really is too much of a stretch, let me know and I won't repeat it.

[DaTedinator]

Ew. Given the dismal Spellcraft rolls, Kojiro's gonna to take 10 for anything with an aura he failed to identify, and if that still fails, he'll take 20.

[Miraqariftsky]

Soren Solaren, Paladin of Pu'ur

Replying to Rodion with a smile, Soren says, "Sometimes, the schemes of the wise are humbled by the truth of the simple. A single torch is oft favoured over a hundred candles."

One of Soren's brows rises as he observes the pair of sorcerer and familiar, Kojiro and Kha. Upon seeing his eyes flash crimson, Soren chokes on the crust of barley bread that he's eating. Sputtering, he sips at his cup to allay his gagging. What in blessed blazes was that?! Is he... tainted?

Though a part of him recoils at being forced into a bit of subterfuge, he still keeps in mind that the sorcerer in front of him has yet to do anything wrong... but his hatred of the spawn of the Abyss flares once more. Refilling his cup from a nearby pitcher of water, he then takes a long pull at it. He then closes his eyes of flesh behind the rim of the cup and opens the eyes of his soul, trying to see, by virtue of faith, whether the man known as Kojiro is all that he claims to be and is not... tainted...

Detect Evil on Kojiro. Sorry, bub... but it's IC for Soren...

Putting down the cup with a satisfied sigh--- forsooth, he did need something to wash down the dinner--- he then strokes his red-black goatee and says to the sorcerer, "Well... comrades Kojiro and Kha... could you please tell us what sort of magicks you wield that might come in handy when we get there? What spells have ye to aid our cause whether things turn well or ill?"

[Duke of URL]

Trevor

"Too many plans. Too many assumptions. We need information right now more than anything else. I suggest we start by exploring the areas known to be frequented by the creatures, and seeing what we can observe. The idea of simply walking right up into their main force seems crazily optimistic."

[Grey_Wolf_c]

Trevor

"Too many plans. Too many assumptions. We need information right now more than anything else. I suggest we start by exploring the areas known to be frequented by the creatures, and seeing what we can observe. The idea of simply walking right up into their main force seems crazily optimistic."

Caleun turns towards the corporal, and answers, conciliatory, "Optimistic? Hardly. I have little doubt we will be attacked - probably by surprise, particularly once we approach their camps. We need only let some live to carry a message back, telling them we want to talk. Either they agree, or they do not, and either way something will be learnt. If they want to talk, it is good to have a plan. If they do not want to, we have merely lost a few minutes tonight."

"A peaceful solution has been requested; I can think no other way, and I realise that it is dangerous - more the reason for going myself rather than sending another. If you can think of some alternative way, let us hear it, but what we need is information, and that requires walking right up into their main force," he said, and leaned back before continuing, "Crazy or not, we need to know if they are amenable to talk, their numbers, and their objectives. The best intelligence is gathered from within, and what better chance than when invited? If that fails, we will need to rely on other, far crazier and riskier method to gather the information we need. Unless you know a better way?"

[Beschoren]

Tasntafaal

"Going into field seems like a good idea. Anything magical on those itens?" Tasntafal take a quiet look to the gostly woman in the rrom. he won't do a thing right now, but would talk about that to his new friends - specially the casters

"oh yes, fire and steel and battlecryes look like a great signal to mee, haha" he sais in comic mood rasing his coup and smiling to Soren. "oh.." he adds "..until we get closer to their camp however, I'd like to be alone, ahead of the party, like 30 to 50 feet. I'ts better to watch for evil goat-eating gekko patrols if there is no one around making noise, majestly trampling dayses and reflecting the sunlight in a eagle-blinding shinny armor" he says in an ironic, comic mood.

[Glyphic]

Taking care of the dice rolled...

Soren: Your general idea is that the Bracer's are indeed serviceable. From their appearance and numerous nicks and scrapes, you can estimate they've seen some Troglodyte on Troglodyte fighting, or perhaps a few of the bite-shaped marks are from other reptiles. They're likely 20-30 years old, and made of fairly uncommon stone, mostly found in riverbeds. They wouldn't interfere with Arcane spell casting.

Kijiro does not detect as Evil.

Kijiro: The bracelet and shoulderguards do not detect as magical. The bracers detect as moderate conjuration magic. Ignoring your party's belongings, Adaliade is generating an 'overwhelming' amount of illusion magic. Taking 20 on Adalaide's aura would involve more interaction. Gerald has a few items on him that detect as magic, but are inconsequential.

You're not that far from getting speak with master for a familiar power. Hold back on it till then, please.

The evening wanes on in your host's company. Pleasantries continue about the table, and Gerald offers a sweet honey based desert while you further discuss plans and provisions. There's only so much to be prepared for, and the darkness of unknown possibilities hinders your sight..

An hour or there abouts later, Adalaide opens her mouth, and breathes a silent yawn into her left hand. Her face flushes, and she speaks an apology in a soft whisper. Gerald then rises from his seat, traversing the room, "The hour does grow late, and I fear that it is time for us to retire for the evening. the morning hours bring much for each of us. I recommend you all let peaceful rest find you. Our rooms are still open to you.."

And so, the evening ends, and the trials of the road begin.
[updated map here]

There is little fanfare as you meet in the morning. Re-marr's citizen are waking with you. Very few pass through the center of town at this hour. Gerald, Adalaide, and a few other familiar souls see you off.

Crisp autumn air chills your throat, and the horizon is shrouded in opaque fog. the ground is still moist from last night's rain. Gerald comes fourth with a pack filled to the brim, and a kind smile, "To help see you on your way, and placate your bellies on your return. Freshly packed this morning, with my wife's fondest regard.." Friends from about town offer trinkets of protection, word about the terrain outside of the town, and most of all, they wish you all well..

[MorkaisChosen]

Rodion gives a nod, and says gruffly, "My thanks, Gerald. You have treated me... us... well in our time here."

[Grey_Wolf_c]

When the heterogenous members of the group start to arrive at the sheriff's house as they had arranged, most of them likely ignored the old man[1], with clothes that had been out of fashion for twenty years, and shoulder-length white hair growing around a prominent baldness. His eyes, almost milky white, squint towards those congregating while he seemingly rests on a bench, its breath wheezy with age.

Once most of the group is ready, he gets up and walks unsteadily towards them, leaning heavily on his walking stick. A short sword hangs from his belt, but you can tell it is rusted with age and likely hasn't been used for quite some time. He addresses the group, saying in a shaky voice, "I will be going with you, young peoples, to talk to the troglodytes". Then, seeing their confussion in their eyes, Caleun talks in his normal voice, "So, I think I managed to fool you. I can only hope that Troglodytes know humans well enough to be fooled as well. I'm sorry about the disguise, but it is best if I remain so for the trip. Troglodytes can easily spy on us without we seeing them, and I'd rather have them think I'm not dangerous"

Dropping back into his diguise, Caleun continues, "I have taken the liberty to prepare a few sheets of paper with invitations to a parley, written in common and dwarven, since they seem to use dwarvish runes. If anyone can think of any other languages we should add, there is some space left still. I requested the use of a cart, to help us carry our gear and my poor old bones - I have yet to hear back about it, but I expect to know before we leave."

"Finally, I would not recommend rushing into this. I understand we can reach their lands tonight if we press hard, which places us at night amongst creatures that are hard to see in the best of circunstances, and without knowledge of the place. I much rather suggest that we let our scout explore ahead, and we can try to arrive there about midday tomorrow, which may help us see them coming. Of course, I will hear your ideas as well", Caleun ends with a racking cough and sits down to "rest".

Notes:
Disguise strength: 29 (vs. spot, once Caleun draws attention to himself)
Caleun carries his shortsword (disguised) in the open, as well as his sap. The cloak and clothes hide his armour and crossbow, as well as the daggers.

[Beschoren]

"Finding them during day seems like a good idea. I will try to rest in the end of the jorney, in the cart, so I can watch over you at night as we camp in the wild."


spot check [roll0]

[Glyphic]

A dreary drizzle records your footsteps as you wheel out of town, and it's humble generosity. 'Phil' the mule and a well-used rickshaw are in attendance, following behind with noisy stubbornness. Getting Phil to leave the town is a rather cumbersome hassle. He kicks and brays and brandishes his gnarly teeth. It takes some time, but he does submit and quiet down. The clouds fade as you approach noon time, already a number of hours into your journey. Already you've rounded the loose granite edges of Roke's Peaks. The ground is soggy, and you've no road to ease your steps. Given your estimates, you've a days journey left, given a solid day of 8 hours hiking. Phil does not appreciate being cast from the town, and grows more vocal, creating nerve agitating brays and generally being an ass (though you asked for a mule.)

Minor complications and hours later, you find a suitable spot to camp, if you wish. There's still 3 hours of daylight easily.

The area you've found to camp is a scraggly patch of evergreen trees, far from the base of the mountains. There's evidence of a campfire and tent pitching, places for cloaked observation in the trees. It does not appear to have been used in the immediate two past days.

The Rickshaw is a two-wheeled wagon that has seen better days. It can hold 200 pounds comfortably. [Use half of the wagon's stats]
Soren is slowing the group, with his 20ft of movement I believe. Unless he's not wearing full plate. The Cart and mule move at 30ft.

A survival check of 15 will give you a better estimate of when the camp was used. Track, or a really high survial check will tell you more.
Someone can take ten on this. The camp was inhabited roughly 9-11 days ago.

[Tyriq]

Jyo-lan (www.coyotecode.net/profiler/view.php?id=4046)

Jyo-lan is enjoying the drizzle far more than seems appropriate for the dreary day. He occasionally glances at Soren with a bit of innocent amusement, wondering how the fiery paladin manages on rainy days.

I wonder just how long this rain will continue...

As he approaches the camp, Jyo-lan takes an alternate approach to investigating the site. He stands in the center, closes his eyes, and reaches out with his senses, focusing not on the Water but instead on the Earth...

1. Using a Spirit Folk ability to Predict Weather for the next 24 hours. Knowledge: Nature check, DC 15.

Knowledge: Nature - [roll0]

2. Using the Shugenja's Sense Elements ability to search for clues, small bits of metal, etc. The ability is described here, or in the Complete Divine: http://wiki.rpg.net/index.php/3.5_Shugenja

Sense Earth (Spellcraft check): [roll1]

Note: I know this is supposed to be a long back-and-forth of sensing and Spellcraft checks and sensing and Spellcraft checks, and I'm happy to RP that if we want, but maybe for the sake of the other 6 people I'd suggest abbreviating the process with a single check. :smallwink:

[Beschoren]

Tasntafaal

The scout seems quite happy during the travel and during the camp set-up. he was silent most of the time, but asked to Soren about his faith some two times, intrested on his definitions for "blazing, flaming, and fiery revenge that turns wrongdoers to smoke and ash"

Pretty trees... le'ts hear what they tell me
I'll take a sip of my wine during the night, ofering it to the others too

Survival and track: iIf I can take 20 whitout spending 10 hours or something doing so, I take 20. If I can't, so I will take 10. If I can't, so I will roll [roll0], for survival and roll [roll1] for track.

[DaTedinator]

Despite the wanderings that he had frequently made since leaving the Court, Kojiro still desperately hated hikes. Especially wet hikes. Kha, however, loved the drizzle, and would fly around in circles before landing on Kojiro's shoulder and shaking herself off, then taking off again. She also had no problem with attempting conversation with other party members, taking even the smallest response as the poor soul agreeing to an extensive discussion of the various esoteric subjects she'd learned from Kojiro.

For his part, Kojiro let the bird have her fun, as her enjoyment translated over to him through their unique bond, allowing him to endure the miserable situation. This was actually a staple of their relationship; a sort of yin-and-yang sort of thing. She kept him grounded when his head was in the clouds, and kept him looking up when things were dragging him down. He made it known, though, that he could shut her up if it got to a point that the other members of the party got too fed up.

This could provide interested parties with the knowledge that Kojiro has dealings with fiends, although Kha is always careful to explain that there is a very definite master/slave relationship.

[MorkaisChosen]

Rodion

The rain doesn't seem to bother Rodion at all- he's spent long enough out in the open that it's perfectly normal. In fact, it helps to keep down the dust and the heat of travelling- a blessing to an experienced wanderer.

He doesn't speak much unless spoken to, but watches the others, examining even the way they walk to find out what he can of their personalities and skills.

He himself walks with quite a light, efficient step, moving with the minimum of effort around any obstacles in his path, seeming always to get over with a remarkable speed. Glancing round the group, he keeps his ears open for any sign of danger.

Step of the Wind stance active- allows me to ignore difficult ground.

[Duke of URL]

Trevor

Trevor simply trudges along, as close to the center of the group as possible, and keeping his mouth shut. Gods, I hate this... the sooner done with it, the better. I have places to be, like... okay, I really don't have anywhere to be, specifically, but not here would be a good start.

[Grey_Wolf_c]

Caleun rides the rickshaw all day, his backpack on the back with whatever odds and ends the rest of the party added to the pile. He kept those walking or riding next to him entertained with many stories of the "olden days of his youth", when, to hear him tell, he defended cities from entire armies and attacking dragons. Obviously false, but entertaining all the same, insterspaced by unending complaints about his poor feet, the state of the road, how his knees foretelled the rain and above all how things were so much better when he was young.

When it came time to camp, he continued with his litany, while helping unpack and set up a camp, and a few places where they could sleep without getting too wet. Not knowing much about tracks, he just carefully walked around the old fireplace, in case someone else wanted to take a look.

Once the camp was ready, he wobbled towards Kojiro, and taking him aside, he said, "I saw you looking at that delighful young girl, Adalaide. I knew her mother. And her grandmother, if it comes to that. I was wondering if you saw something in her... maybe something more than meets the eye?". Even knowing Caleun to be disguised, his piercing milky eyes are strange to behold. One could swear he is almost blind, and he squints as if he was, but at this time he is observing Kojiro's eyes intently.

[Grey_Wolf_c]

Having been informed by Joy-lan about what he sensed around the campsite, Caleun walks unsteadily towards the trees between which hangs the single decaying spider silk thread. Thank goodness Joy-lan told me. Sune only knows how we could've seen this otherwise. How the seven hells did he know of its existance, though?, Caleun thinks once he finds it. Being extremelly careful not to touch it in any way, he examines it, looking for a purpose or any kind of mechanism or trap it may be meant to trigger. He takes as much time as he needs to do so.

Once he has finished with the thread, he locates the breadbox and, (assuming it is not somehow connected to the thread), he does the same check of the lock and lid.

Actions: Take 20 on searching for traps (+5) in both thread and box. If he finds nothing, Caleun clearly marks the situation of the thread to make sure no-one stumbles on it, and calls for a second opinion from Tanstafaal. Further actions will depend on what is found.

Actions deleted as per DM posting after this; I am sorry, I assumed that anything posted in OOC is meant to be generaly known - i.e. something that one character communicates to all - and that anything that is exclusive knowledge to a particular character would be PM'ed.

[Glyphic]

I am not sure if Tyriq Pm'd you, but if you're going off information other people haven't chosen to share, or post about yet, I have to ask that you give them their fair chance. Also- the strand is certainly underground ( a few inches at most) and the box is somewhere; likely also underground.

Also, a warning: taking 20 assumes you Fail at some point. Be careful when investigating traps.

Edit: And it's Jyo-lan!:smallwink:

[Tyriq]

Jyo-lan (www.coyotecode.net/profiler/view.php?id=4046)

Jyo-lan slowly opens his eyes and his concentration fades.

"Everyone... be careful. I sensed a metal box here... but also a thread? Spider silk? I think there's a clue here to who uses this campsite... but it might be a trap or device of some kind... Does anyone have experience in this sort of thing? Buried secret boxes are a bit outside my realm of expertise."

[Beschoren]

Tasntaffal

He tells to everyone his dicoveries about the campsite (OCC stuff): "... and so be carefull, stick close, and let's put torches everywere...", as well as the sherrif's wife: "...she seemed like transparent. did you guys notice that? ghosts freeks me out...". he seems to have greatly respected Jyo-lan's powers, but says nothing. He liked Kha too, since the animal like the wild so much and, heck, it's a inteligent talking bird familiar- you don't see that everyday. he did not bother about the fiendsh friends of any of his companions.
he's much more confortable then in the night before
"Soren, is there anything we could do about your armor? your.. lame ..pace is slowing us down. I could lend you my chain shirt if you want it, until we get closer to the camp. Just' don't expect me to rush into danger if so"

search check in the area Jyo-Ian said to be the wires and the box: take 20. If can't, take 10. If can't, [roll0] for wires and [roll1] for box

[MorkaisChosen]

Rodion

Rodion puts his hand to hi sword hilt- perhaps pointlessly, but when the other inhabitants of the camp are mentioned, he stays on guard.

"Spider silk, you say? That could be important, if that is truly what it is."

[Glyphic]

The sun slowly falls to the western horizon as you investigate your campsite. The sky turns a hazy orange as sunset approaches, mixed with cream-colored bands of fluffy clouds, soaring high above summits of Roke's peaks. The rain lands upon your shoulders with gentle taps. The call of birds sounds in the distance, as they say their parting chirps to each other.


It takes you careful digging and a good half hour to excavate a few inches on either side of the spidersilk thread, without disturbing it. It proves nonthreatening and unattached to any trap or device meant for harm. Fully stretched out, it's 13ft in length.

The box proves more difficult to locate. Without a good, trusty shovel (or perhaps strong canine legs for digging), the packed ground would take over half the evening to exhume..assuming you started in the correct spot.

[Miraqariftsky]

Soren Solaren

((I trust neither system nor server anymore. Last night I had a :smallfurious: three-pager all typed up--- even put it on Word, but the whole ensemble suddenly went BOOM. Please forgive the subpar post until I tide over to more stable times:smallfrown: Yeesh, and I don't even use smilies all that often, so yeah, 'tis big...))

Detect Evil is now on active scanning.

Watching out:
Listen [roll0]
Spot [roll1]

Looking around:
Search [roll2]
Survival [roll3]
Spellcraft [roll4]
General Int check [roll5]
General Wis check [roll6]



>Soren meditated through armed calisthenics and sang hymns together with Alvakshta. Donned his armour with her help and gave charge of the church to Dostt. Gave a sermon in the plaza and said farewell to his flock. Went back to the inn, bought a horse for the price of one potion, one oil, one flask of highlander whisky and two gold pieces.

By then the others had long gone--- Srikun is a hard bargainer--- saying hurried thanks and farewells to Gerald and Adelaide, he had to ride hard just to catch up with them. He and his horse panted and lagged for a while but the rain cooled them down. Unfortunately, the constant pattering on his helmet and armour drove him near crazy and he had to grit his teeth while explaining to Tanstafaal that "The fire of faith takes its on different forms with every person. For those pure of heart and strong of sinew, this often took the form of a desire to bring justice, mercy and love into the world, punishing oppressors and avenging the wronged"

When they reach their current campsite, he joins in the excavation and investigation using a makeshift wooden scoop fashioned from bits of wood gathered along the way. As they explore the strange object, he reaches into the divine fire within and tries to light the way, seeking to know if anything around them is, or was tainted...

[Glyphic]

Ooc: My head hurts. I apologize for not posting, and the potential shortness of this post.

A few hours pass as you toil in the earth with makeshift shovels made of flattened rocks or curved and sharpened pieces of wood. A little guidance and a little luck brings you nineteen feet from Jyo-lan's meditation, and four feet down. Bloody triangles. Thankfully, no one decided to pile rocks in the way of your digging. The hole you dig isn't very artistic, but that's a minor point.

A box, coated with oxidized pig-iron bolted onto wood is your treasure. No lock rests on it, and it easily weighs in excess of 60 pounds. By popping of the end of it, you reap what lies within..

A crinkled parchment of paper in an ornate scroll tube.
This is a crinkled parchment of paper, lined with a deep red boarder. The symbol of the Crown, a faded emblem of The Flame of the West, and various signatures. It suffers from minor damage due to insects.

A heavy stone: (detects as magic)
This oval stone is jet black and polished. It is three inches in diameter, and bears a swirl of runes on one side. It is inexplicably heavy, and is most of the weight of the box. (45 pounds)

A sizeable chunk of bug-chewed rock candy: (detects as unappetizing)
For whatever reason, this batch of crystalized sugar was left in the box. Bugs have found their way to it.

A black-tarnished silver goblet:
Small, stout and lightly corroded, this goblet could catch a fair market price. The base is etched with tiny little crowns. The initials J.L are badly inscribed on the bottom.

[Grey_Wolf_c]

Ooc: My head hurts. I apologize for not posting, and the potential shortness of this post.

A few hours pass as you toil in the earth with makeshift shovels made of flattened rocks or curved and sharpened pieces of wood. A little guidance and a little luck brings you nineteen feet from Jyo-lan's meditation, and four feet down. Bloody triangles. Thankfully, no one decided to pile rocks in the way of your digging. The hole you dig isn't very artistic, but that's a minor point.

A box, coated with oxidized pig-iron bolted onto wood is your treasure. No lock rests on it, and it easily weighs in excess of 60 pounds. By popping of the end of it, you reap what lies within..

A crinkled parchment of paper in an ornate scroll tube.
This is a crinkled parchment of paper, lined with a deep red boarder. The symbol of the Crown, a faded emblem of The Flame of the West, and various signatures. It suffers from minor damage due to insects.

A heavy stone: (detects as magic)
This oval stone is jet black and polished. It is three inches in diameter, and bears a swirl of runes on one side. It is inexplicably heavy, and is most of the weight of the box. (45 pounds)

A sizeable chunk of bug-chewed rock candy: (detects as unappetizing)
For whatever reason, this batch of crystalized sugar was left in the box. Bugs have found their way to it.

A black-tarnished silver goblet:
Small, stout and lightly corroded, this goblet could catch a fair market price. The base is etched with tiny little crowns. The initials J.L are badly inscribed on the bottom.

Caleun Tranil, disguised as old diplomat (http://www.thetangledweb.net/forums/profiler/view_char.php?cid=12375)

Caleun walks unsteadily to the objects, and takes a look at them, "I think that rock there must be to stop animals from taking the box, and I'm thinking the rock sugar was meant to keep insects away from the paper, by giving them something tastier. Speaking of which - can't say where my mind goes these days, why in my youth I'd have already acted instead of so much talk, but then we don't get rock candy like we used to..." Caleun divagates for a while, before getting to the point and reading the parchment aloud to the group

[Glyphic]

Caleun's words echo in your minds as he reads them aloud.. the sensation slightly stings with faint tinges of magic, as the words demand authority..

"By the will of..
Terrance of Brinnlaw
Magus Antonin
Rados Diocletian
Theia Neveaux
And other respected members of the Principality:

Passage is granted to those who bear this writ."

[Grey_Wolf_c]

Caleun Tranil (http://www.thetangledweb.net/forums/profiler/view_char.php?cid=12375)

"Ummm... a Flame of the West safeconduct," says Caleun, once he is finished reading it, "maybe it'll help to have it. Assuming troglodytes understand common and give a rat's ass about what the Flame commands, that is. I believe it will be most useful for the diplomatic team, an extra arrow in our quiver, so to speak. Unless anyone objects, I will carry it for the time being"

[Miraqariftsky]

Soren Solaren

"Well... so mote it be, if so it is" Soren says, seemingly nonplussed by the acquisition of what must be an important document. Wiping off his soiled hands on his trouser legs, he says with a sigh, "So, a swift dinner and the setting of the watches, eh, fellows?"

[MorkaisChosen]

Rodion

"Useful," the half-orc says, glancing at the parchment. "It may not impress the troglodytes, but we should keep it anyway..."

[Duke of URL]

Trevor

Trevor concentrates on the stone for a while. "No, it's not just there for weight... it radiates some magical traces. A strong one... of abjuration, I believe." He concentrates a little longer. "And a fainter trace of evocation."

He stops, looks up and smiles. "Still no idea what it does, but it's clearly magical."

[Grey_Wolf_c]

Trevor

Trevor concentrates on the stone for a while. "No, it's not just there for weight... it radiates some magical traces. A strong one... of abjuration, I believe." He concentrates a little longer. "And a fainter trace of evocation."

He stops, looks up and smiles. "Still no idea what it does, but it's clearly magical."

Caleun Tranil, disguised as old diplomat (http://www.thetangledweb.net/forums/profiler/view_char.php?cid=12375)

"Hehehehe... you youngsters, always seeking the complex explanaition. I remember when I was like that. I was already fairly certain it was magical - no material I know can weight that much in such a small frame without a little "help". Not even gold, or lead, and this rock is certainly neither. Nonetheless, what other purpose can a heavy stone have? At worst, it has other magiks that could prove dangerous, at best it will be a bother to carry. I am in awe of your young eyes, though. I wish I could tell one magik from another," says Caleun, in a jovial, if unsteady voice, "Still, like my old grampa used to say - way back in the year of the flaming duck, not that you youngsters where alive then - better safe than sorry, eh? If you wish, we can take it with us, although poor Phil will complain, asuming that thing doesn't punch a whole in the rickshaw, or you may be able to tell what magiks infuse it with more study?"

[Duke of URL]

Trevor

"I'm sure some... experimentation... will eventually determine its usage, though I'm not sure it would be safe to do with so many around. As for the weight, well," he pats his haversack, "magic is a good thing to put to use, is it not?"

[Beschoren]

Tanstafaal

"Terrance of Brinnlaw? Magus Antonin? Rados Diocletian? Theia Neveaux? who are those?" he says, confused "I would not like to carry the trusted word of someone I don't know is an actual friend or foe..."
"let's keep the stone. I'ts a nice sling bullet at least"

[Glyphic]

The hours fade past as you talk and reflect about your up coming day, decide on watches and get meals made. And hopefully someone gives Tanstafaal a history lesson. The air is cool, and the winds are low and create subtle swishes in the trees around you. If you're lighting a fire, it's fairly easy to start, despite the rain..

Night creeps in, covering the land in a blanket of light fog. Rain drips down your sides, and the torches occasionally drown out, worn out from the moisture. Schroedinger's campfire cackles and pops as the wood adjusts itself. The moon hangs somewhere in the sky, occluded from sight.

An hour into the first watch, long, dull scraping sounds are heard from the north of camp, nearing the edge of your lights. The fog and lack of reliable light makes any definition hard to see, at one hundred feet or there about away. But yet.. there's something. A glance left, and a glance right- Torches boarding those sides of camp have sputtered into darkness.

Something edges closer, along the hedges of your vision...


Anyone that wants to can be awake already; I've rolled spot and listen checks for everyone, as well as opposed checks for what ever is out there.. (it will become more visible at 50ft)

You estimate you have about two rounds at worst to accomplish anything.

Also, Duke of URL.. are you really putting that stone in your haversack? :smallbiggrin:

[Beschoren]

Tasnstafaal

He gives a short, enigmatic smile: It was about time...."Something aproches. Stick close, casters in the middle, don't fallow me." he keeps a pretty normal tune, as if he just told you about what he ate on breakfast.

actions: draw bow, ativate Lesser Crystal of ilumination (wepon agment crystal)(20 ft of light + 20 ft of low light), moves 10ft away from the fireplace. initiative: [roll0]. If I get any more actions before actualy seeing anything, I set ready an atack action against any non-human or demi-human that comes within sight. I won't atack if an ally is providing cover to the invasor.

[Tyriq]

Jyo-lan (www.coyotecode.net/profiler/view.php?id=4046)

Jyo-lan looks around, concerned at the ominous fog. Rain into the evening, with tomorrow being partly cloudy with a chance of sun.... There's no mention of an ominous fog. This might not be natural... it might be... danger.

Hoping to use the fog to cover his actions, Jyo-lan quickly begins muttering a spell, distracted by a thought: I wonder if this is what happened to the person who owned the things in the box?

Does Jyo-lan have a chance to determine if the fog is natural with a spellcraft check? If so, here it is. If not, please disregard.

Spellcraft: [roll0]

Casting: Silent Image, to create the illusion of another tree in the campsite. The trunk is large enough that Jyo-lan can hide inside the space it occupies. Hopefully the creation of this extra tree won't be noticed by creatures outside the fog, and will keep him safe until his healing abilities are required.

Resist DC: Will 15 for creatures that interact with the illusion.

[Duke of URL]

Trevor

Trevor discretely moves toward the most protected part of the camp, ready to provide whatever help he can... from behind, of course.



Also, Duke of URL.. are you really putting that stone in your haversack?

Ummm... yes? I guess so -- you said it was about 60 pounds, right? The Handy Haversack should be able to hold that and its current contents without trouble (although I'm ballparking the numbers right now), though that would probably be about it, weight-wise.

[MorkaisChosen]

Rodion

Rodion rises, drawing his sword- a large greatsword, its beautiful elven craftsmanship seems incongruous in the hands of the battered half-orc- and looking round the area, watching for danger and listening out. His stance is low, balanced, centred, seeming to give an impression of immovability.

Entering Stonefoot Stance, draw the swortd, obviously.

[Grey_Wolf_c]

Caleun Tranil (http://www.thetangledweb.net/forums/profiler/view_char.php?cid=12375)

Caleun will hide in the shadows amongst the trees, close to the most likely arrival point to the clearing. As he hobbles over, he says, "If you warriors stop them around here, I'll catch them unaware from behind. I've got my sap to put a few to sleep, so if they are trogs, we can send them back with the message for parley."

Once under the shadows, Caleun unsheathes his short sword and pulls out his sap. He adopts a defensive position, hides and waits.

Actions: Hide (Caleun keeps close-ish to the clearing to see when to pop in, so he probably doesn't have total concealment) [roll0]



Ummm... yes? I guess so -- you said it was about 60 pounds, right? The Handy Haversack should be able to hold that and its current contents without trouble (although I'm ballparking the numbers right now), though that would probably be about it, weight-wise.


Maybe mixing two magic objects is not the best of ideas? What would happen if you put a bag of holding in you HHH? Maybe you're risking something similar?

[DaTedinator]

Kojiro

Kojiro stood silently, gathering the incantation to summon a Lemure in his mind. He knew, though, that he would possibly need to act quickly; thus he also was prepared to unleash an unearthly howl if things should turn violent. He held hopes that they wouldn't, though.

He stayed within the middle of the group, but tried to position himself to have an opening at the attackers where he wouldn't blast his allies, too.

Sorry for being gone-ish, storms have been happening, power's been unreliable.

Anyway, readied action for a Fiendish Howl should anyone attack.

[Glyphic]

A fraction of a minute passes. Deliberate, drawn out scratching sounds permeate your ears, coming from the north side of camp. Brief, sinuous chanting arises, and a torch on the north side of camp expires as down pour of water quenches it. Then, the clawed footfalls continue to creep forward, at a cautious pace..

Soren, Rodion, and Trevor miss the shapes by mere moments as the torch light fails. The rest of you see four bi-pedal, scales humanoids. Slender, curved tails follow their measured movements, and dull onyx eyes sit above their cruel-toothed maws. All have a javelins, and two of them are gripping massive cudgels. The other two are laden with leather-sewn sacks, and only bare their claws. The darkness occludes their movement, before your eyes are able to take in any more.

Their claws still alert you to their presence. These troglodytes are traveling at a snail's pace, counter-clockwise about your camp. Currently, they're at 11 o'clock, about fifty feet away.


Anyone able to do so, it's a DC 15 to recognize that they used create water to drown a torch.

Jyo-lan, the fog is a normal weather pattern. I forgot to mention it, as it's a localized effect for the coastal area.

You're not certain if your 'disguise' is working. Then again.. how can you be? :smallwink:

Trevor: Alright; in the haversack the stone goes. it only weighs 45 pounds. You're golden as far as space goes. The rest of the chest and other items weighed near 15 pounds.

Beschoren: The verb, To Fallow: : to plow, harrow, and break up (land) without seeding to destroy weeds and conserve soil moisture.

As amusing as it is to tell your team mates not to do that to you, I think you meant 'follow'. :smallsmile: Otherwise, you're doing good.

[Duke of URL]

Trevor

"So," he whispers, "anyone in the mood for diplomacy, or shall we start with a show of force?"

[Tyriq]

Jyo-lan (www.coyotecode.net/profiler/view.php?id=4046)

...is still a tree.

[MorkaisChosen]

Rodion

Not seeing the scaled forms, Rodion replies, "If it is a group of Troglodytes, a diplomatic solution first would probably be best- I believe our appearance alone may make a good enough show," tapping a knuckle on his long, slender sword as he does so.

[Beschoren]

Tastafaal

(anoyed)"Yeah, I'm ready to give a karmic diplomacy on their heads. I'll shot anything that gets close. I've seen the bastards north of us, we're the prey here."

actions: Set ready atack action against anything that charges to us in 20 ft. moves 10ft (skirmishing) and stays between the casters and the noises to the north, side-by-side with the fighters.

[Miraqariftsky]

Soren Solaren

Soren had woken, as he is wont, an hour before dawn. With blazing blade and searing soul, he'd meditated with spirit and sinew, communed with his deity in the song of fire and sword.

When the scaled creatures came through the shroud of shadows, Soren's gaze had narrowed though his stance never faltered. Slick with sweat and rainwater were his body, clothing, armour and weapon and yet the steel remained dry as ever, sheathed in a wreath of flickering flames.

His countenance grim yet devoid of fear,

[Miraqariftsky]

((GAH! Sorreh, error!))

...he strides through the muddy ground of the camp to meet the advancing creatures and gazes into the troglodytes' eyes as they close ranks. Though the mist obscures his sight somewhat, the spears of his eyes strike true.

He stands with legs slightly bent, torso ever so slightly crouched. The claymore he holds in a high guard position, its length held high above his head, the broad blazing blade wrought of heavy highlands steel shearing through the darkness, a beacon of light.

Soren then moves forward, past Rodion. The paladin lowers his sword to a middle guard but does not sheathe it. Thinking that simplicity would be better than eloquence in this situation, he says to the scaled creatures, "We come from town of Re-Marr. We come in peace but will defend ourselves if need be. We come to talk with your leader"


Actions:
DETECT EVIL, dagnabbit!
Diplomacy: [roll0]
Sense Motive: [roll1]

[Beschoren]

Tasntafaal

Frowns - Oh, yeah, diplomacy...

actions: full def, fight defensively (those stack or they don't?), cancels the redied shot.

edit: OCC: the crystal of ilumination gives some good light, up to 40 feet. boss, did you remember those?

[Grey_Wolf_c]

Tasntafaal

Frowns - Oh, yeah, diplomacy...

actions: full def, fight defensively (those stack or they don't?), cancels the redied shot.

edit: OCC: the crystal of ilumination gives some good light, up to 40 feet. boss, did you remember those?

OOC: Full defence does not allow any attacks, so it is incompatible with fighting, defensively or otherwise.

Grey Wolf

[Glyphic]

Yes, you have light. Most of the party does not have low light vision. Thus you and maybe Jyo-lan and ..someone? Can see out to 60ft, where the troglodytes stand at the edge of your vision, as you're 20-ft away from the fire.

I'd add more 'placement' but I'm drawing a map for all of you after this post.

Grey Wolf is correct about the Full defensive and fighting defensively.


A troglodyte at the front of their pack lifts his had from the heavy cudgel he (perhaps she; so hard to tell.) carries, and those around him halt their claws, readjusting their laborious loads. Quieted, laconic whispers escape their maws as they set their sacs and supplies on the ground. With discretion, they enter your camp, and your eyes truly glean their appearance. All prepare weapons, either their cudgels or Javelins.

The assumed leader comes to an elf's shoulders in height, and bears no plume upon her head. Her body is flecked with black and grey diamonds. Her claws are cut short, and she's missing an assortment of teeth.

The other three Troglodytes are male, with short, spiny plumes with thin membranes stretching through them. They are even shorter than the female, and their bodies only exhibit dull and yellowed scales.

All of them share similar traits; they’ve shed their skin very recently, and their claws are meticulously filed. Their bodies are sickly lean with hunger, showing skin taught against their bones. Each of them constantly blinks, and their shoulders and chins droop. They wear no cloth, nor bone, save their leader, who bears a crescent-shaped bone on animal sinew, around her neck.

In a loose formation, their tread into your camp, and their leader snaps her jaws, as she spews forth the very.. unpleasantly crude language of Giants. Her grip firmly rests on her cudgel, held in both hands. Her tail whips about in expressive manner, and her words are very firm and demanding. Her companions shift, bodies low. Their onyx eyes scan for any movement in your camp.

Edit: Sent a PM to Soren's player about Dectect Evil.

Also: I consider diplomacy a language based skill. Not speaking their language gives you a penalty, but you can still get your general message across with hand gestures, tone of voice, ect. Thus, their current attitude is unchanged.

[MorkaisChosen]

Rodion

Shifting slightly, Rodion says nothing but keeps watching, the point of his sword- the sword being, to a practitioner of the Sublime Way, another part of body language- down on the floor.

[Glyphic]

Map is here (http://www.freewebs.com/gryphonnorin/campfire1.JPG). Let me know if you guys have trouble viewing it, or if it takes an excessive amount of time to load.

Cudgel-1 is the female, wearing the Crescent amulet.

The brown circles are -bright- light. Those of you with low light vision can see twice that. Rodion should have darkvision, so he's mostly good.

Jyo-lan is a tree. The little Triangle things on sticks are also trees.

[Grey_Wolf_c]

Caleun Tranil, disguised as old diplomat (http://www.thetangledweb.net/forums/profiler/view_char.php?cid=12375)

Caleun leaves the shadows of the trees, giving a slight detour so as to approach the newcomers from behind the warriors[1]. His gait is unsteady, and he leans heavily on his twisted wooden staff as he approaches. His weapons are back in his belt, and his free hand is extended, showing no weapons. "Hello, we mean you no harm", he says in common, and then, on the assumption that dwarvish may be more understandable, he repeats, this time in the dwarven tongue, <Hello. We do not want harm to you or to us>[2].

Observing their taught skins over their bodies, Caleun slowly pulls out an iron ration, and offers it to the leading troglodite. To further make himself understood, Caleun takes a pinch out of the ration and puts it in his mouth, makes a show of munching and then swallows the food, before again offering the rations with a simple <Food. Please, eat. We want talk, not war or harm. Yes?>

Notes:
[1]: route followed on the map: south east, southwest, southwest behind Rodion and Jyo-Lan/tree, west to the place besides Soren

[2]: I like to use <spoken> for anything said in dwarvish (human: "spoken"; elven: /spoken/ ). I'm open to alternatives, though

Others: Diplomacy roll in the next post (so I can preview/edit this one). Also, I've deliberately kept the dwarven simple. I assume that concepts such as "harm", "talk", "war", "food", "yes" and "no" should be fairly cross-language

Diplomacy, using one charge of Caleun's Wink brooch:
1d20+13

Edit: I edited instead of quoting :smallredface:. Sorry for that.

[Grey_Wolf_c]

Caleun Tranil, disguised as old diplomat (http://www.thetangledweb.net/forums/profiler/view_char.php?cid=12375)

Caleun leaves the shadows of the trees, giving a slight detour so as to approach the newcomers from behind the warriors[1]. His gait is unsteady, and he leans heavily on his twisted wooden staff as he approaches. His weapons are back in his belt, and his free hand is extended, showing no weapons. "Hello, we mean you no harm", he says in common, and then, on the assumption that dwarvish may be more understandable, he repeats, this time in the dwarven tongue, <Hello. We do not want harm to you or to us>[2].

Observing their taught skins over their bodies, Caleun slowly pulls out an iron ration, and offers it to the leading troglodite. To further make himself understood, Caleun takes a pinch out of the ration and puts it in his mouth, makes a show of munching and then swallows the food, before again offering the rations with a simple <Food. Please, eat. We want talk, not war or harm. Yes?>

Notes:
[1]: route followed on the map: south east, southwest, southwest behind Rodion and Jyo-Lan/tree, west to the place besides Soren

[2]: I like to use <spoken> for anything said in dwarvish (human: "spoken"; elven: /spoken/ ). I'm open to alternatives, though

Others: Diplomacy roll in the next post (so I can preview/edit this one). Also, I've deliberately kept the dwarven simple. I assume that concepts such as "harm", "talk", "war", "food", "yes" and "no" should be fairly cross-language

Diplomacy, using one charge of Caleun's Wink brooch:
[roll0]

[Glyphic]

A pair of dulled onyx eyes watches Caluen as he shambles from the brush. The male Troglodyte with a cudgel croaks three baleful words in giant. The last one he utters is similar to a Dwarven name; something similar, but twisted by giant, to "Bethany." His companions let loose hushed curses in Giant, and all of them take a step backward in reflexive unison. Their words echo through out camp, as the quieted whispers of at least five more troglodytes reach your ears.

"Beth" turns her cudgel in her claws, her mouth letting out coarse swears in Giant, followed by rushed, broken Dwarven. Her gaze rests firm on Soren and Rodion she speaks, "Is not-.. mountain in north for Longbeard! Go! Into Forge.."

She rests her cudgel in a neutral position, as her tired eyes catch sight of Caluen's ration. Moments of indecision trail after, with her maw locked tight. Her companions shift, averting their drooping eyes from the food; or perhaps Tanstafaal's light. An oddly soft hiss of Dwarven emanates from Beth, as she lifts a claw to touch her amulet.

"More. No by Longbeard. He will piss off."

[MorkaisChosen]

Rodion

Rodion glances round the others, not moving yet- he knows he isn't the most unthreatening person- but ready to act if no-one else will.

[Duke of URL]

Trevor

Unable to understand the dwarvish speech, Trevor nonetheless notes its effects and sees the hesitation in the troglodyte. He slowly edges forward to be able to provide close-range support if needed.

[DaTedinator]

Kojiro

Kojiro wasn't particularly filled with confidence with the way the Troglodytes were speaking and whispering, so he slowly, and nonthreateningly made his way to the front.1

Once there, he took out his masterwork club - slowly, with two fingers, and keeping his other hand visible and open so that it was clear he intended no harm - then carried forward a bit and set it on the ground, next to the rations. He then stepped back from it, and asked Caleun, "Ask if they want to trade."2

1The square immediately to the south of Caleun.

Diplomacy Roll: [roll0]

Aimed at the Trogs, not Caleun. :-P

[Beschoren]

Tasntafaal

Although the scout understend the (rather silly) dwarvish conversation, he had better not interfere. Sharp eye and bow in hand, nevertheless.

(If I so happen to see more trogs around, like sneaking in our back, I'll whisper about it to any close ally.)

[Glyphic]

I've updated the Map (http://www.freewebs.com/gryphonnorin/campfire1.JPG)! I wasn't able to place Kojiro exactly where he wanted to be, as he would then be sharing space with Tanstafaal. But I got him pretty close.

Tanstafaal's spot check reveals four more troglodytes, south of camp. They're sulking in the shadows, and stationary at the moment. Three of them have javelins, the fourth is unarmed. A few more, unseen whispers sound from the north side of camp.


The three males standing at Bethany's flanks inch closer to her as your party encroaches. The speech falls from their maws like a butcher working with a dull cleaver on rotten mutton. Their thick and choppy hisses land on her, and you see her shoulders slouch and her chest deflate.

Her lusterless eyes sweep over your group from behind half closed eyelids. With a hazy gaze, Dwarven seeps from her throat, but is lost among the males' rampant clatter.

[Grey_Wolf_c]

Caleun Tranil (http://www.thetangledweb.net/forums/profiler/view_char.php?cid=12375)

<Bethany,> starts Caleun, <I am Caleun. No war. More food?> Caleun takes out a couple more rations, and carefully lowers them to the ground, this time touching them as little as possible, before continuing, while pointing at Kojiro <Friend will give you strong club if you give him something good. Then we are friends, and not war. We want talk to your longbeards, like friends. Then we go to human forge in the South> Caleun sounds firm but friendly, looking Bethany in the eye, but also paying attention to the other troglodytes, watching for any attempt to attack. <We have writting for your leader, saying we want talk,> Caleun finishes

[Glyphic]

The hideous gnashing of troglodyte maws spews on as the males talk through out Caleun's parley, urging their voices to Bethany's ears. The largest male rakes his claws over his cudgel, making shallow groves in the splintery wood. His guttural voice is the loudest among them.

Bethany's gaze finds focus on Soren's eyes, then turning partway to find Rodion's eyes as well. She stares into each for just moments. She frees herself from the weight of her cudgel, letting it fall unceremoniously at her feet. She takes a step, then irons herself with cavernous breath, letting her shoulders rise again. The bickering males quiet themselves, the slightest hint of awe and wonder crossing their expressions as Bethany strides before your group.

A fine hiss flows from her as she passes Soren and Rodion, her flanks left unprotected as she walks, "(Dwarven) We not take.. mere shalls from your Longbread." She reaches a open claw out, aiming to touch Rodion upon the shoulder.

She reaches the eastern side of the camp fire, kneeling a comfortable distance from it. The flames flicker, and shadows dance over her lean and meager form. She folds her hands together, her eyes looking over the embers. The fire pops and crackles, sending wispy embers and smoke into the night air.


Rodion/MorkaisChosen, I need to know if you let her touch you before I can continue.

Tyriq is going to be massively Afk until monday-ish. He's given me permission to act his character in combat should it arise, throwing out heals.

Edit: I just wanted to note that Soren's Diplomacy check is the main one, and I'm counting all of you as assisting his check.

[MorkaisChosen]

Sense Motive: [roll0]

Rodion keeps still, allowing her to touch him, unless it looks like she means him harm. He watches closely, trying to read the Trog's body language.

[Glyphic]

Through the subdued flames of the fire, you all notice Bethany's amulet shine, producing a faint blue and gold-glitter light. Her scales appear to darken, as previously unseen designs creep from under her scales, speckling her body with tiny crescents. She lets out a low, cautious hiss, like a musician tuning an instrument.

The voice she finds is masculine, firm, and instilled with a tinge of tranquility. She lifts a nubbed talon, beckoning the assembly of non-tree humanoids. Using Rodion's voice, she speaks in a somewhat orc-accented common, "I'm.. am Bethany of-," She pauses, a hint of dissatisfaction crossing her face. "Of The Crescent Moon Clan."

She turns to the trees, her forked-tongue issuing a sharp command in Giant. Repressed ruffles of movement sound from the undergrowth.

Her voice waxes before she evoke Rodion's speech again, her eyes gaining a minute luster, "There is.. no place for you, your elderly.. or our young in the north." She tastes the hair with her tongue, adding, "I.. and my Clan would like to travel to your Re-marr. And I will talk with you, and hear your scripts from your leaders."

From the trees.. come more troglodytes, A few the same size as Bethany; others are half, to near her height. Their fresh skin, gangly bodies.. The realization dawns as ten other troglodytes slide in silence, behind Bethany and kneel in the dirt. Seven males, and four females in total.. All Juvenile.

[MorkaisChosen]

Rodion watches as she uses his voice, keeping as still as possible so as not to provoke the Troglodytes.

OK, that's a bit worrying after Dr Who on Saturday...

[Glyphic]

Bethany gathers the shard of a clan she controls around her, and an uneasy silence settles over camp. She still looks at each of you with trace amounts of hope reflecting in her grazed onyx eyes. A second female, gathers the youngest of children and a raw-hide sack. She gives them each a single bone sculpted toy. This female could be of the same clutch as Bethany, for they share attributes; this female also has a frowning-crescent branded on the top of her skill. As she leads this children into simple play, she examines them- checking the soles of their feet, listening to their pulse, and even snaps open the jaws of two to look at thier gullet. Jyo-lan, Rodion, Soren all notice a flicker of worry as she examines the smallest's maw.


Little swirls appear in the fog; smooth at first, turbulent within a matter of seconds. Whatever tranquility you'd managed in this wildness is torn away in a matter of instants. A dark and profane chill seeps into the bones and the ground beneath your feet. The evergreen trees about you droop and wilt for moments, dropping needles as something wracks their very life force. The life and heat of the fire fades without ceremony- abrupt, leaving your camp and troglodytes in utter, melancholy darkness. Rodion's darkvison falters entirely.

From somewhere on Southern Valorium, a long reverberating death-moan washes over the world, unimpeded by nature or magic. As the terrible pulse of some dying.. thing flows over you, the very essence of you shares the anguish of millennia of isolation, a millennia of captivity.. in duty to the world.

A minute passes, the world locked in silence..As light and life returns to the world, a sickening sensation crawls over your skin. Looking about at your comrades and troglodytes, hundreds of millipedes composed of despicable shadow rush down your flesh, and burrow into the soil under you. A claw of raw and pulsating shadow hovers behind Soren, pulling him to the ground as wicked claws wrack his body and pass through his armor as if it were cloth. Overcome, Soren topples; his face thrown into the dirt. He appears alive, but vacant; as if his his soul and mind are elsewhere.

The fire coughs, sparks flying into the air as it lights itself anew.


I didn't want to have this event happen just yet, but hopefully it'll kickstart things.

Anyone wishing/allowing the millipedes to sink into them, PM me. It'll be insightful :smallbiggrin:

[Duke of URL]

Trevor

"What in the nine hells was that?" He shudders at the too-recent remembrance of the feeling.

"And more importantly, what does it mean? Is it a sign? And if so, a sign of what? I was about to voice in favor of escorting these... children... to Re-Marr, but now I don;t know what to think."

[MorkaisChosen]

Rodion tries to shrug off the creeping things, and says, "Whatever this is, we will need all the help we can get. I say we should help these people."

[Tyriq]

Jyo-lan (www.coyotecode.net/profiler/view.php?id=4046)

Jyo-lan is overwhelmed at first by the sheer... magnitude... of what just happened. As the light and warmth returns, though, so do Jyo-lan's instincts as a healer. He quickly notices Soren's state, and rushes over to help. Without touching Soren, Jyo-lan searches his mind for information that might help diagnose and treat Soren's condition...


What just happened?

Knowledge: Arcana [roll0]
Knowledge: Religion[roll1]

ps: Glyph, you accidentally referred to Jyo-lan as "Tyriq" up there. Hee!

[Glyphic]

Bethany's clan locks their scales, the eldest shoving the four younger to the center of a quivering mass of scale and tails. Fear trembles in their voices; most calling out for 'Mother' in Giant. Bethany, and another call out a stranger word, Bethany's voice ringing out in common, "Tarnist have mercy!"

The children receive sharp slaps of claw, to silence their barks and cries. Each slap is done with an effort of control. The last scraps of one bag are emptied, and the fledgling tribe nibbles on the last scraps of Animal fats. One male, slim and bony packs the Troglodyte's belongings while the children are distracted. Bethany herself does not partake in food, but steps forward. Her words are tiny, and sound remote as she looks to the sky, "The land cracks and crumbles beneath us. I.. feel we cannot stay here tonight. There is much unsaid between You and us. Leave the north to our Mother's pestilence. Let us.. return with you to your Re-marr. Nothing lies in the north but our dying, sickened elders."


Jyo-lan: Fixed your name in the last post. Soren's body is wracked by unholy matter. He'll wake up perfectly fine when his player returns, but for now he's out of the action, mind fighting whatever it is that over took him in another plane. He's okay to touch.. but you swear you can see vile millipedes scurrying though his veins.

What just happened.. you're not completely sure. The invocation of Tarnist by the troglodytes, the harrowing moan heard all across the lands.. leads you to believe An Old God perished, but the creation and proliferation of such insidious energy is what bothers you. Certainly, nothing like this has happened or been recorded in ten human life times. You'll need somewhere else to research. But.. you get the sense that nothing (too) terrible will happen in the immediate future.

[Beschoren]

Tasntafaal

"AAHHHHH!!!"

The elven scout is not used to the sobrenatural, much less to the super-sobrenatural event that just happened. He hastely removes the... things... from his skin before coming back to himself.

Damm, I hate that kind of stuff! He looks at Jyo-Ian to see his reaction on whatever just happend - for sure the peacefull shaman would have at least some idea. If he was to panic, so would the elf.

final tests week in college. sorry. npc me up if neeed, I won't even log to giantitp for the week

[MorkaisChosen]

Rodion keeps his eyes and ears searching for other approaching creatures, whether more troglodytes or some aftereffetct of the darkness. He is calm, as always, but with the faintest tinge of worry- no matter the swordsmanship, he cannot fight an influence with no physical form such as the darkness that surrounded them...

[Duke of URL]

Trevor

"I think we need some answers. Let us return to Re-Marr with our guests and try to find out if anyone knows what is going on. Making peaceful contact is well within our mandate, and this lot hardly seems capable of being an attack force."

[Miraqariftsky]

Soren Solaren

((Sorry if this was a tad too much artistic license... Ahem. Posting may still be sporadic, but I have returned... just in time, too...))


The ground shudders. Thunder rumbles. The fires burn.

The seething swarm of shadows that has consumed Soren begins to thrum. The daemonic bugs redouble their assault, crawling and biting and stinging ever faster and ever fiercer through both flesh and soul.

A hallowed light pulses from within the mass of darkness. Smoke arises, smelling both of incense and of charring.

Suddenly, a gout of flame slashes out from the depths of the swarm of shadowspawn, a blade of hallowed fire swung by pale arms bleeding red blood. The swarm rears and engulfs Soren once more, his war-cry choked by the thousands of tainted vermin crawling into and out of his mouth.

He collapses to one knee but both his hands still grasp the blazing blade, his symbol of power from Pu'ur. Dredging up strength from the very depths of his soul, he surges up in a spiral, sweeping the sword up and up until he brings it to a position right above his head.

The trail of flame in the air does not wither through the wind and rain. Rather, it stays and begins to swirl of its own accord, against the flow of the shadowspawn beneath and around it. Both firestorms--- of light and darkness whirl against each other, locked in a struggle spiritual.

Soren opens his mouth and the flames flood into his gullet, light blazing from his eyes. The storm of shadowspawn rears once more, preparing to finish off this impudent when the scion of the bloodname of Solaren stabs his blade into the ground. White fires flood out of his every orifice and the golden flames of purification join the earlier searing strands along their streams in the spirit-storm. A blaze blooms out of the paladin, consuming the swarm of shadowspawn, and for a moment, darkest night turns into brightest noontide.

A ten-foot circle of grass lies scorched around him and the falling rain turns to steam as it comes near him. Soren's armour still glows red like steel fresh from the forge and his eyes blaze with a burning white light. With a deep voice that pierces all hearts, speaks all tongues, a heaving chest and sparks spewing from his very mouth, Soren intones with tones that rise to a cresendo...

"Into the wells of darkness have I been
Oh ghastly sight and hideous din
A serpent older than eternity,
More ancient than gods and world-tree
Lies it now, bereft of breath
But not of power over death
The world shall be remade
Like a snake's new-skinned shade
It shall be broken and forged anew
Yet still be cast in ruin true
For an age unreckoned, darkness and despair
Shall abroad rule and ever fare
Light and life and love, embers in the dust
Oh blade of my soul, consumed by rust!"

At the very last note, the supernatural radiance fades from his form and he falls to his knees, his hands digging in the dirt, tears streaming from his eyes...

And then he stands and sheathes his sword, shambles forward and kneels before Bethany. Speaking in Dwarven, he confesses, "Ur hagd den gath mor'thak nor, ras khaz dun khur"

I am but a firebrand, a torch, a burning blade, but I am not a lantern that I see through the darkness. Please enlighten me. What was it that died?

Speaking to his comrades, he says, "A vision, such as it was, I had. One of the great serpents that keep harmony in the universe has perished. Beware, one and all, for the elder evil that it has held back for eons is about to spring free of its shackles... gods forbid that it already has..."

[MorkaisChosen]

Rodion touches his sword- an impotent gesture, surely, given the nature of the threat- and says, respect for the Paladin shining in his eyes, "You have a great skill. I hope I can lend as much to the group..."

[Miraqariftsky]

Soren Solaren

Bowing to Rodion over clenched fists held over his chest, Soren shakes his head and says, "My thanks for your appreciation. May it be that what grace I have shall pass to you but it is at times like this that I would be glad to bear my blazing burden alone so that none else shall suffer as I do"

He then tilts his head back and opens his mouth, catching the rain and drinking ravenously to quell a burning thirst. Closing his eyes and stroking his goatee, he sighs and takes a moment in silent prayer while waiting for Bethany's answer. I am a vessel of flame... I fear that this purification may be too much for one as lowly as myself, that I might not be able to channel your burning grace... Purest Pu'ur, may you in your hallowed wisdom grant that I will not break in this reforging of the world and that through my strength, others may be uplifted and reforged into greater glory as well.

[Grey_Wolf_c]

Caleun Tranil

Rendered speechless by the... alien... feel of the centipedes, Caleun could only stare speechless at what happened around him, as removed from his usual world as if Sune herself had popped up at his side to deliver a heart-shaped letter. For a second, he even almost forgot to stay in character, but then a life of practice came to his rescue, and rallied himself back to the present world.

"OK, that was as weird as I have seen in the last 80 years of my life. Weirder, even. I must admit I cannot even begin to understand what has happened here, and I will have to think of it a long while. I am glad Soren is here, for I feel much safer facing the darkness with a Chosen one on our side. But while he discovers what just happened to the faerie realm - a realm I wasn't even sure it existed not ten minutes ago - I must remain practical. I say we escort these youngsters back with us. I certainly have no wish to stay here a moment more than we need to."

[Tyriq]

Jyo-lan (www.coyotecode.net/profiler/view.php?id=4046)

"I'd like to know a bit more about what's going on before we take anyone back to Re-marr. Even if these children are innocent, will townspeople be willing to receive them? The people may not be as protective of the children as we are."

He turns to Bethany. "You spoke of a 'Mother's pestilence....' What did you mean by that? What is going with your people in the north?"

[Glyphic]

Bethany, as well as her tribe, stand spell-shocked as events Unfold. A tree becoming man, A man vomiting fire from his gullet, and Elves screaming. A slow, high amplitude wave seems to reverberate through Bethany as she shakes, her steps laden with fear as she backpedals to the rim of the fire.

She stands, traveling over each of you with a lengthy, critical gaze. Her clan offers no mockery, but you can still hear serpentine whispers floating form their forked tongues.

She speaks, while etching the ground with an uneasy claw, "[Rodion's voice] am.. Unsure what it is that has died. But I know I've felt the fear of death grip my heart. Death, or perverted forms of it.. may walk among us." Her tone flexes, her own sorrow overlapping Rodion's voice, and taking it over, hisses, "My Mother and her brood would know more. They lie wasting, their flesh inflicted with vile rot. Puss.. flows through them like blood in their veins and hearts. They pale.. and they die with bulbous growths that crack their bones. "

Her head hangs, her eyelids shut. Her body is still, save claws that clutch her amulet.

[MorkaisChosen]

Rodion shakes his head. "That sounds like no mortal ailment I have ever seen, though I am no healer. Could it be linked to this dead.. being?"

[Miraqariftsky]

Soren Solaren

Resting his chin on his knuckles, Soren's frowns and says, "I agree that it is no mortal malady indeed... and in all my years, in all my travels, many plagues have I seen yet none have I encountered as deadly and as wasting as this. I fain that we could go thither and help them yet I fear neither my paltry herb-lore nor what little divine healing is granted to me shall suffice to quell this most loathsome blight"

Bowing his head in thought and stroking his goatee, he muses worriedly, , "Whether the serpent's suffering is directly linked to the wasting away of the elders of the Crescent Moon Clan, it remains to be seen for certain..."

[Glyphic]

Bethany flicks her tail, her body raised and uneasy on her claws. She grips her amulet tightly, the animal sinew that it hangs from stressed taught. Her left claw eventually falls to her side, but the right stays clenched, "While.. they are our Elders, and they have.. our deepest respects and wishes; we have cast our selves from our tribe. Our.. former tribe is the Clan of the Broken Claw. We are barely more than two clutches of eggs; you see us all before you. We.. cast ourselves from their ways only nights ago."

She steps closer, out of earshot of her clan as her hisses become soft whispers, "They.. do not think it wise to tell you, but as.. tonight has unfolded, I see no.. reason to withhold what could save my Mother."

"Once a year, the Troglodyte clans of the Mudd Flats come together, for procreation.. There is reverence to Mythras in addition, but it is.. a fertile time. There came one more clan than usual; one of unfamiliar heritage; The Clan of the Sacred Pool. They.. were accepted. They are now named the Clan of Plague Bringers, for they carried the cursed rot with them. I have not.. the results of any attempt to bring justice upon them, for they were unafflicted."

"To the north.. you'll find more of our Mother's brood, inhabiting the Plateau's by the sea. The Clan of the Broken claw. Some.. adults, and mostly our unscathed youth and the infertile.."

[Glyphic]

It's no ordeal to assemble camp, and wake your bones for a journey into the night. A silver moon still hides behind a coastal bank of fog on this slumberless night. There is no wind, and only the faintest salty smells reach your nose from the oceans.

The earth beneath your feet feels different..more than once through your trek in the night, you feel the crunch of mouse-sized insects under your feet. The darkness and state of these insects adds some difficulty to classifying these alien, or new creatures. They appear as inky-black scarabs, with brittle exoskeletons and squishy purple insides. Many seem to run directly under your feet, as you tread the earth.. The troglodytes do not eat them.

Bethany travels close to your group, helping spot out the occasional stone, or patch of tricky path. The rest of Clan of the Crescent Moon travels to your left side, moving in harmony with the dark that surrounds you. Their movements are slow and labored, and after the first hour, you notice a few tails dragging in the earth. One of the smallest Troglodytes, moves around with uncanny ease.. seeming unaffected by hunger or woes of the body.

After some time of marching, the Troglodytes edge closer to your group, a few members taking tentative steps, walking to your sides. Someone has taught them fractions of Dwarven, common, and elven, making the process of understanding them a headache. Their forked tongue are heavily accented by Giant, making even the most harmonious words clack like shutters in a windstorm.

---
(Child, Juvenile, young adult)

Male Trog, Young adult, to Rodion.
This troglodyte retains the most muscle mass of the group, but you can tell his body is digesting it away, slowly. He still bears a gnarled cudgel. His grey eyes aim at your face as he approaches. Two taps of his cudgel follow, done by a single claw. Garbled words follow in a torrent of languages, "Sword, you; Is good. I may try?"


Female Trog, Young Adult, to Caleun
This third female bares little resemblance to Bethany or her sister. Her eyes are lucid and amber colored. She has a series of scrapes trailing down her sides from shorter claws. She leans close, showing her teeth before spewing in hushed tones, "You are peculiar. You smell unlike others. Have you walked far; seen giant-folk?"

Soren, Jyo-lan
Bethany takes a few moments to observe the rest of her clan that steps in, before rapping on each of your shoulders. No words flow from her, but she drifts to the center of the group. She seems distracted by all the conversations going on, often glancing to each paring. As you make your way south, she begins.. "I.. sense spirits have sway and you are held high in their favors. I feel my clan cannot hold to their own ways if we are to join your Re-marr; wish I- we wish so. Ritual is held at the Moon's Apex. I would like to lead your ritual, if you give your own blessings and your spirits permit the.. defections."


Oddly fast female child, to Trevor PM'd :smallwink:

Undetermined Child, to Tanstafaal
This child lacks pigment in it's scales, and they've bleached white in a few places. The child's breath is ragged, but it manages to keep up with you (at 30ft movement), staying only a few steps behind. It tries hard to step in your foot prints, only managing the sloppily mush them. Otherwise, it is silent, but meets any curious glance with off-white eyes.

Kojiro Will have an encounter if he replies to my Email. Till then, stasis

Also: You all hear an odd.. cackling from somewhere. Some times you'll hear it coming from the north, before it will switch location..

[MorkaisChosen]

Sense Motive: [roll0]

Assuming I don't sense any duplicity:

Rodion smiles slightly at the Troglodyte's request. Wordlesly, he hands the sword over- the troglodyte seems not to have any ulterior motive- and watches how he uses it, giving a few gruff tips on technique- and casting his mind back to the time when he was so little different...

[Duke of URL]

Trevor

Surprisingly, perhaps, Trevor doesn't seem to mind the young troglodyte clutching at his arm. He smiles and pats her very gently on the shoulder as they walk.

[Miraqariftsky]

Soren Solaren

"Lead... my... our rituals?" Soren asks respectfully for confirmation. "Or were you asking us to ask for the spirits' blessing for your people?"

Fires guides us through the darkness
Cold and blight so burn away
Thy will be done
Pu'ur, milord
Amen

He walks onwards with eyes glazed yet blazing with a golden light within. Slowly, his lips curl upwards in a smile, the sparse goatee twitching in the wind as he does so. He bows to Bethany and replies in the same pidgin dialect of Common, Dwarven and Elven, "Be that as it may, I do believe the answer is a blazing 'yes'. I am honoured that this is your request and I thank you"

[Grey_Wolf_c]

Female Trog, Young Adult, to Caleun
This third female bares little resemblance to Bethany or her sister. Her eyes are lucid and amber colored. She has a series of scrapes trailing down her sides from shorter claws. She leans close, showing her teeth before spewing in hushed tones, "You are peculiar. You smell unlike others. Have you walked far; seen giant-folk?"


Caleun Tranil (http://www.thetangledweb.net/forums/profiler/view_char.php?cid=12375)

"He," laughs Caleun, briefly. His knowledge of all three of dwarven, elven and common helped him understand her better, and does his best to copy where mixed dialog, "There is more to me than meets the eye, that is right. You are perceptive. Most beings look like they must, I look like I should, for the time. If we walk together long, you may understand this further. I want peace, not war, and I felt this was the best way to be listened to. You may call me Caleun, if you wish, and I wonder how I could call you?"

"As to my travels, this is the furthest I have been from my brith place, but I have traveled many miles in my own birth place, going to many places almost no-one had been to before, and seeing much. I have never seen giant-folk, but I know elves and dwarves and many types of men. If you know where to look, you can see much without walking far"

While he talks, assuming the talking goes well, Caleun unleashes his charm, not trying to woo her all the way, but at least stablish a tentative friendship (take 10 on performance(flirt)). If the trog is interested, Caleun will tell interesting/fun stories of what goes on at his "birth place", both to Caleun himself and to others

[Beschoren]

Tasntafaal

Cute thinks the elf as the youngling tries to match his steps. he intentionaly takes some 3 or 4 irregular steps just to see how the lizzard would respond. besides that he keeps his scouting role, doble-cheking to make sure the young one close to him is not in danger and dosen't hamper the elf job

[Glyphic]

Bethany keeps pace with Soren and Jyo-lan, managing the best smile a reptilian can. She lifts her talon to the sliver of moon visible through the foggy night sky, "Our clan came to be, as Tarnist's eyes close; he is preparing meditations.. though, with times as these, he may be preparing to die.. Perhaps he will notice not our departure." She looks toward the ground, her voice fading. "But that thought is grim. We.. see our god in the moon. I recall your humans once calling him a cyclops, giant with mastery of the sky's storms, and the power of the earth's rock. The moon remains his eye to look upon the earth from his imprisonment. Waking, drawing open to stare down on our world. Closing, until his eye is but a slice of vigilant sky before he takes rest."

He eyes fall from the sky, landing on Jyo-lan, and then Soren, "I.. feel it best if our clan learned the ways of your Pu'ur, and your Misting Rains. Many will not forget Tarnist, but may place undue blame on him for the plague. They will not remember his mercies, his blessings. He will be a figure for their dying Mother, they dead tribes. Thusly, their lives will lack harmony. I would like to hold ritual before we reach your Re-marr..but the hungers of body must be tended before then."

Her head turns as she speaks, noting the other Troglodyte's tongues failing. Excusing herself from Soren and Jyolan, she weaves between the group, helping with translations where she can.


Male Trog, Young adult, to Rodion.
The troglodyte holds the sword in clumsy fashion, before letting the blade and hilt lie flat in his claws. Unintentionally, he slows pace, feeling out the heaviest portion of the sword. The briefest pause of fascination holds his feet, as he draws a claw over the blade, finding the edges sharper than the tooth of any beast. His pace quickens, returning to the group.

Bethany leads small discussion of forging metals, the tools and other wonders that are born of heat and muscle; plows, buckles, pins and pots. Abruptly the Male sends his voice over hers, drowning her out and earning a cold stare from Bethany.

"You make sword.. Sing?"


Female child, to Trevor
The female child stays at Trevor's side but her acrobatic nature flaunts itself. She moves with a grace beyond her years, never stumbling, while working a twist into her steps. She holds close to him, a word never heard passing from her maw. Bethany fails to procure any conversation from her as well.

Undetermined Child, to Tanstafaal.
Bethany Yanks this child by the scruff of the neck, dropping her at Tanstafaal's side. The Child's whining is stopped short with sharp reprimand. With a dull voice, the Child then asks Tanstafaal, "Why your ears long?"

Female Trog, Young Adult, to Caleun
This is the last of the group Bethany visits. Both females talk in giant, Bethanys sister's voice brimming with heated words. She stalks off to the rest of the Crescent Moon Clan, with the crunch of a beetle under her footsteps.

Bethany exhales, her eyes closed and claws flexing. After shooting a razor-sharp glance toward the non-social group, she hisses to Caleun with softened tones, "Forgiveness for my sister. She thinks.." Bethany's tongue flicks at the air, searching for the word. She taps Caleun's shoulder, borrowing his voice to pronounce..

"ShapeShifter."

[Grey_Wolf_c]

Bethany keeps pace with Soren and Jyo-lan, managing the best smile a reptilian can. She lifts her talon to the sliver of moon visible through the foggy night sky, "Our clan came to be, as Tarnist's eyes close; he is preparing meditations.. though, with times as these, he may be preparing to die.. Perhaps he will notice not our departure." She looks toward the ground, her voice fading. "But that thought is grim. We.. see our god in the moon. I recall your humans once calling him a cyclops, giant with mastery of the sky's storms, and the power of the earth's rock. The moon remains his eye to look upon the earth from his imprisonment. Waking, drawing open to stare down on our world. Closing, until his eye is but a slice of vigilant sky before he takes rest."

He eyes fall from the sky, landing on Jyo-lan, and then Soren, "I.. feel it best if our clan learned the ways of your Pu'ur, and your Misting Rains. Many will not forget Tarnist, but may place undue blame on him for the plague. They will not remember his mercies, his blessings. He will be a figure for their dying Mother, they dead tribes. Thusly, their lives will lack harmony. I would like to hold ritual before we reach your Re-marr..but the hungers of body must be tended before then."

Her head turns as she speaks, noting the other Troglodyte's tongues failing. Excusing herself from Soren and Jyolan, she weaves between the group, helping with translations where she can.


Male Trog, Young adult, to Rodion.
[spoiler]The troglodyte holds the sword in clumsy fashion, before letting the blade and hilt lie flat in his claws. Unintentionally, he slows pace, feeling out the heaviest portion of the sword. The briefest pause of fascination holds his feet, as he draws a claw over the blade, finding the edges sharper than the tooth of any beast. His pace quickens, returning to the group.

Bethany leads small discussion of forging metals, the tools and other wonders that are born of heat and muscle; plows, buckles, pins and pots. Abruptly the Male sends his voice over hers, drowning her out and earning a cold stare from Bethany.
Female Trog, Young Adult, to Caleun
This is the last of the group Bethany visits. Both females talk in giant, Bethanys sister's voice brimming with heated words. She stalks off to the rest of the Crescent Moon Clan, with the crunch of a beetle under her footsteps.

Bethany exhales, her eyes closed and claws flexing. After shooting a razor-sharp glance toward the non-social group, she hisses to Caleun with softened tones, [COLOR="Gray"]"Forgiveness for my sister. She thinks.." Bethany's tongue flicks at the air, searching for the word. She taps Caleun's shoulder, borrowing his voice to pronounce..

"ShapeShifter."

Caleun Tranil (http://www.thetangledweb.net/forums/profiler/view_char.php?cid=12375)

"Shapeshifter?" Asks Caleun, clearly confused with both the idea and the concept itself, "Me? Not at all. I can disguise, both with my ability and a bit of help from a few objects, but I do not shift or change. We call this 'illusion'", Caleun attempts to explain, and repeats the word in elven and dwarven, in case that helps. He looks around, trying to find a better way to explain, and then an idea pops into his head.

"I will give you an example, Bethany, if you are willing to feel, and maybe your sister will then try the example for herself. Behold my staff," Caleun raises his gnarled staff, which he has been using to walk all along, "Notice how it starts narrow and as it goes up it grows thicker and twisty. Now, don't trust your eyes, but your touch, and feel the staff" Caleun holds it between his hands, offering to Bethany

[Assuming she does touch it, she will go right through the illusion, and feel the real staff under it, which is a straight cane. It also probably breaks the illusion for Bethany until Caleun can restore it]:
"See?" Caleun's real voice is joined by his real face suddenly reappear under the heavy makeup face lines, and his clothes returning to normal, the illusion broken, "This is no shape change or shift, just a harmless image of what I would like to be." With a brief moment of concentration, Caleun returns his illusion of the old man into being, before continuing, "I do apologise I did not present my real face to you, but my safety, the chances of reaching peace and the safety of those around me has always been greatly improved when I wear my disguises and illusions. This face," Caleun explains while gesturing at his changed face, "is not me, but it represents who I would like to be - a wise man that can find a way for humans and troglodytes to live together in peace, and wellbeing"

"I fear now that I have offended your sister, or maybe scared her. I wish to make ammends, and for that purpose I am willing to let her test my illusions further than even you have. I could show her how to look older, or even human, in the same way I have looked older, and she can see for herself this is no shape shift, and that, underneath, nothing changes. The last thing I desire is angry words or thoughts spoiling our chance of friendship between our people, or even between me, Caleun, and your sister"

OOC: do I need to do diplomacy rolls?

[Beschoren]

With a dull voice, the Child then asks Tanstafaal, "Why your ears long?"

"A fish bit me", the scout says, leting out a smile. Then he shows his other ear and turns to the kid - "twice"

listen check to see if I overhear anything meanfull (common, dwarven, elven or something in between) [roll0]

[MorkaisChosen]

Rodion smiles at the young Troglodyte's request and replies, "I am not sure I understand," he says, "but the dance of blades is a... a passion of mine. I could show you something of it, if you wish."

[Tyriq]

Jyo-lan (www.coyotecode.net/profiler/view.php?id=4046)

"Bethany... I'm not sure that you could be both devoted to Pu'ur and a member of the Order of the Gentle Rain, because of the commitments involved. If we make it to Sussurance, though, we should introduce your clan to the Order... They are mostly healers and are very accepting and kind to people, even those like me who look a little different." Jyo-lan's skin, normally a pale gold in the sunlight, has taken on a fish-like sheen in the damp night.

"We would be honored, I think, to have you lead an evening ritual, once we are sure that we are safe. What do you think, Soren?"

[Glyphic]

Rodion and the male troglodyte continue to discuss swordsmanship, a bond budding with few words. With ritual cautions, the Troglodyte soon returns the great sword to it's sheath. Introductions fall into place; The Troglodyte calls himself "Shall-vlock."


A creased, quirky-eyed expression forms on the face of the child talking to Tanstafaal. This stays in this contorted state, as her off-white eyes stare at the Elf's head. She rubs her maw, thawing the look from her appearance. She waits until Bethany is out of earshot, and celebrates with a wheezy dance. "She walks us far, too fast. Too hard.." She lifts up a clawed-foot, mashing an over-sized beetle. A sickening squish follows, as purple bug guts coat the damp ground. As time passes, the energy drains quickly from her. She's sluggish, more so than the other troglodytes.
Her movement speed drops to 15ft, quite suddenly.


(Before Bethany talks with Caleun)
"I.. may have miss spoken. I am hoping one of you would lead. It.. will be a granite change form our normal ritual. I must assist; I am this tribe's Mother. Tonight brings many cruel changes to this earth, but we must..seek the Mercy of Your Re-marr, your ways."

Her uncertain eyes turn to Jyo-lan, "I.. know not of your Sussurance. The distance we put under foot and claw strains us; is it much farther than your Re-marr?"

(she excuses herself)



Bethany, Caleun.
Bethany reaches out, securing the sword-cane firmly, in attempt to bring it into her own possession. Her eyes hint luminous as she watches Caleun cycle illusions. Her tongue slips from her maw, the sharp tips laying flat. Reclusive words follow her voice laced with chill, "I know your masks, magic and from the earth. You are not a Longbeard; we all have much wisdom to glean from the seasons. Your form is misleading, and it stills in them, a fear.. but also a Holy Ardor. Wolf-weres, the Golden Arachnids, adaptors and facestealers are all born from Mythras' Irresponsible Magics. You see a disguise, they see an enemy to be bled dry and let wither from all earth."

Her eye lay on her sister, occluded by a few other troglodytes and the shades of night, "Without action, the wounds will fester. I.. worry if you try to make corrections, for blood may spill, but I also urge you help appease my sister, Leen."

[Grey_Wolf_c]

Caleun Tranil (http://www.thetangledweb.net/forums/profiler/view_char.php?cid=12375)

Noticing out of the corner of his eye the sudden slowdown of one of the smaller trogs, Caleun gives Tanstafaal a shout, "Tanstafaal! Why don't you bring the child over, and put him in the cart? He will have an easier tip that way"


Bethany, Caleun.
Bethany reaches out, securing the sword-cane firmly, in attempt to bring it into her own possession. Her eyes hint luminous as she watches Caleun cycle illusions. Her tongue slips from her maw, the sharp tips laying flat. Reclusive words follow her voice laced with chill, "I know your masks, magic and from the earth. You are not a Longbeard; we all have much wisdom to glean from the seasons. Your form is misleading, and it stills in them, a fear.. but also a Holy Ardor. Wolf-weres, the Golden Arachnids, adaptors and facestealers are all born from Mythras' Irresponsible Magics. You see a disguise, they see an enemy to be bled dry and let wither from all earth."

Her eye lay on her sister, occluded by a few other troglodytes and the shades of night, "Without action, the wounds will fester. I.. worry if you try to make corrections, for blood may spill, but I also urge you help appease my sister, Leen."

"Very well, Bethany, I will do what I can", says Caleun. He then takes back this staff, and walks confidentaly towards the group of troglodytes, atempting to see Leen amongst the crowd. Once he spots her, he makes her way to her, quickly and effortlestly skipping around the crowd, his "old age" step giving way to long strides.

"Leen," he tells her once he is by her side, "please give me a chance to explain. Bethany has spoken to me about what made you angry, and I believe I did not explain properly. Please give me the chance - your sister would like me to make correction, before this harms you or us"

[Assuming she accepts, Caleun continues]

"Bethany has told me that you hate and fear those creatures that can change their shape, such as wolf-weres, golden spiders and facestealers. But I am not any of those. I do not change my shape, just hide it. I have seen that your people have markings and decorations in your face and scales, like half-moons and feather. They change you, to tell others who you are. I do the same, changing how I look to tell others who I am. And I do it by putting colours to my face, and using a little magic, just like your sister Bethany did when talking to us with my friend's voice. We wanted the same thing: to be able to speak to those that are different from us without blood"

"Also, you must understand that even if I can look different that doesn't make me your enemy. Some humans say that troglodytes are evil and will attack them, but not all humans are like that. I do not want to kill you or your people. I am sure that some troglodytes say humans are evil and will attack us, but you have not. Don't think I am like the gold spiders, or like the man-wolves just because I can do something similar to what they do. Not every person of a group must think like the whole group. And I promise, and give you my word, that so long as you do not harm others, I will defend you from those that would give you harm"

"You may not trust my words, since you do not know me, so would you allow me to show you how I change, and teach you how to change yourself? That way, you can see for yourself that I do not change shape, only how I look. I want to be friends with you, Leen, so please let me do this"

[Again, assuming she goes forward with this - otherwise, Caleun will listen to her reasons and (in a new post) attempt to molify her]

Caleun's old face relaxes as he slowly releases the illusion, trying not to scare Leen or the other troglodytes around. His grey hair suddenly gives way to black, like cheap dye running from cloth after rain. His face becomes slightly less lined, and his clothing become far more current. His staff, gnarly, wavers and shows the straight polished wood below it. Finally, a little pin in his hat grows until it becomes his hat. Once he feels the illusion gone, he takes a cloth from his kit and cleans his face and hands, removing the make-up he had used to give the final polish to the disguise. Straightening his pose, Caleun is back to looking like a 20-something human.

"Leen, this is what I really look like. Not a spider, not a wolf, not anything but a man." Removing his hat, he says, "This hat has the magic that made the illusion you saw. It is not dangerous, but it is very precious to me, so understand that I am only lending it so we can be friends. All you need is to place it on your head, and imagine how you would like to look."

Caleun gives a few more instructions, similar to the ones he received himself when he first adquired the hat, about clear pictures in one's mind, closing the eyes and visualising, about keeping it simple and easy, and finally how to project the image outwards through the hat until it surrounds her. He suggests using someone well known to her, like Bethany, or maybe some other troglodyte from the group. Once she manages to project the image (likely not particularly accurate), Caleun gives her a few moments to realise that she has not really changed, before politely getting his hat back, which he puts back on his head (without invoking its powers).

[Glyphic]

Leen eyes Caleun as he approaches, disdain seeping from her amber eyes. She releases a predatory hiss as he begins to speak. By her sides, her claws stroke the air like the motion of sword on whetstone. "Speak, fraudulent man, if you will it." He head turns aside, as she orders the timid and weary males to her flank. Her eyes gleam as she turns them back to stare down Caleun.

"Bethany has told me that you hate and fear those creatures that can change their shape.."

"That way, you can see for yourself that I do not change shape, only how I look. I want to be friends with you, Leen, so please let me do this"

Leen's eyes finally blink, clear membranous eyelids making an audible "schlick" as her eyes remoisturize. "Proof lies in the blood. Show your ways.." Her maw twists, her eyes hinting at asmusement. Behind her, her tail swats the calf of a sleepy looking male.

"Leen, this is what I really look like.., so understand that I am only lending it so we can be friends.."

Here, grasping the hat, Leen swivels her eyes. Her inspection lasts less than a minute, as the group travels.. she casts no spell, and there is no change in the air about her. He claws crumple, but not damage the deceptive hat. Her words rush from her mouth, syllables stressed and hard, "The tests and trials are on your terms. You show only that which you will; conceding lost fanes." Her claws wave to the main group, and at Caleun's own flesh, "Truth lies in the blood. Make no attempt to transpollute it. Match that of your tribe; Tarnist will be watching."


Off in the distance, Bethany watches, but whispers crowd her ears as she irrigates the conversations..

[Grey_Wolf_c]

"Speak, fraudulent man, if you will it."

Caleun Tranil (http://www.thetangledweb.net/forums/profiler/view_char.php?cid=12375)

Caleun's face turns deadly serious, the easy-going person left behind and the professional infiltrator taking its place. Several of the nearby weak troglodytes take a step back. "You call me fraudulent? You, who approached our encampment in the darkness, and turned off all lights to try and not be seen? How is that any less fraudulent than changing my face to look what I wanted to look like? So be it. Now you see my real face, that of the thief-catcher. It shall be on your head."


"The tests and trials are on your terms. You show only that which you will; conceding lost fanes." Her claws wave to the main group, and at Caleun's own flesh, "Truth lies in the blood. Make no attempt to transpollute it. Match that of your tribe; Tarnist will be watching."

[OOC: errr... I think I'm going to go for a take 10 on sense motive (10+4=14 Sense motive) to see if Caleun "gets" some additional information about what she meant (if I cannot take 10, feel free to roll). Is she suggesting Caleun challenges her to a fight, with him setting the rules of the combat, to demonstrate he is willing to be friendly? That's about as much as I, Grey Wolf, understand, but I'm unsure about the "lost fanes", and where imitating the rest of the group comes in ("Match that of your tribe")]

[Grey_Wolf_c]

[OOC: errr... I think I'm going to go for a take 10 on sense motive (10+4=14 Sense motive) to see if Caleun "gets" some additional information about what she meant (if I cannot take 10, feel free to roll). Is she suggesting Caleun challenges her to a fight, with him setting the rules of the combat, to demonstrate he is willing to be friendly? That's about as much as I, Grey Wolf, understand, but I'm unsure about the "lost fanes", and where imitating the rest of the group comes in ("Match that of your tribe")]
[OOC: Anyone that particularly cares can find the DM's answer to this here (http://www.giantitp.com/forums/showpost.php?p=4542774&postcount=162)]


"The tests and trials are on your terms. You show only that which you will; conceding lost fanes." Her claws wave to the main group, and at Caleun's own flesh, "Truth lies in the blood. Make no attempt to transpollute it. Match that of your tribe; Tarnist will be watching."

Caleun Tranil (http://www.thetangledweb.net/forums/profiler/view_char.php?cid=12375)

"Very well, I will show that my blood matches that of my companions. You shall follow me now", answers Caleun before marching forwards making sure Neel is following him.

Caleun approaches Soren and politely speaks, "Sir Solaren, I believe I am in need of assistance. It seems that my disguise was a little too good, and the most suspicious of the group actually believe me to be a shapeshifter of some kind. They are willing to take my word that I'm human, though, if my blood matches that of someone else in the group. I was wondering if you would mind participating in such folly? This troglodyte here, sister to Bethany," says Caleun while gesturing vaguely at Neel, "will bear witness to it. I am not entirely certain of how much blood they need, but a fair amount may be advisable, at least on my side. I don't suppose you could close it afterwards, by the way? Or know if any of our companions are versed in the healing arts? I know this is quite a bit to ask, but talking to people that can barely understand me is proving quite the challenge. And of course, if you do have a problem, don't hesitate to tell me. I am sure some other of the group will help me."

[OOC: Nexus, if you do accept, feel free to act it out including Caleun's reactions (just to keep this moving). If I don't like your interpretation, I'll just post a ret-con :smallwink:]

[Edit note: I originally though that "Tarnist" (who will be witness to the blood thing) was some of the males around Neel - maybe a shaman intraining that was the troglodyte equivalente of a notary. This is a mistake of me as a player - Caleun would've not made that mistake 1) because he's heard of the God, and his memory is not as bad as mine and 2) from context clues from Neel, like tone of voice and body language. Hopefully this is OK]

[Beschoren]

Tanstafaal

"are you ok kid?" the elf asks, but before any reply (he was not in the mood of babysitting) he goes to Bethany and quickly tells her of the sudden energy drop "... then maybe you could check on him? I have no idea how this plague thing works, so I guess it's worth you taking a look on the boy. Or don't, its your offspring, not mine."

Scouting ahead at full speed and high alert, he now ignores the child and the others.

Though for them, but life goes on

[Glyphic]

Bethany's face contorts as Tanstafaal delievers his report. Her scales crinkle as she looks in the youth's direction, her left claw flexed before she tests their blades and tips. She turns her drained, onyx eyes to Soren and Jyo-lan, imparting one word, the formal Dwarven word for apology. She stalks off to the Youth; she passes Leen on her way, and the two share no words. The slightest grin appears on Leen's face.

Bethany kneels by the bleached-white child, stopping entirely. Bethany's words trickle like placid waters of a gentle stream, solely for the ears of this child. Her left claw strokes the youth's head, before rolling to it's maw. Bethany's shortest talon hooks on the underside of the youth's maw, as the two embrace. Bethany soon rises, without further word, keeping her talon where it lies. The youth's milky eyes are the last thing to disappear, as the two slink into the surrounding darkness.


Leen earns a frown from the two troglodytes still interspersed in your group, as she eyes Caleun, her amber eyes tinted with malice, "Bleed for me, Human. "

[Miraqariftsky]

((Sorry, sorry, sorry! I profusely apologize for being late! Studies, DMing, technical troubles, et cetera!))

Soren Solaren

The paladin turns from the march and gazes upon the fracas behind him. Slapping his forehead, he gazes up into the sky in exasperation and then heaves a weary sigh.

He walks back towards them then bows from the waist towards Leen. Shaking his head at Caleun, he hisses, "I advised ye against too much deception, did I not?"

Turning to the doubtful troglodyte, he says to her, "Vol dath suyer". After that one Dwarven sentence, he lashes his own palm with the blade of his dagger, swiftly drawn, struck, cleaned and re-sheathed.

The blood flows from the cut, dark scarlet dripping down and staining the grass below. Soren speaks and tells the rogue, "Go, comrade. Prove the purity of your blood"

Translation: "The blood is pure"

[Grey_Wolf_c]

((Sorry, sorry, sorry! I profusely apologize for being late! Studies, DMing, technical troubles, et cetera!))

Soren Solaren

The paladin turns from the march and gazes upon the fracas behind him. Slapping his forehead, he gazes up into the sky in exasperation and then heaves a weary sigh.

He walks back towards them then bows from the waist towards Leen. Shaking his head at Caleun, he hisses, "I advised ye against too much deception, did I not?"

Turning to the doubtful troglodyte, he says to her, "Vol dath suyer". After that one Dwarven sentence, he lashes his own palm with the blade of his dagger, swiftly drawn, struck, cleaned and re-sheathed.

The blood flows from the cut, dark scarlet dripping down and staining the grass below. Soren speaks and tells the rogue, "Go, comrade. Prove the purity of your blood"

Translation: "The blood is pure"

"Unfortunately, you might as well advice the night to be sunnier. I would not be here talking to you had I not taking the path I did," Caleun hisses back, before taking his cinquedea out and cutting his hand in as close way as Soren had. Blood quickly acumulatingin his cupped palm, Caleun displays the crimson liquid for the world to see, "Here, maybe this will quiet your suspicions"

[Beschoren]

Tanstafaal

With no warning or excusses, the elf comes back to his hand-bloodied companions and reminds "Do cover the droped blood with some dirt aye? We are leaving enough tracks already". He is pretty cold in his words, as if he didn't care on how silly is that way of making new scaled friends, since it didn't make his job harder.

Crazy reptalian people. Crazy humans. Crazy mission. When do I get back to my wine?

[Glyphic]

Leen reaches forward with a smooth movement, her talons safely tucked into her short palm. Her other claw comes quick, reopening a sealed scar on her forearm. Her lifeblood trickles from the cresent-shaped wound, her blood colored like a rotten pomegranate. "You.. Applease, Humans" Leen's voice crackles, her gaze lingering on Sorens and Caleun's fresh wounds. "Blood tells us many things.. our pride and our deceptions, all flows; and all is known."

The few troglodytes within earshot edge away from Leen with disdainful curses toward her. She only seems to smile, and wipe away her freshly drawn blood, sampling a scare amount with a flick of her tongue.


Its some time before Bethany returns, her footsteps alone. Her shoulders hang, her movements stiffened. She makes no announcement as she trudges to the center of formation, close to Soren. Her scales and claws are newly scrubbed, wearing thin toward her wrists. A chittering laugh eurrpts from the young Troglodyte that walked with Trevor, "Mercy's work is done!" Her sardonic laughter continues for minutes.


The darkness of night wanes as two hours pass. Phil the mule swaggers back and fourth, braying cantankerously. The warmth of morning light soon shreds the fog above, golden light of sunrise brimming at Fort Silvanos and the rest Valorium to the east. Fewer beetles dash under your feet as day breaks, and the spiraling farmland of Ree-marr comes underfoot instead.

The time is very early morning.

[Duke of URL]

Trevor

Ah, good, we finally return. The conversation with the young troglodyte was enlightening and frustrating at the same time. What did she really know? And am I wise for trusting her? Still the prospect of being one step closer to completing the mission and being released from service puts a slight spring in his step, despite the lack of sleep.

[Glyphic]

A spade thumps against the ground, let lose by the teen-aged who bore it only seconds ago. His friends, 5 in all stand locked as they catch sight of your group. A particularly pimple-faced boy lets loose the shaky shout, "T-t-Troglodytes!" Two more wooden spades fall to the ground, as three boys break into a sprint, shouting hoarsely as they flee toward the center of town. Two remain, but drift until their backs are against a barn wall, their hands wrapped around their farming implements.

[Duke of URL]

Trevor

Okay... we probably should have expected this... actually, it's kind of funny seeing this riff-raff run around frightened, but they could incite a mob if left unchecked... Time to turn on the old charm, then...

"Wait! Do not be alarmed -- these troglodytes come peacefully to parley with the rulers of Re-Marr! Do not be frightened!"


[roll0]

[Grey_Wolf_c]

Caleun Tranil (http://www.thetangledweb.net/forums/profiler/view_char.php?cid=12375)

"Ummm... this is going better than I expected. I actually thought they'd shoot first and run for help later. Someone should go to talk to the elders and explain the situation before the city watch comes running with the weapons out and this goes down the drain," Caleun calmy mentions, "Soren, you would be my first choice, but the trogs probably would feel safer if you stay with them. I can go, too, but I'd rather someone come with me, if so. Other options?"

[Glyphic]

The two youths present swing their eyes to Trevor as his voice breaks out. "We'll run ahead and tell Gerald!" one bursts, eager for an excuse to get away. Both of them turn their worn boots, scampering off in the direction of the other boys.


With a hint of understanding, Bethany spits short words in Giant to her clan. Javelins, clubs, and some less interesting sacs form a pile at the edge of town. The few sacs they do keep, you know to hold bones and teeth of their ancestors. In total, there are Nine Troglodytes: Three Children, Bethany, Leen, two unnamed females, Two males.

[Beschoren]

Tanstafaal

Damm. Merde. I'm Tired. I truly hope Gerald and his ghost-bride don't invite us for lunch. Otherwise I'll "meditate" with my face on the dishes.

[Miraqariftsky]

Soren Solaren

Chink there canters in
The scrawny horse
Bought for coin and whisky

The green grass trod
Weeps for its shattered dew
As Pu'ur's light over the land
Does warmly wash

The rider, Solaren
With heart heaving
From morn's meditation
Once more does breathe as sigh
And silent pray

As eyelids close
In seeming sleep
Words of the soul
Once more he speaks
A petition he begs
That folk be understanding

Scale and skin
Similitude holds them all...

Black eyes ope
To pale morning sky
Forth he fares
With snickering steed

Dismounts at Bethany's side
To the outcast clan, holds he his hands
High he heaves his voice yet clear and says,
"Fear not, young ones. Fret not, ye of the Crescent Moon
Day is come. The light shall all dark doubts devour"

[Glyphic]

Off in the distance, you hear Re-marrs inhabitants congregating.. Whispers to Pu'ur and other gods rumble from the center of town. Groggy barks and yaps soon follow. Arguementative voices grow louder, near shouting level. A hush decends upon the morning, as a large bronze bell resounds in the distance.

Geral's voice, firm and certain reaches you, "There will be no blood spilled today!" Murmurings begin again, but do not draw closer.

[Duke of URL]

Trevor

Trevor addresses Geral as he approaches. "These troglodytes came peacefully to our encampment. The information they bring is... interesting."

[Beschoren]

Tasntafaal

The young elf does seem tired and bored:smallsigh:. He constantly sights and takes a deep look into nowhere, as if staring tiny specs of dust that hypnotically hold his attention. He barely raise his eyeborrow as the crowd ghathered, only slowly turning his head for them as he heard Gerald's voice.

"no blood spilled today:smallconfused:"? does he have a crystal ball or he is really so naive and confident?
well, he is already wrong nevertheless...

He takes a quick look into Soren's cut hand, before taking attention to Trevor.
As Gerald aproches, his soldier posture is brought back:smallannoyed:.

[Glyphic]

You all make your way to the center of town, where some sixty people and dogs slouch in unease. Dogs yap, as the inhabitants of remarr hold their chains and rub their eyes. Gerald, along with a few well-known militia folk stand at the center of town, their attire and arms rushed and sloppy.

Directly opposing them, you realize the cause of Gerald's furious bellows. Two Fireteams, dressed thick, boiled leather. A charred crown is burnt on most of their uniforms. Two Corprals stand in attendance, hands rubbing the pommels of their scimitars. Before them is a man of Gerald's stature, enduring Gerald's shouts and spittle like a corpse playing sentry. The blackened mail this man bares identifies him as a Sargent. His yawning, disinterested expression identifies his opinion of Gerald. A closer squint reveals him nearing forty or fifty years in age; his skin is crinkling, his hair turned silver and black. His face holds a gaunt nose and a lingering sneer.

"A rock never breaks all in one day, Gerald. Your town won't weather a season of fire."

Both Gerald and this Sargent pause as your armored or scaled band approaches.. Those of the flame hooting and hollering, and a silence falling over Gerald.

From across the commons, the Sargent barks, "Corporal Nightshade! Your service is appreciated and finished! I've new orders for you and your fireteam!"


Roughly, you're on the north end of the commons. The Members of the flame of the est approached from the west, and Gerald and townies are interspersed. A fireteam consists (typically) of four people. There are nine members of the flame present, excluding those in your party.

[Grey_Wolf_c]

Caleun Tranil (http://www.thetangledweb.net/forums/profiler/view_char.php?cid=12375)

Caleun realises the chances for the situation to go from tense to "flamming" and nonchallantly adopts a defensive posture, keeping an eye on the sargent, and paying attention for any movement from the sides. His posture reveals little of this, having been in similar situations over the years of service, but if the Flames charge, he will not be surprised by it.

Not trusting himself to speak - they could still be looking for him, although he doubted he ranked high enough to merit two full fireteams plus a Flame Sargent - he risked a quick look towards Soren to see what his intentions were.

[Actions: Obviously Caleun cannot be surprised (Uncanny dodge), but if it comes down to a fight, Caleun will start in total defence until his first turn. Caleun will wait a prudential time for Soren to speak, but if nothing is forthcoming in a reasonable span, he will speak up. Whether this is obvious to anyone I supose will depend on their sense motive skill. He is not hiding this intention. However, he is hiding his preparation for combat (bluff +7)]

[Miraqariftsky]

Soren Solaren

Ah... the lowland savages are come, eh?

Soren's eyes narrow as the fireteams march out into the commons. The scarlet-tinged night-black goatee twitches ever so slightly as the young man deliberately unbuckles his sword-belt and takes the still-scabbarded into his right hand.

Blood from his open wound drips into the parched soil and slowly seeps into the leathern sheath. A faint scent of incense wafts from his palm as sacred smoke sears shut the injury.

Without looking, he says to Bethany out of the corner of his mouth, "Ogdurim zhath. Ormed dreah h'teal"

With only those words, he turns his attention fully to the... foreign devils... uncompromising, murderous zealots...

The scion of the Solaren bloodname strides forth, the dust of the parched earth rising, small stones ping-ing against his greaves and mail skirt. His head is bowed, his eyes are pools of shadow as he walks towards the followers of the Flame of the West.

FWWWWI-SHHHNKKK! foom! The claymore comes free in a sudden flash of flame and steel. Soren holds it high and places the blade on his pauldron, unperturbed by the searing heat.

His eyes burn with inner light, a golden radiance. His voice thunders with the roar of a blazing forge. "People of Re-marr, ye children of Pu'ur and Flame-bringers of the West! Hear my words!"

"Straight shall I speak, to the dust with eloquence!" he says, smashing out his left hand towards the ground.

"There is no need for strife this day. Yon scaled folk who have with us come seek shelter, company and aid! How can you call yourselves decent human beings when you will not deign to help them in their hour of need but rather come armed with fire and steel?" the passion rises in the paladin's voice, burning with indignation against the murderous--- or so he's read them claimed to be--- scum that has come upon them today. Had they not come in force and had the captain not uttered those contemptuous, hostile words, Soren might have held back... but no...

Pumping his blazing blade into the air, with spirit ablaze, he continues thusly... "The same, I say, holds true for all who breathe the breath of life! Be they round of ear or pointed, be they skinned or scaled, be they fair or foul of flesh, we all do have in our hearts that spark that can burn for Goodness' sake and burn through the night, through the Darkness that comes to devour us all! That is why we must hold true, that we must hold together and not be ever embroiled in mindless strife against one another, elsewise we through our fear and anger and hate shall feed the very Darkness against which we must ever strive..."

Soren then brings his sword low and extinguishes the blaze on the blade with a pass of his hand. His eyes still burning with an otherworldly flame, the light around him seems to sap away, replaced by encroaching shadows that reach for him, wrought of killing cold... He closes his eyes and then opens them once more, the pupils blazing white as he stabs his sword into the earth and a ring of flame erupts around him, banishing the sinister shadows. His own voice returns, rasping... "...Please, men of the West. Desist from your errand of destruction"

Translation:
Make ready to fight or flee. This could get ugly...



Diplomacy [roll0]

Edit: Aw, crrrraaaaap!

Detect Evil, full spread!

[Grey_Wolf_c]

Oh my good Sune! thinks Caleun, hearing Soren go on his impassioned rant. And here I thought we stood a chance of getting out of here alive. Well, the boy's got spirit. Can't fault him for that. Taking chance of the stunned silence that spread after Soren's dramatic (and loud) words, Caleun takes the chance to speak, hopefully defusing the situation before it goes downhill.

(Note: going to see what my roll for diplomacy is to see what my tone should be like. If I have a bad roll, I'll do my best to rise to the occasion as magnifically as Nexus)

[roll0] (Using one charge of the wink brooch)

Caleun raises his voice so that all can hear his words, and proclaims,
"Peoples of Re-Marr, and of the Flame! Please heed onto my words before taking harsh and dangerous actions. I see in your faces fears and mistrust, but I assure you they have little place here, today. This troglodytes do not intend to harm you, as should be clear from the fact that they have come back with us, humans, with no complaints."

"We found these children - and children they are, young one and all, regardless of their race - lost in the forests, fleeing from a danger far greater than we could ever imagine. They never wished to harm us, and if we harm them, we shall never know of the danger that drove them from their lands! Will you take the risk of that danger spreading? A plague, and army, a demon? I have barely had the chance to talk to them, and what little I have heard fills my heart with dread, for I have not once heard of something like it. Peoples of Re-marr, soldiers of the Flame, listen!"

"Please do not act rashly, looking only at their shape, but look deeply into their eyes and into your own hearts. Do these companions of mine seem dangerous? Would an invading army bring their small ones with them? Would they look so hungry and desperate? Of course not! These are refugees, and regardless of what they are, they deserve to be listened to, and given a chance! We were chosen to go look for them, and so we did. We had the authority to speak with them, so we did. To the best of our abilities, we assure you they mean no harm and pose no danger to these village, and their knowledge of the darkness they flee from must be collected, or we face the same holocaust that affected their own tribes! People of the Flame, will you have that upon your head? Shall it be known that it was you, Sargent, that ignored the trumpet call of caution in your haste to attack?"

"Finally, a word of immediate caution. We promised these refugees safe passage and a meeting with the peoples of Re-Marr. We have the authority to do so, and if anyone attempts to block our purpose, we will not hesitate to defend those under our protection. We shall do this with heavy hearts, because this is not the time for petty squabbles, so please listen to my words and calm down, so that today can become a day of peace!"

[Note: Ok, that sounds about right. Thanks for your patience - particularly if you read through that entire block of text]

[Grey_Wolf_c]

[roll0] (Using one charge of the wink brooch)

Sorry for the roll mistake. I had an error at posting, and when attempting to repost, I didn't realise it had changed the troll html:
[roll0] (Using one charge of the wink brooch)

[Beschoren]

Tasntafaal

...wine and pillow just have to wait a little bit more...
whispers: "This is somewhat unexpected. Why they would send more people here? it's just a backdoor village... Corporal, I abide by your decision."...I'm not willing to die to defend some troglodites, but i'm taking the risk to get some slices of tenfold-war-prisioner-revenge over the flame...

The bow is (slowly) brought to hand, and the eyes matches the crowd and the buildings.

is there any place very good to hide, or a house that could be climbed up to the roof? please make a map, it would clear my mind

[Duke of URL]

Trevor


From across the commons, the Sargent barks, "Corporal Nightshade! Your service is appreciated and finished! I've new orders for you and your fireteam!"

Trevor is about to start arguing that if his assignment is finished, he's likewise done with his obligation to the Flame, and new orders can stuff themselves, but then Soren and Caleun start speaking their pieces. Well, this is going to be fun. And if those Flame zealots think I'll be fighting on their side should it come to that, they're in for a nasty shock.

He whispers a rushed, insistent message to the young troglodyte at his side. "Draka zar ona rani jorkany'k... yv ryymarra cnaogk y'd, n'r o'oi -- raoj ryndr orj aokd, orj Y 'ymm zaad iy' drana modan yv Y ror."


Translation (DM's eyes only):

Yeah, nice try. Translation actually PM'd.

[Glyphic]

Had a slight mapping problem. Here's the link.
http://www.freewebs.com/gryphonnorin/reemarr1.JPG

Also: You do have room to hide and climb up on the near-by barn. Just hope its in good repair :p

Also: Bethany, Leen, and all your other favorite Troglodytes will be placed on the map shortly.


The sleepy citizens rouse as Soren's words sweep over the commons. A number of Pu'ul's devoted let forth a Sanctimonious cry, adding their flames of hope to his. It's good to note, a number of militia attended Soren's Services..

A man named Akos heralds, after Caluen's speach, "Holocaust; darkness! I know I felt each of these last night, and everyone's tucking their heads in their shirts! I'll house those troglodytes for a year if they know what in soot's dust is going on!"

A number of mothers, fathers, place their eyes on their own children, before turning back to look at the thin-framed Troglodytes within your party..

Sargent Brannis's eyes never leave Gerald, but his cracked lips mutate into a smile on the man's aged face, "Gerald, you picked the last of the dreamers. But look at them! Brimming with hope, and passion." His eyes turn to your group, his eyes squinting in the new light. "Gerald.. This should've happened twenty years ago."

Sargent Brannis' Saber is out of it's sheath before Gerald can grip his own blade. A violent eruption of magic pulses with radiant purple light as Sargent Brannis splashes Gerald's blood into the air. The second Corporal smashes his boot into Gerald's knee sending him to the dirt.

The Privates reach for weapons, ranging from bows to staves and swords. Their voices crack like laughing dogs, as the descend on the Militia men. One in particular, sends a set of arrows at Dwarven Citizen..

Horrified voices shriek and shout as the firefight begins. "Gerald! Gerald, get up!" rises above the frothy combat..


[It is your Team's turn to act. Initiative will be rolled using Sargent Brannis and the last member of your team to take action.]

[Duke of URL]

Trevor

The warlock rushes forward and lets loose a blast of energy at the sergeant. "Consider this my resignation."


Move to within 60'. Eldritch blast [roll0] ranged touch, [roll1]

[Beschoren]

Tanstafaal

The bloodrops in the air, ungently taken from gerald's flesh, made the youg elf's eyes widen. At the same time, he starts moving as if in a erradicly path, with the head low and the magical bow,"Mensager", right front of him, on his fully streched arm. His right hand flyes to the leather quiver in his back, taking the day's first arrow VENGEANCE!
he quicklly moves to the front of the barn, and shoots one of the privates
"I'm with you, former corporal!"

hp:29 AC:20 I'll move to the east side of the 1° bush just close to the barn and shoot private 3.
Atack: [roll0]
damage:[roll1]

[Grey_Wolf_c]

Caleun Tranil (http://www.thetangledweb.net/forums/profiler/view_char.php?cid=12375)

As soon as the sargent touches his sword, Caleun realises what is about to happen and explodes into action. "Damn. Too far. Too far!" he thinks as he sprints towards the group. As he runs, he invokes the magic of his hat, changing it into a ribbon that holds his long hair back, and draws his Cinquedea with his left hand and his crossbow with his right. Heading directly at the wagons between him and Gerald, Caleun suddenly drops into a roll and propels himself up into the air, trying to reach the top of the wagon[1].

As he finishes his acrobatics, he takes aim at the private whose back is to him and shoots, while maintaining motion to make himself a difficult target[2]. "With his back to me, he won't even see the arrow coming! Eat this!"

Actions (spoilered for space):

[0] Initiative roll: [roll0]
If we go after the enemies, Caleun is in full defense until the start of his turn. (AC 27)

[1] Jump onto the wagon (diagonally from Caleun's starting point, between him and the enemies: the left-most square of the closest wagon, which is 5 squares from Caleun). Since difficult terrain counts for 2, Caleun can just make it. I assume he'll need a jump skill check. If he misses, he just stays behind the wagon - If it is too tall to jump up to, he just stays behind and shoots through the space under the wagon:
[roll1].
Vertical reach (http://www.d20srd.org/srd/skills/jump.htm) for Caleun is 8 feet, so probably it'll be automatic success. He has plenty of running start distance (40 feet)

[2] Shoot while fighting defensively. The Cinquedea does not interfere the shooting, but obviously fighting defensively does (-2 to hit). Short distance shooting (no penalties)
[roll2]
I assume the soldier is unaware of Caleun at this point (busy with the militia/flatfooted), so will roll both damage and sneak attack, just in case.
[roll3]
[roll4]

By the way, fighting defensively, Caleun's AC is 24 (tumble and two weapon fighting defensively add 1 each to the usual +2)

[Grey_Wolf_c]

As he finishes his acrobatics, he takes aim at the private whose back is to him and shoots, while maintaining motion to make himself a difficult target[2]. "With his back to me, he won't even see the arrow coming! Eat this!"

Stupidly enough, I mentioned every possible detail except who Caleun is shooting. And I dare not edit the post with such excellent rolls. Oh well, I meant private 1, the closest to Caleun (who I assume is looking towards the militia next to him, thus has his back to Caleun's position). Sorry for that.

Edit: checking the jump tables, Caleun managed to go 12 feet up (3 and a half meters). I assume that is a success, because if not, we wouldn't have been able to *see* what was going on.

Edit 2: reading the jumping rules (http://www.d20srd.org/srd/skills/jump.htm) more closely, it seems I had +4 from the 40 feet speed of run, so Caleun jumped even higher. Not that I think it matters, but it gives him 1 more foot of height.

Grey Wolf

[Miraqariftsky]

Soren Solaren

Blood spews from the Sheriff's hewn flesh. Soren snarls in outrage as his host falls to his knees.

His sight dims and brightens, myriad-coloured auras superimposing themselves over his fleshly sight. There burn in his eyes, in his ears and in his nostrils the stench of brimstone, the crackling of dragonfire and the damned groaning of an open sepulchre. Merged with the images of the soldiers of the fire-teams, he sees figures gaunt and grotesque... they are wrought of carrion crawling with maggots, of rusting and jagged metal, of living shadow that reeks of unnumbered days of darkness, of uncounted dreams of darkness...

Shaking his head at the disturbing insight granted to him by his god, Soren dashes forward, past Trevor. Caught by surprise when a blast of eldritch flame bursts from his comrade's bared palm, the paladin jangles and skids to a halt in front of one of the wagons cluttering the town square.

There, he stabs his sword into the soil and unslings his longbow. Soren reaches back into his large wooden quiver and withdraws a clothyard shaft. Nocking and drawing back, he sights down the arrow's length, aiming for the neck of the murderous Sergeant Brannis...

Soren inhales, letting the world flow into him, drawing his surroundings into crisper focus. The daemonic apparitions seem to take on a sinister solidity over the bodies of the evil warriors whom he and his comrades now face. The auras of three soldiers stand out in hues of loyal iron, and it gladdens him that not all Flamers are irredeemable. The innocent white auras of the villagers of Re-marr are flushed scarlet with anger and turned vague and translucent with sheer fear.

A part of him desires to fall away, deeper and deeper into the flood of aura-senses but his heart pulls him away with duty and discipline, bound to the pursuit of justice. Soren yells, "CLAN OF THE CRESCENT MOON! TO SAFETY! INNOCENTS OF RE-MARR, TO SAFETY! BEHIND THE MANOR! VALIANT MEN OF THE MILITIA, COVER THE RETREAT! BY PU'UR'S LIGHT, PROTECT YOUR FAMILIES!"

Soren takes a deep breath of the dry lowland air and then releases it just as his fingers release the bowstring, sending a harbinger of justice screaming at Brannis...




Initiative [roll0]

Potshot with the longbow
attack roll [roll1]
crit check [roll2]
damage roll [roll3] Noooooo! I made a mistake with the roll-typing!

[Miraqariftsky]

...The bow thrums in his right hand. His grip goes slack as he trembles with rage and it drops to the parched grass. His left hand grasps the well-worn leather-wrapped hilt of his blessed blade and frees it of the grip of the dusty earth. Soren lifts it reverently and kisses the pommel, the broad blade bursting into hallowed flames mere inches from his face.

His gaze never leaving the eyes of his foes, he now holds his claymore in both gauntleted fists, the long blade blazing with righteous wrath. Soren strides toward them with slow, deliberate strides... Contempt dripping from his voice, he spits out a challenge, his highland accent seeping through in his anger. "Mard'rass scoom! Coome ta meh, ye bastards! Come and face the wrath of a true son of fire... or are the lot of you too craven to fight one who is not unarmed and unprepared?"


Here's the redone damage roll for the bow-shot from last post...

[roll0]

[Glyphic]

The peace of Remarr cracks with blood drawn in fresh light, and it's citizens co-ordinate themselves as a three-footed Ogre. Children ar plucked to their mother's breasts, young men and women pulled with urgency. The scramble is disorganized, but the Militia men present lend what help they can in securing their escape.. One Dwarf lies unconscious, perhaps dead in the middle of the commons.

Two Militia men stay firm in their ground: A high elf named Thomas releases his dogs, leash, and hacks at the injured Private. To his right, a human called Michael Lets forth a vigorous scream, at other assailants with his shoddy scythe. Both hunting dogsyip and maneuver, trying to find flesh to bite, but apprehensive of the bloodied blades.

Leen's demeanor changes with the blood shed, the remnants of her twisted, smirked maw fading, as she stares in the direction of wagons. Emphatic hisses from Bethany drive Leen and the other troglodytes to follow Soren's shouts.

Bethany scrapes her claw on her shoulder, pricking a droplet of blood, "Ern Gutt, En hmmer" She gruntles, before stalking to her Tribe's flank.
A pleasant sensation seeps into your muscles, as your blood courses faster. and a divine whisper of Giant crumbles in your minds.

Sargent Brannis smiles as he tears Soren's arrow from his flesh, then lets it drop to the ground, "A highlander Man! I've not had the pleasure of crushing their bones just yet. In the name of the Flame, I'll turn you into ash!"


Michael Connects with his scythe, dealing 6 points of damage to Private A. The dogs and Thomas miss. Thomas misses the worst. Sometimes you wonder how he became part of the Militia.

Bethany cast Bless, giving all of you +1 to hit, +1 to damage, and +1 to saves vs fear for the rest of the encounter.

the map has been updated. http://www.freewebs.com/gryphonnorin/reemarr1.JPG

[Beschoren]

Tanstafaal

The elf just keeps moving, as he quickly load another arrow and fire at the enemies flank. There's almost relif on his face as he sees the people and the trogs going away from the fireline.... And there is almost worry in his face as he realize they're all going to the back of the manor...

"Between the eyes!"

I will move to the 4° square straight to the SW. Then I'll shot private #2, witch is inside 30'. *Glyphic, if you use any strange square conting system, know that I only want to get just close enought for a skirmish shot on a clear target HP29/29 AC20
Atack:[roll0]
Damage:[roll1]
Skirmish damage:[roll2]

[Duke of URL]

Trevor

The Warlock continues to close, finishing off the private, or switching to Brannis if someone else finishes off the private first.


[roll0] ranged touch, [roll1]

Edit, forgot the +1 to hit/damage from bless.

[Grey_Wolf_c]

Trevor

The Warlock continues to close, finishing off the private, or switching to Brannis if someone else finishes off the private first.


Caleun Tranil (http://www.thetangledweb.net/forums/profiler/view_char.php?cid=12375)

Caleun vaults over the side of the wagon and drops to the ground rolling to make himself a more difficult target, before pushing of into a run. With a practised ease, he places his crossbow back in the holster and draws his rapier. Before he can close the gap to his target, he watches him hit by the energy from the warlock.[1]

Option A: Private 1 is still standing
With Caleun's arrow sticking out from the lower back, where it had likely hit his liver, and his limbs still trembling from the two succesive magical blasts, the closest private looked about to fall over, and Caleun was sure he could help him with that. With his attention on the militia and the snarling dog, the poor chap was leaving himself open to Caleun's lunge [2a]

Option B: Private 1 falls unconcious/dead
The soldier, hit by the second blast, goes into convulsions and drops to his knees, and the over, blood running out his nose. Changing direction in mid step, Caleun towards the soldier next to the Sargent and lunges. "Hopefully I'll be able to manouvre a little bit after this - I can't skewer him from here" [2b]

After the lunge, Caleun adopts his standard fighting stance, with quick footwork and fast movements preventing the enemy from getting a good target, while his eyes quickly scout the battlefield for his next strike. [3]

Actions:

[1] Depending on Trevor's attack having worked or not, Caleun will choose target. Since Caleun has to run to the melee, and Trevor is shooting magic, I assume his attack gets there first. Just in case, I post actions both ways.

[2a] Caleun stands opposite the dog, diagonally north-east from private 1, getting flanking bonus and sneak attack.

[2b] Caleun stands North of the dog and North-East from private 2, and attacks. No flanking bonus.

Rolls:
[roll0] (includes blessing & defensive fighting; add 2 if against private 1)
[roll1]
[roll2] (only against private 1; not sure if the blessing adds to this damage - Glyphic, can you confirm?)

[3] Caleun fights defensively. From now on, I won't bother to keep stating it - I'll mention if he changes to normal or full defense, if the situation demands it.

[Miraqariftsky]

Soren Solaren

Damn. Stupid fool, succumbing to anger like that! Why'd I have to drop the bloody bow?! Blast this armour. Times like this that I half-wish I hadn't been so sickly as a lad...

Soren quickens his pace, fire flowing through his veins as he sprints to the fray, the plates and pieces of his armour jangling cacophonously every step of the way. His breath comes heavy in his now-heated helm and his muscles ache with the sudden rush of adrenaline.

He churns the dust and stops to catch his breath just ten feet away from the first private. There he shakes his head at yet another death added to the unnumbered tears that stain the war-torn and chaotic lowlands.

Straightening, he calls out to the soldiers of the Flame of the West. "What is it that you fight for, you murderous infidels? Tell me, that I may understand you--- the better to purify your damned souls!"

[Tyriq]

Jyo-lan (www.coyotecode.net/profiler/view.php?id=4046)

After Leen's request and the spilling of so much blood, Jyo-lan slips deeply into his own thoughts. Such senseless, willing bloodshed. If only they had seen the sick and the dying like I have... These warriors might honor their health a bit more. On principal, Jyo-lan ignores those comrades who cut themselves just to satiate machismo or prove a point, and strolls disappointedly toward the town. He only becomes aware of his surroundings again a long while later, at the moment that Gerald is betrayed.

That's... a lot of blood. I am needed... can I get to him? This is... danger... Then he hears the speeches and the angry banter. So much talk of fire and burning and stabbing and more fire. They only seem to know one way to fight. At least they won't expect this...

Jyo-lan makes sure to position himself so that his armor-wearing companions are between him and the enemy, knowing that he needs to get to Gerald as quickly as possible to assess his condition and.... stabilize him. Once positioned, he begins a spell, and something begins to float out of the grass around the enemy soldiers...

Butterflies.

In every hue of the rainbow, hundreds of butterflies, rising out from between the crumpled grass at the soldiers' feet. The butterflies in the swarm have large wings, and are determined to hover in front of enemy eyes, obstructing their vision and otherwise being irritating.


Butterflies: Silent Image, Will save DC 15. Maintaining concentration while moving behind his teammates.

[Glyphic]

Sargent Brannis lowers his yes to Gerald in the dust before him, his falchion moving as if in a spar; slow, controlled and almost playful. Gerald has his shortsword drawn, his face contorted and anguished, turning aside the Sargent's strokes.

Then the butterflies come. Many rapidly blink, batting at the air with their shields..

Brannis takes his blade into his left hand, opening his gloved-palm. A blast of electric charge sparks, as Sargent Brannis speaks arcane words. With an emphatic "Ha!", Brannis grasps Gerald's calf and discharges current through his bones. Gerald's body thrashes, his screech of pain lost in the melee, before going limp. Brannis hustles northward, tarrying for no moment. Calling to Tanstafaal, his sharp voice booms, "My Blade has an appetite for your blood, Elf! I hope you've more fight than that traitorous Mayor!"

Private 3 stands calm, drawing out two arrows. Each is tipped with red-hot embers. As he draws the first back on his bow, it ignites with flame. His shots zing to the top of the Barn and through an open door on it's west side..

Private 2 Sends his blade soaring past Caleun, who evades it with ease, "Stand aside and you'll be spared!"

Corporal Numeric howls as the first Private crumples to the ground. Raising his shield to the sky, he shouts out, "Thunt! Come and Bring Vengeance; Spill the Blood of My Brother's Slayer!" On his shield, and his Brother's, is a blue-hued Rose bud. The spikes on it's stem are over exaggerated. He then moves to engage Caluen.

Corporal A sneers as Brannis turns his back, Smacking his scimitar against his shield. He lifts his blade high into the sky, hoarsely shouting, "Gerald UnneHall, here is your reward! The Principality no longer finds need for your service!" His Blade falls heavy, crunching into Gerald's torso.

Private A Swings true, his spear piercing the heart of a militia dog. With a gruff pant, he looks at the approaching warriors and swears. "Tighten up. Those are real warriors out there, not crude farm hands!"

Private B Swishes his Nunchaku around.. and adds his own sound effects. "Swoosh! Zip! Kablam! You'll scram, before this might of Mine!" After Taking a deliberate swing at a large mauve butterfly, he connects with Michael the Milita man's Gut.

Private C suddenly looks ecstatic with the approach of Jyo-lan, "Another Magic Manipulator! Sweet heavens, This trip isn't boring anymore!" With a skip in his step, he rounds around his fellow fireteam. "Butterflies! Meet the my hands; My burning hands!" incidentally, he also Fries Thomas and Micheal of the Militia. They both succumb to their injuries, falling prone.

A looming Longsword, shrouded with flames appears near Trevor Nightshade, And thrusts past his gut. It misses, but floats eerily about, waiting to strike again...


Vigilant eyes spot Bethany and Leen, rounding the corner to the commons..

I'm treating the butterflies as a darkness (http://www.d20srd.org/srd/spells/darkness.htm) spell, with a chance to see through it. 20% miss chance, which I've included in the attacks above.

Map is updated (http://www.freewebs.com/gryphonnorin/reemarr3.JPG)

I had to change the URL.

[Duke of URL]

Trevor

Ignoring the sword, Trevor calmly moves and conjures a large group of bats.


Move 10' south, Summon swarm, targeting the 10'x10' area including targets "B" and "C"

In case it comes into play... [roll0] to maintain the swarm against any possible damage

[Tyriq]

Jyo-lan (www.coyotecode.net/profiler/view.php?id=4046)


Jyo-lan will simply move behind the cart (up one, left two) to try to conceal most of himself from harm while still being able to see the combat and maintain concentration on the butterflies.

[Grey_Wolf_c]

Caleun Tranil (http://www.thetangledweb.net/forums/profiler/view_char.php?cid=12375)

Being attacked by two enemies at once hardly seemed to bother caleun, whose constant movement makes him a difficult target to pin down, and his hands working independently of each other easily block or turn aside the attacks. The buterflies, however, were stopping him from spotting any weak spots in his enemies, making his thin weapons far less effective. In an effort to regain the upper hand, Caleun backfliped away from both enemies and vaulted onto the wagon, [1] gaining height advantage and -hopefully- relief from the butterfly swarm. [2]

From his vantage point, Caleun strikes at the corporal, who is now at a disadvantage, both lower and being hampered by both the butterflies and the side of the wagon from effectively striking back at Caleun. [3]

Actions:

[1] Caleun moves diagonally North-East, then jumps up to the wagon to the north, then moves along the length of the wagon west to engage the corporal
[roll0]

[2] Not sure if Caleun actually gets away from the butterflies, but it is a good attempt from Caleun's perspective, i.e. he's probably almost to the limit of the spell, so by going north away from the melee and up he is going towards where he sees a clearing from the butterflies (if he got far enough, of course, is for DM Glyphic to decide)

[3] Attacks with rapier:
[roll1] (includes blessing & height advantage & defensive fighting)
[roll2] (no idea of the DC, but Caleun is unlikely to shake it off on his own)
[roll3] (in case he is still blinded by the butterflies)
[roll4] (includes blessing. Not sure if height gives a bonus too)
[roll5] (very unlikely to be needed: as far as I can tell, attacking from concealment doesn't give sneak attack [Caleun is concealed from the point of view of the corporal, who is still butterfly'ed], but included just in case)

[Beschoren]

Tasntafaal

the elf tries to move away from the sargent, and jump to within the barn fences
(mocking, ironic tone, directed at the raging sargent)"blablabla my blades yadayadayada. just shut up"
he makes a dull face, shots his arrow at him as if bored
And shows his tongue to branis.


tumble check:[roll0] (moving out of branis treatned square)
atack:[roll1]
damage:[roll2]
includes "bless"
jump check:[roll3](over fence)
initiative? I'm tired of waiting for soren, and I may not check this here tomorrow [roll4]
hp29/AC20

[Beschoren]

Tasntafaal
gotcha!


confirm critical:[roll0]
extra damage [roll1]
hp29/AC20[/QUOTE]

[Miraqariftsky]

Soren Solaren

The paladin reels briefly from the sudden surge of butterflies rising from the dust. He takes a moment to admire their ethereal beauty, his higher senses and his memory serving to register the swarm as Jyo-lan's work.

Regaining his balance, Soren casts about, his mind briefly turning back to what little books on military strategy he had read back at Firefell's libraries. Assessing the situation as well as he could, he yells out, "Tanstafaal! Lead that bastard on a merry dance! Ca-ARGH!"

Suddenly, between the flashes of the myriad colours of Jyo'lan's conjuration, that far-farer's work, Soren sees the ruin wrought upon Gerald, Micheal and Thomas, valiant defenders of a once-pristine town. His heart heavy with sorrow, his veins afire with wrath, he makes up his mind and abandons the challenge issued to Branis and charges ahead at the foes right in front of him.

"Repent or perish!" He brings his sword to a mid-guard position, his right shoulder lowered, the heavy weapon held as if it were a lance. Aiming straight at the heart of the warrior wielding two strange weapons of wood and chain, whirling them in dizzying, bone-cracking arcs, Soren stops his charge but four feet from the foe, dips the sword's point low and then slashes it skyward, his right arm leading...


[roll0]
[roll1]

[Glyphic]

As The Sargent flies away on Elven pursuit, Alpha Corporal takes chage with a vicious curse, "Those spirits in your head will lead you to Damnation, Brannis! (pointing at Private 2) Fluke! Bandage that man!" He trots a few paces northward, And his boot smashes the ground with his final step, "Earthen Spirit, Prosper!"

Quite a range to the north.. Just catching Tanstafaal's legs and ankles, the goat-munched grasses vigorously sprout, wrapping themselves around the barn, it's fence, natural fibers entangling all.

Private 2 Doesn't say a word, but kneels near his comrade, doing a patch-up job of the dying man's wounds; It looks just good enough.

Private 3 takes a step backward, surveying the horizon. Twice his bowstring twangs, as two more flaming arrows volley south, into the distance.. They fly nearly 700 feet, the arrow heads dangerously smoldering at the base of a silo..

The man wielding spear and shield (Private A) hardens his gaze, taking a moment to loosen his shield. "Clever, but cowards have no place on the battle field!" A blast of fire surges from his hand, tossed under a wagon, ripping into Jyo-lan's calf.

Blind with rage, Private C whips his weapons about, the butterflies about him absorbing blow after airy blow. As Soren's claymore pierces his breast, blod spews, scarlet droplets seeding the ground. The whirling warrior regains focus, but the only retaliation lands with a weak clank against Soren's armor.


"Bats; Butterflies!" The mageling Private "C" looks sallow, and a knot wells in his neck.. He attempts a few arcane gestures, before summoning bile.

"Your death is upon you. Feel the destruction of Thunt!" Shouts the Corporal with a Blue-rosebud on his shield (corporal 1). Safe from Caleun's Rapier, he concentrates and drops his Scimitar. An amorphous, blood-colored swell of magic surrounds his free hand, as he marches straight to Trevor, where his palm finds it's target, and the negative energy wracks Trevor's body..

Brannis clears the low fence with a routine leap, as he rushes straight for Tanstafaal. He spins his blade in defensive sweeps, whispering taunts, "I'll fry your ears and dust them with sugar.." "Elven bones are so weak because I personally crush every last one of them.." His steps bring him just close enough to Tanstafaal to slice at the air, and the blade reacts with restrained malice. Sargent Brannis's face seems to break and crack as a shattered mirror, reflecting some hidden darkness, "A Sargent for Twenty years, elf. I've passed up promotion, honors, and shoved my way into every assignment I could. All to hunt you now. To feel the rush of fresh spilled blood, in devotion to the warrior Thunt.. He screams, for your blood, your mother's blood, but we all felt his moan! He surges with power.. and all desires turn to finishing this pissant mission and seek his manifestation.."

Smoke puffs from the barn north of the commons; something inside has caught fire.

Going to make some rolls to save time.

[roll0]
I rolled separately. Elf bane weapons hurt. 19 points of damage.
[roll1] [Concentration check made already, up to 13 damage]

[roll2]
[roll3]

Edit: Trevor! You take 1 more damage. He has a caster level of 4, not 3. required for his class to cast inflict moderate.

[Grey_Wolf_c]

Caleun Tranil (http://www.thetangledweb.net/forums/profiler/view_char.php?cid=12375)

Leaving so soon? You'll soon discover the folly of leaving your back open to my blade, thought Caleun as he vaulted off the wagon, and easily catching up to the corporal, busy with Trevor.

[roll0]
[roll1]
[roll2]

[Miraqariftsky]

Soren Solaren

The whirling nunchaku clanks against Soren's breastplate, hardly fazing the paladin. With narrowed eyes and wavering stance he half-regrets such a grievous blow against someone who has not yet sold his soul to the forces of darkness.

Suddenly, he senses an upsurge of abyssal energies. The fiendish aura of one of the corporals blazes with a black flame as he sends his cold, soul-sapping fire straight at Trevor's heart.

Sorcerer though the man may be, Soren knows his comrade's heart is in the right place. Without hesitating, he turns his back on the warrior he'd just wounded and bounds onto the empty cart between him and the conjurer of darkness.

The sword in his hands scintillates in the searing sunlight, slashing down in a heavy overhead blow. Landing with a heavy bound on the oaken planks and a grateful sigh that the cart's brake lever was set down, he completes his attack's arc, grunting out, "Face me, you fiend!"


[roll0] First Smite
[roll1] Crit check
[roll2] Smite

Yuck. That's probably wasted... and so I take the liberty of describing the craptastic shot...


The sword's point screams through the hot air but the aim is turned awry by a living mirage of shadows emanating from the strange rose-emblazoned shield... The foeman's form blurs as he steps away from the ill-fated juggernaut with seemingly effortless ease as the claymore's head digs into the dirt...

[Duke of URL]

Trevor

Concentration broken, and weakened by the spell, Trevor backs up slightly and lets loose with a blast of eldritch energy.


5' step away from the corporal, [roll0] (ranged touch), [roll1]

[Beschoren]

Tasntafaal

knowing he had better get out of there as soon as he can, Tanstafaal recognizes the though spot he's in. Still, there's a card in the sleeve.
(mocking again)"Yeah, whatever." he says, picking a potion from his belt and driking it, just before vanishing from sight


I take the full defense (5 ranks in tumble = +6AC), making it AC 23 and drink my only invisibility potion (3 minutes duration). I keep the bow in the left hand and draw a trowing axe (no A.O.A. since ("oooh!") I'm invisible!)

[Tyriq]

Jyo-lan (www.coyotecode.net/profiler/view.php?id=4046)

Jyo-lan looks down at his leg wound. Fire. Not long ago, a burn like this would have made him panic, cry out, and forget his role as a healer. Today, though, he remembers one of his favorite mantras from the Order... How many torches would you take to burn the ocean?

Satisfied, Jyo-lan gently casts his healing spell.


Cure Light Wounds: [roll0]

Staying put behind the wagon...

[Glyphic]

Bounding away from the chucking warrior, Soren reveals a split second of chance. A flash of wood and chain rattles..


Haggard and pierced, Corporal Numeric turns aside Soren's blow. He looks ready to yield to his wounds, but he eyes twinkle with some dark enjoyment. "Worm, Fluke! I'm being raked across coals; Aid me, Maggots!" He shouts, as he takes a defensive step. He places his shield between himself and Trevor, as he shouts dark words..

5-ft step, followed by a normal casting of Sound burst, targeting Caleun and Soren. He provokes from Trevor (I'm assuming Trevor takes it). If you fail sound burst's save, you are stunned.

[roll1]
[roll2]
[roll3]
[rol=Soren's save]1d20+7


"Aid your Corporal, Fluke! Brannis will find his own resolve!" Corporal Aplha moves closer, clasping his hand on the second Private, "Lend this man your might, Earthen spirit." A trickling stream of green energies sloshes over Private two, as his arms burst with new found strength.

Private A trots north to get a better view of Jyo-lan, readying his spear and shield along the way, "Watch yourself! This next one is sure to hurt, Coward!"

Wounded but persistent, Private B avoids Soren's blade, moving to cut off Trevor's retreat, "Now No, No Now! Pitched and tarred with blood, we've no where to run!"

Private C recovers his lunch, and moves to a more protected area. "Earth spirit? How dull, Corporal! Find True strength in the power of Magic!" With that, private 2 begins to grow, reaching nearly double his former stature..

(private 2) The now-giant warrior hefts his Longer-than-normal sword, looking at the battle field from a new perspective, "This is your last chance! Stay your blades and there might be hope for you!" He lifts his sword, to strike at Caleun..

The Longbow man cheerily disregards the battle, and breaks into a run; heading to get a better shot at more farms, crops, and livestock..

Brannis spits at his feet, "Blasted Corporal can't aim right! I've still got you within reach, Prepare to die, elf-fiend!"

Bethany and Leen can bee seen near the barn to the north. Bethany clutches her talons, as a faint drizzle of water appears above the burning barn. Leen stands near her, keeping her eyes locked on the firefight. Her feet constantly scratch at the dirt, appearing hesitant or anxious.


[roll4]
[roll5]
[roll6]
[roll7]

(This occurs if Tanstafaal does not change his action)
[roll8]
[roll9]
[roll10]

If He's invisible...Miss on a 1(of 1d2)
[roll11]
[roll12]
[roll13]
[roll14]

Current Map! (http://www.freewebs.com/gryphonnorin/folder/Reemarr3.JPG)

[Duke of URL]

Trevor

Cornered, the Warlock positions himself slightly, adopts a defensive posture, and tries to finish off the spell-slinging corporal. "A little help would be appreciated over here!"


5' step due west.

Invoking defensively [roll0] vs. DC 15

If successful, [roll1] ranged touch, [roll2]

[Glyphic]

The ghostly, black-flamed longsword takes another strike at Trevor, but doesn't interrupt his castings.
I forgot about the spiritual weapon :p
[roll0]
[roll1]

It's force damage. No DR.

[Miraqariftsky]

Soren Solaren

The sun glints on Soren's armour. Harsh heat from the heavens shimmers off the edges and curves of his leaves of steel. A faint halo of fire burns around the edges of his sword.

His burning legs pump as he leaps from the cart. His sword is held low and to the left as he lunges at the spellcasting corporal. Soren takes a few short steps forward and to the right, bringing his sword high and then slashing across in a mighty horizontal arc, growling, "Burn, O Corrupted One!"

The spectral sword slashes out again at Trevor, the insubstantial blade drawing substantial blood. From the corner of his eye of flesh, Soren sees the suffering. From the corner of the eyes of his soul he sees the sin. Huffing from the exertion of his own battle, he calls out, "A few more moments! Hold steady, comrade! Pu'ur's light shall heal ye, worry not!"


Two-point Power Attack against Corporal Numeric
[roll0]
[roll1]
[roll2]

[Tyriq]

Jyo-lan (www.coyotecode.net/profiler/view.php?id=4046)

Hearing Trevor's cry for aid, and disappointed with Soren's penchant for killing instead of healing, Jyo-lan searches for a clear path through the chaos. Fortunately, the path seems to take him directly away from bloodthirsty little man with the pokey. He dashes across the path in a flutter of white robes, one hand still on his Order's sacred beads. He reaches out for Trevor's shoulder with a calming, white warmth.

He calls to Soren and Caelun: "Stand tall, there's another one on my heels..."


Cure Moderate Wounds for Trevor: [roll0]

Please maneuver Jyolan somewhere between/near Caelun and Trevor, depending on where Trevor ends up after his 5' step.

[Beschoren]

Tasntafaal

bleeding invisible blood, the elf tries to escape those dammed roots and herbs

the odds are not nice... escape artist DC 20 [roll0]
sorry for the lame post, I'm pretty busy

[Grey_Wolf_c]

Caleun Tranil (http://www.thetangledweb.net/forums/profiler/view_char.php?cid=12375)

Caleun instinctively jumped out of the way of the huge sword coming his way, and danced around the attack. Damn. Big guy, he thinks, But lumbering. He's leaving himself open. Without taking his eyes of him, and weaving to make himself a more difficult target, he shouts towards his back, "Soren, Trevor, I'll keep this guy busy. Try to stop the others from surrounding us, or we'll be in trouble!"

Then, in a quick movement, Caleun slided under the arm of his huge adversary and, closing up the distance,[1] started waving both his weapons in a tight pattern that, while mostly defensive, still allowed him to strike a few times.[2]

"Try to wrap up soon back there, Soren. I may need help bringing these guys down," then, mostly to himself, he repeated the old dwarven mantra, "When their arms are higher than your head, their crotch is level with your teeth"[3]

Actions:

[1] 5 foot step to the north-west, placing Caleun next to the wagon and diagonally from the big guy.
[2] Full attack fighting defensively:
[roll0]
[roll1]
[roll2]
[roll3]

[3] Tip of the hat to Terry Pratchett.

[Grey_Wolf_c]

Critical hit with the rapier (range is 18-20, rolled a 19):
[roll0]
[roll1]

[Glyphic]

Private B and Private C continue to seep lifeblood fro tiny bat bites, but they ber the pain, as their clothes and armor soak crimson blood.

The disembodied longsword floating near Trevor persists despite it's summoner being little more than a swath of organs and crushed bone. It sweeps low at Trevor's shins before slicing upward.

Private A rounds the edges of the wagon, his eyes squinting before he raises his loose shield to obscuring the morning light. From his fingertips spring Magic missiles, impacting Caleun.

Private B treads in a circle around your group, finding his place behind Jyo-lan He propells himself into the air as he shouts, "Heel to my heel!". With a showy display of acrobatics, he launches his foot at Jyo-lan's head.

Private C moves to a precarious position between cart and Giant, a grave look of concern on his face. He aims his staff forward, bracing the butt with his foot. Vapor pulls itself together, before it launches through your ranks as a scalding Jet of steam.

Private 2 steps forward, and sees his opening. He thrusts with vicious intent, aiming for Jyo-lan's unprotected flank, "You force my sword!"

Corporal A Chides, while reaching out with a hand engulfed in gree, "Fluke! They afford no mercy; rend their flesh in name of the Prince!" As the touch is delivered, Private two's wounds close, and he is renewed.

Brannis contorts his face, "Cunning, but Thunt will see you dead!"


[roll0]
[roll1]

[roll2]

[roll3] Dc 14
[roll4]

[roll5]Reflex 14

[roll6] Vs Jyolan, flanking.
[roll7]

Brannis
[roll8]
[roll9]
[roll10]
[roll11]

(Uh.. yeah. He doesn't Crit. :p)

[Duke of URL]

Trevor

Trying to maintain his focus in spite of the disembodied weapon, Trevor once again summons a dangerous distraction for his enemies.


Summon swarm again, this time spiders, covering the area that includes both corporal A and private 2.

[Glyphic]

This occurs before your teams actions.

Leen's claws rake the ground, before she rushing at Private A in a staggered hustle, but reaches him after he looses his missiles. She gibbers short, coarse words in Giant before her maw snaps down on the unprepared man. Leen manages to catch Bethany off-guard as well, whom stands for a few moments. Bethany's faces creases, her eyes crossing minutely. She follows her sister, lending the aid of her God-spirit.

Leen's eyelids rouse as Bethany gives her a droplet of healing

Leen's attack [roll0]
[roll1]
Bethany casts cure minor wounds to remove fatigue.

[Miraqariftsky]

Soren Solaren

The claymore comes free of the summoner's steaming corpse, its blade dripping gore. Soren shakes his head as the flame on his sword sputters when he lifts it against the towering hulk looming in from the left. He says to him as he points his blade in their general direction. "Stand down now. Repent or perish. I give you this one last warning. There is still a chance for redemption..."

Suddenly, he hears Pu'ur's voice warning him of foul magicks afoot. Even as the sorcerer summons the scalding serpent of steam that shoots forth from nothingness, searing through the air, Soren throws himself to the side, narrowly missing getting flash-broiled.

The gigantic warrior then then thrusts with his massive blade, the point seeking Jyo-lan's virtuous heart. This decides the matter for Soren and he rushes forward at the towering swordsman. The paladin spins his sword in two arcs when he reaches the foe, one low and the other high, aiming for the shins or the gut. "Gyeeerraaa, yarr yotunstrag!"


Power Attacking the Big Guy...
[roll0]
[roll1]
[roll2]

[Grey_Wolf_c]

Caleun Tranil (http://www.thetangledweb.net/forums/profiler/view_char.php?cid=12375)

Out of the corner of his eye, Caleun watches the steam leave the hands of the warrior. Using the giant knee in front of him, Caleun springs back, clear of the heated jet, but as he lands his back explodes in pain as he is hit by two blasts of magic. Loosing his balance, Caleun makes the best of it and goes into a tight backwards roll followed by a flip-flop that places him next to the magician.

"You aren't going to have the chance of doing that again, bastard!" he shouts, as he strikes, hoping that the guy is too busy with Leem to properly defend himself.

Actions:
Tumble his way to private A's west side, flanking him
[roll0] (DC 15)
[roll1] (DC 17)

Attacking defensively, flanking
[roll2]
[roll3]
[roll4]

[Beschoren]

Tanstafaal

What th..

stalibity check (1 on 10)[roll0]
I'm bleading at -3, prone, entagled, far away, in front of a manic with a elven-killing large blade... I don't thinks it's possible to save me :(

[Glyphic]

The Flame members will continue to act after Jyo-lan, but in the mean time..

Leen shakes the weariness from her bones, and flares her amber eyes. The Private 'A' looses a pained cry as Caleun plunges his rapier into his side. Leen quickly encroaches, her claws and maw seeking blood.

Bethany scuttles forward, her movements cautious and amateurish as she strikes at Private B.

From the ground-level of the mostly extinguished barn, someone a slender cylinder of black-red energy at Sargent Brannis.


Leen's attacks: Claw, claw, bite.
[roll0]
[roll1]
[roll2]
[roll3]
[roll4]
[roll5]

Bethany, Same routine.
[roll6]
[roll7]
[roll8]
[roll9]
[roll10]
[roll11]

Unknown, ray.
[roll12]
[roll13]

Swarm damage
[roll14]

[Glyphic]

Private 2 weathers Soren's blow, but his entire bulk shakes as the claymore slashes past his shield and into his flesh. He staggers back, and finds his legs assaulted by spider after spider. He remains on his feet, but his faces is colored red and purple from strain.

Private 'A' manages to moan "Hork!" before his body fails him. He collapses to the dewy ground. Opposite Caleun, Leen stands with a sizable chunk of Private A's thigh in her claw.

Private B, unable to regain his balance after his jumping kick, finds Bethany's claw and teeth in his backside. He begins to laugh, cackling like a hedonistic imp, "You have not brooouuuk...". His still bleeding bat bites provide the last bit of pain for him to succumb to unconsciousness.

[Glyphic]

OOC: Tyriq; I am not posting out of animosity or with negative intent; I sternly believe that the game needs to keep moving however. You're welcome to take the missed turns action. This combat is wrapping up, however.
Edit: I want it to be known that I did not 'fudge' these last few Private's HPs. You were -that- close to downing them, and just needed a little help.


Private 2 coughs, a trickle of blood spilling down his chin. He throws his blade down to Soren's feet, the dust covering the fresh scarlet blood that stains it's iron. The Private then throws himself on his admittedly large knees, sputtering, "I yield! Stay your blade, please!"

The last standing corporal shakes off the spiders, but one pinches his calf and injects it's debilitating poison. He gives a furious glance at the surrendering Private, before kicking up dust as he heads west across the Commons, "Fall back! Leave the traitors to endure the hex and burns that will tear at their bones."

Private 'c' abides his corporal's orders, but not before releasing a minor jet of steam. It sails off at nothing in particular. He then hustles to catch the retreat.

Brannis's eyes gleam, turning bright as lit coals. His muscles ripple underneath his mail, and he yanks himself free of all that constrains him. He smacks the flat of his blade in his left palm, as he marches into the barn, "Think you can save your 'friend', little child? I'll be the first to reward your Honor!"

Fortitude saves.
Private 2
[roll0]
Corporal 'A'.
[roll1]


Extra d20's
Order of use: Private C, Brannis, extras.
[roll2]-ray of frost
[roll3]-break entangle
[roll4]-spider poison fort
[roll5]-spider poison fort
[roll6]
[roll7]

[Beschoren]

Tantafaal

...head...hurts...

-4. stabilazes on 1[roll0]

[Miraqariftsky]

"Repent and you live" Soren says curtly as he kicks his foe's sword away from him. Passing him by, the faintest surge of healing touches the vanquished man, Pu'ur's grace trying to close the wounds.

Lay on Hands, one point

"Forward, comrades!" he yells as he charges across the commons, running for the beleaguered Tanstafaal.


Lay on 11 points of healing on Tanstafaal.

[Duke of URL]

Trevor

Ignoring the fleeing soldiers, Trevor sends a blast of energy at the giant-sized one still standing nearby.


[roll0] ranged touch, [roll1]


(( Action on hold... missed the part where the giantized private had surrendered. ))

[Grey_Wolf_c]

Caleun Tranil

Seeing his current oponent fall to the ground after the attack, Caleun raises his sword in salute, "Excellent work, Leem," he says in dwarfish. Looking aound, he notices the fight is over, but the sargent's shout reminds him that not all enemies have fled the battlefield. With a weary sigh, Caleun turns and moves to engage Brannis before he can attack anyone else

Actions:
Caleun moves towards Brannis, and moves again (he does not Run (http://www.d20srd.org/srd/combat/actionsInCombat.htm#run), just takes move as his standard action). He ends his move diagonally to the south-east from Brannis. I assume I cannot combine full defence with the move action, but if I can, I do.

[Glyphic]

Tendrils of smoke puff from a large pile of hay and feed that's caught fire inside the barn house. Inside, a set of citizens lead a few farm animals out through the northeast exit, and an impish, small troglodyte stands 3 yards from the quick-lived fire. The fire has eaten most of its fuel, but creeps up the west planks of the building. A 10ft ladder leads up to the loft in the southwest corner.

Brannis's face is shrouded in ethereal wisps of smoke as he rushes at Vir-ra, leaving his back unprotected for moments. He turns his body back to face Caleun and Soren, brandishing his Elf-decimating blade. Artlessly, he drives it at Caleun's left shoulder in an overhead arch. "You will curse the day you stood in the path of my Retribution!" He screams, warped inflections of his voice echoing in the barn.

As the smoke puffs around him you catch a glimpse of Brannis's gaze. His face is set into a firm frown, as if his skin were marble. An image of a iron-wrought, unadorned scepter floats beside his right hand. Blood stains coat every side of this vision; it persists for but a moment, before winking from existence.

The young Troglodyte stumbles a few steps backward, before firing another ray of dark energies.

Was-Giant Private crawls forward, and pulls out a set of bandages from his belt-pouch, tending to whomever he stepped on.
himself.
Bethany stammers for a moment, before applying a droplet of healing to Private B. Leen, on the otherhand, races after Caleun, trailing his movements, still holding a hunk of bloody flesh.

Since Soren Ran, he's flatfooted and thus can't make an AoO.
Caleun's AoO
[roll0]
[roll1]

Brannis's attack, at Caleun
[roll2]
[roll3]

Vir-ra
[roll4]
[roll5]

Private 2
[roll6]

Raw rolls if I need em.
[roll7]
[roll8]
[roll9]
[roll10]

Current map! (http://www.freewebs.com/gryphonnorin/folder/Reemarr3.JPG)

[Duke of URL]

Trevor

The warlock, eager to cement his unemployment, rushes into the barn to deal with Brannis.


Double move to position just SW of Soren

[Glyphic]

Brannis swivels his eyes, looking for a defensive position. Between smoke, fire, troglodytes and yourselves, he plants his feet, beckoning with a bark, "Step forward, and I'll serve you your livers, whelps!"

I messed up on that last attack +, Caleun. He hits two less AC (24)
Readied action to attack first target to move into melee range.
[roll0]
[roll1]

Looks like liver isn't on the menu tonight.

[Duke of URL]

Trevor

Saying nothing, Trevor simply focuses more energy at Brannis.


[roll0] (-4 if engaged in melee) ranged touch, [roll1]

[Grey_Wolf_c]

Caleun Tranil

Still realing from the blow he received, Caleun shakes off his weariness and falls into the familiar defensive patterns of his fighting style. As he keeps the sargent from piercing his defences, Caleun moves slightly to not be encumbered by the barn walls before striking back.

Actions:
5-feet step north

Full defensive attack:
[roll0]
[roll1]
[roll2]
[roll3]

[Grey_Wolf_c]

Rapier possible critical (rolled an 18: hopefully 21 does hit!)
[roll0]
[roll1]

[Miraqariftsky]

Soren Solaren

((Juuuust confirming...))

The ironclad juggernaut clanks to a halt when he nears the overgrown hedge of entangling grasses stained scarlet with Tanstafaal's blood. There he kneels, setting his sword down and his hands upon the elf's wounds.

The flesh feels cold, the breathing becoming slower and shallower. Soren's palms begin to pulse with Pu'ur's purifying flame, those gauntleted hands glowing golden with healing light.

Dirt flees the ghastly gashes. Fresh flesh comes spawns anew, filling in the huge chasms of rended flesh. Corrupted weeds ensnaring shrivel and burn away.

The healing done, Soren scrambles up and rushes over to a place but five feet of the no longer swaggering sergeant. Smoke wreathes the edges of his blade, the spine of the sword glowing white-hot with the need for righteous revenge... "The end is near, fiend. You have fought well, dishonourable daemon though ye be. I give you this last chance. Surrender! Repent or perish utterly!"

[Beschoren]

tanstafaal

Felling the sudden warmith, the lifting of (some) of his pain and the clanging sound of blades... well, clanging, the elf realizes he just got saved by the priest
ouch...well, maybe the gods aren't so mean afterall... At leat i'm happy Soren isn't. By the way, how did he healed invisible wounds?
he emits a yellow smile, directing to the paladin. even if he would't see that at all
"Thank you Soren... now, to the fiend at hand..." ...but first those damm roots!

escape artist[roll0]. hell, next time I will max out this skill...

[Glyphic]

The flaming straw laps at the walls of the barn, desperate for new material to reduce to char and ash. The towns folk of Ree-marr exit with goats and mules. A man calls out with emotion and smoke induced tears, "My thanks to you, Saviors!"

Brannis snarls as Soren approaches, "I offer you the same congratulations, but we mortals may choose to walk but one path; And I follow the one Thunt commands! Your end, Ear-stroker, is with a blade through your heart!"

As Brannis curses and raves, his sword begins to weep tears of blood, which coat the blade with dark red malevolence. Brannis's age shows as he curves his blade through the air, striking at Soren. Crinkles crack the skin near his eyes, and he pants with every stroke. He must be nearing fifty years of age.

Out numbered, Brannis continues his forced retreat.

Tanstafaal: As a note, you're prone from being unconscious.
Caleun: 16 does not confirm.
Trevor: 10 does not hit his touch AC, but it is very close.

Fire's growth direction: Will grow on 9, 10, or 11
[roll0]

Brannis's attack vs Soren, using Arcane Channel to cast Blade of Blood.
[roll1]
[roll2]
[roll3]

Vir-ra vs Brannis
[roll4]
[roll5]

[roll6]
[roll7]
Premium cut d20s.
[roll8]
[roll9]
[roll10]

[Grey_Wolf_c]

Caleun Tranil (http://www.thetangledweb.net/forums/profiler/view_char.php?cid=12375)

"Big Talk for someone in your position." Says Caleun, moving to the bottom of the stairs, his blades constantly keeping Brannis' sword in check, "All you managed in your stupid attack was to kill a defenceless man. You are a disgrace for the Flame"

Seeing a posible opening, Caleun lunges.

Actions:
5-feet step to space north of Brannis

Full defensive attack:
[roll0]
[roll1]
[roll2]
[roll3]

[Grey_Wolf_c]

Possible critical on Cinquedea (3rd's the charm?)
[roll0]
[roll1]

Edit: Caleun lunged low with his rapier, forcing Brannis to parry it and momentarily open his shoulder to Caleun, who took the chance to viciously thrust his cinquedea. Finding his mark, he then twisted it and pulled back, enlarging the wound.

[Duke of URL]

Trevor

Trevor sees Brannis heading for the ladder. Oh, no... you don't get away that easily. "CNOAG!"* he shouts as he gestures toward the ladder, causing it to splinter into a thousand pieces.


Baleful Utterance (CArc p132)
<Invocation[sonic], VS, 1StdAct, Close-range, Instantaneous, SR applies>

– By speaking a syllable of Dark Speech, the invoker chooses one of the following to occur:

a) all non-magic glass, crystal, etc., in a 5’ radius Burst that weigh less than 1 lb/lvl are shattered. An attended object gets a Will save to negate. Otherwise, no save.
b) a single solid object weighing up to 10 pounds per level can be shattered. An attended object gets a Will save to negate. If an attended object was destroyed, then the creature touching it must make a Fortitude save of be Dazed for 1 round and Deafened for 1 minute.

Effective Spell Level: 2nd.

(Will DC 15 if appropriate)


*Translation from Infernal: "BREAK!"

[Miraqariftsky]

Soren Solaren


Str + BAB + weapon enhancement + Aid + Smite Evil + charge - Power Attack 2

[roll0]
[roll1]
[roll2]

AC 17
HP 13


Soren's vision bursts into myriad brilliant screaming shards when his aura-sense roars just as Brannis' blade lashes out. The blood-weeping blade of curved steel dips under the paladin's guard in a low slash and then the sinful sergeant drives the wicked point into the junction between breastplate and backplate.

The curved sword pierces the knotted muscles there, tearing the younger man's flesh. The blood of the blade seeps into his bones, leeching away his strength with a deep devouring sickness.

Soren gasps and stumbles back. Brannis rips the blade out viciously and hot blood pours down the paladin's flank, soaking his side and staining the steel of his mail. He tastes the coppery tang of blood as he coughs and gags.

His fleshly sight blurs and his spirit-sight comes into full power once more. The choking smoke from the pillager's flames fades away into naught but white vapours, the world itself seeming to grow vague. He glimpses the various auras of his comrades and foes once more but it is to the latter that his eyes are drawn.

Far to the west, fleeing on loping paws wreathed in infernal flames, a great black wolf runs away, its face shame-streaked. Behind it streams a spectre grey, unfazed by the blazing sun. These he feels and knows are the twilight-forms of the two lieutenants who fled the field...

Closer and a tad to the left, there growls a beast, small but deadly. A dog, loyal and fierce... yet Soren wonders, troubled, for there lurks the seed of a shadowspawn within the poor creature's heart...

Ahead is a gaunt bewhiskered daemon bounding up the ladder into the loft. Black are its scales, malevolent the eyes. Vitriol drips from its every pore and a song of sorrow wails as its muscles flex in wielding its great curved sword and hauling its lean body up and away. The blood that drips from the abyssal runes on the broad blade hangs in the air with a foul reek. The blood that spurts into the twilight of Soren's spirit-sight when Caleun stabs in is blindingly bright and every droplet burns through the air with a screaming sizzle. With no doubt it his heart, Soren knows this to be the blasted Brannis.

Suddenly there is a great blast of infernal energies as the ladder bursts apart in a great gout of black flame. A word so foul from the Black Speech rings again and again through Soren's ears in monumental torment.

The world seems to cease its motion. The tiniest splinter of old wood from the shattered ladder hangs delicately in the air, the minutest drop of blood tinkles there like a chime of crimson crystal.

Red flames lick at Soren's blade and then they intensify into a white-hot blaze. Surging forward as the world regains its motion, he yells as he lashes out at the falling fiend, "Die now ye old daemon! FOR GERALD! FOR RE-MARR!"

[Beschoren]

Tanstafaal

Struggling heavly against the roots, the scout tries again to get free. he has some relif, at least, as he notices the ladder brusting with Brannis on it.
escape artist DC 20[roll0]. Prone, I know, but geting free is a full round action. I can only move away in the next turn (I hope)

edit ACURSED STUPID PLANTS! I swear I'll chop down every tree in Valorion to avoid this embarrasing thing again!

[Glyphic]

Spinters of wood fly, embedding themselves in the wooden walls, in lumpy dirt, floor, and the neck and flanks of Brannis. Blow after blow tears away the aged man's vitality, the darkness in his gaze giving way to blood-rimmed eyes of death.

His body pierced hacked, slabs of flesh and muscle laying at his feet. As blood cascades down his face, rushing to meet the ground, Brannis pivots with staggering feet to reach to his escape; finding nothing to grasp but air.

With a slight stumble, he turns his face back upon you, his smile stained with his own blood, "I will join.." he wheezes, "..my God sooner than anticipated.. Yet it is no delight that fills me." He huffs a pained grunt, throwing all his weight and vigor into a final swing.

With that, Brannis crumples under his own weight; He plants his sword into the dirt, bracing himself against it. Shock twists through him, and a conclusive shudder robs his strength, his torso falling beside his Falchion with a damped thud.


Congratulations on bringing him Exactly to zero hp. :smalltongue:
Ending blade of blood early, to deal +3d6 damage. This will also deal five damage to him, and an additional damage for taking a strenuous action at 0 Hp.

[roll0]
[roll1]
[roll2]

[Grey_Wolf_c]

Caleun Tranil (http://www.thetangledweb.net/forums/profiler/view_char.php?cid=12375)

Caleun watched how the final attack from Brannis had found its mark, causing a massive bloodspurt - how much from Soren and how much from the weapon's enchantment impossible to determine - and then how both fell, conciousness fleeing. Wishing he could follow them, Caleun felt the deep weariness that always followed the end of a fight. His wounds screamed for attention, but he knew others took priority. Gently touching one of the injuries, he calls, "Trevor, I need some help. We need to get these two out of here before the fire takes over the building. I'm not sure we shold be moving them, but I doubt we have the time for codling them. Maybe Bethany can help stop the fire, but she's also the one that can stop these two from bleeding to death"

With that, fighting over his bone-deep weariness, Caleun takes Soren by the arms and pulls him out of the barn, before coming back for Brannis.

[Beschoren]

Tasntafaal

In a rather sudden energy and skill brust, the scout tries again to get out before the plants grow flowers or something
next time I'll cast some sort anti-plant shell or anything like it...

[roll0]

"ahmmm... could someone help me? again?"

[Duke of URL]

Trevor

Not relishing the idea of dragging bleeding bodies, Trevor nonetheless complies with its necessity, but not without a snide, "are you sure we can't just leave Brannis in there to burn?"

Once outside, Trevor notices the sack of military orders, and starts sorting through them to see what the heck is going on...

[Glyphic]

Leen watches for a few moments, her eyes twinkling as she watches Tanstafaal writhe about in root and grass. As Trevor and Caleun drag out Brannis and Soren, she decides to make herself useful, she treads to the elf, and helps him cut his way out, both with claw and tooth.

Vir-ra scampers up, hovering over the two incapacitated warriors. With the smooth edge of her claw, she starts poking at Brannis's wounds. She breaks into a grotesque giggle as she lets a little more blood flow.

Armed with spears, slings, and very large wooden shields, a contingent of Militia men rush off to subdue the Longbow man. Off near the general store, a brigade of men and women with buckets, shovels, and other implements rush to extinguish what left of the flames..

The contents of the Military satchel are abit confusing; fresh at the top is a loose missive with the distinctive "G", belonging to Commodore Glaw; the second hand man to Admiral Hawthorne. It has been previously opened. Underneath that scroll, is a barrage of tattered, stained, crumpled or simply incinerated scrolls. Seven of them order different fireteams to scout Roke's peaks for 'low density populations'. Two scrolls tingle with magical energy, and instruct a specialist named Delserrin to continue negotiations. Thirteen other scraps of parchment origionate from Southern Valorium, stretching from Castle Brinnlaw to Sussrance: scouting, escort, delivery, and eradication orders, some of them ranging up to two years old.

One of the more disturbing things you notice relates to the day's events. Six copies of a single order exist. The command is to remove Gerald's title as Mayor of Re-marr, violently if necessary. They span from penned seven days ago, to nine months past.

At the bottom of the sack, there is only ash.


Delserrin's messages buzz with magic as you attempt to read them. I'll PM what one of them says, and then you can decide to read the other or not.

Commodore Glaw's message will also be PM'd.

Brannis moves to -7, and we'll assume you can patch up both Soren and Brannis without hassle.

Silk ropes are much to fancy for hanging people with. It's just not classy :smallwink:

[Beschoren]

tanstafaal

Rapidly rising from the cursed vines, the elf moves out from that acursed fences. "ah, free at last... thank you troglodite. now let's continue the business... brannis won't just die. yet.". the elf moves to brannis, and tries to mend his wounds so he can stop bleeding.

I wonder how Trevor's friend saw me... useless magic potion, everyone can see me, won't waste another 300 gold pieces on it...

heal check to stop bleeding[roll0]. I supose I will use a potion on him if he drops to -9. due to the boots of agile leaping, i can stand up from prone as a swift action

[Glyphic]

Time passes, as the inhabitants of Re-marr move as weeping shades on a nightmarish day. Many come together to huddle and provide the warmth of community, as they blot at their still crying eyes. Others stalk off to the fields, to emulate the lone plants that shed no tears, and only sway in the wind. Many approach your group, touching your shoulders in fondest respects, or giving full embraces. They sing your praises for valor, and give their heart-wracked eulogies of the departed Mayor. You're all offered to rest in many of houses, as well as Gerald's own manor.

Soren is shown reverent care by those that follow Pu'ur and him. A moderate sized group stands below the platform, listening to a portly, red-haired man stumble through Sacred Scripture.

Bethany, Leen, and the rest of their clan linger by your group. Bethany and Leen attempt conversations with a few Villagers who share breakfast's remnants with them: small introductions, an offer to help till fields, and other quieted offerings. Bethany shies away from making too many inquires.

Kojiro returns from his distraction, a troubled and contemplative look on his face. Assuming you let him read the captured orders, he declares he must return to Castle Brinnlaw.

Rodion commands a small section of armed men, and deposits the Longbow Man and the rest of the capture soldiers in the auction house, binding them with rope and manacle. The spell casters have their mouths stuffed.

Jyo-lan attempts a smile, but says The Order of the Gentle Rain must know of today's events. He offers you all pleasantries, before riding out of town on a newly acquired horse.

Soren, if you'd like, you can be conscious. Assume a member of your congregation knows enough to heal you, or that Bethany provided the cure. :p
How much time has passed, is up to you guys. No more than a day.

[Beschoren]

Tasntafaal

soon after the battle is over and the fires are out, the elf takes a look in the village perimeter, as long as the invisibility effect lasts (3 min total). he tries to track a general direction for the flames still lose agents.

when he's back, he makes some questions to the vilagers (not really caring about their weeps and tears).
"Who was that dwarf? just some merchant?"
"Where's gerald's wife? can we see her?"
"What was the total damage done to the vilage? say, in gold pieces?"
"Gerald had a bad experience with the flame or something? did he had enemies?"
"Do you have anyone to call for aid?"
"What do you think of the troglodites?"
"Where's the closest small vilage?"

[Grey_Wolf_c]

Caleun Tranil (http://www.thetangledweb.net/forums/profiler/view_char.php?cid=12375)

Once Caleun has had a bit of a rest, and has had his wounds patched as best as the local healer could, he takes a skin of water with him and request to see one of the prisoners (the one that grew during the battle). Once they are alone, Caleun liberates his hands, takes a bit of the water and passes the skin to the soldier. Once the soldier has had a chance to drink a bit and massage his wrists, Caleun talks to him friendly.

"That attack didn't turn out the way it was supposed to, didn't it? Listen, I'm sure that the locals will want to talk to you and give you a trial, but I wanted to have a word with you first. Things here are not what they seem, I've no idea what your sargent was thinking of, but you should never have attacked us." Flashing his Flame emblem before palming it away, he continues, "I am in a deep cover mission for the Flame - can't give you the details, of course, and I need you to forget I even told you - but Brannis' attack could have seriously endangered my own mission. I need to know all you can tell me about the mission. Not just the official bits - we recovered most of those from the orders' satchel - but anything you have picked up from the grapevine. Of course, if you help me I'll try and get you a deal with the village so you can go. No need to tell you that hanguing is in the near future for killing their mayor, but I'm fairly certain I can get you out of it. What I need to know if Brannis overstepped his orders, because if not I'm going to have to rush back to my commander to see what the hell is going on, and that will mean trouble all around, believe me. As it is, I may have to go anyway, and soon, so I may not be able to stick around for the judgement."

Taking another mouthful of water, Caleun continues, "So basically, tell me why Brannis went for the mayor, and if our arrival with the trogs was coincidence or planned, and any other detail you can think of, and I'll not only get you out of this, but put a good word back in HQ about you when I get back so that this snafu doesn't bite you in the ass. Deal?"

Actions:

[roll0] General diplomacy, to try and get him on my side.
[roll1] To see if he swallows the whole "secret mission for the Flame"
Hopefully Calleun will get a few extra circunstancial bonuses on top of the base bonus for believability, good will, etc. For example, the lie should be easy to believe (the Flame emblem is real, and the lie plausible), and he would want to believe me because it means his neck won't be placed in the noose.

[Glyphic]

Tanstafaal
Looping around town, you come across the dust the Fleeing soldiers left. You're confident they headed west, and that you will be able to track them as long as they stay on the dirt road, as it hasn't seen much activity lately. If they head north into the mountains, you think you'll have a good shot at keeping up with them.

The first villiger you meet is a balding man named Andrew, who takes some time from Pu'ur's teachings to talk with you.

"Akos lead a very fine life here. He oversaw the iron smelter at the edge of town, and had a talent with bronze, and occasionally wrought things from gold..The only thing better than his smithing skills, was his heart; Pu'ur's Blessing on him.." He rubs his nape, glancing about, "Adaliade? Oh... I hadn't even thought of her. I can't say it'd be fitting of me to bring her news." With a cough, he says, "You'd find her at the Manor, I bet.. but if you would please let another break the news to her?"

After the inquiry of Gold pieces, Andrew gives a lamenting smile, trying to gloss over the offense."The price of a soul isn't measured in coins, Friend." He invites you to stay and listen to the sermon, but otherwise turns unhelpful.

The second villager you talk to is younger man named David, who's part of the militia. He's just returned from capturing the Longbow man. "Gerald, as I know it, was a captain in the Flame of the west- He worked for the city guard of Dee-lee-ta, overseeing their river landing. He always said it was an administrative job that broke his heart; never visible violence, but Children and elven beggars with scars from Fanciful noble men's swords." He spits, and then re-wraps a cloth brace on his left wrist, "That made a prime place for Gerald to start sending them away, to a place with food and community. That place just hadn't been made yet." He gives a slight grin, "Until Gerald founded our little home. For the most part, we're all alone out here."

David gives a glance to The Crescent Moon Clan, "Mostly. They look like they've got spirits boiling in them, of the good sort. I'll be glad to have them around," He says as he gives you a playful nudge, "if they don't stink up the place."

"The closest village is Steren, a good two days walk from Fort Silvanos, and Three or four days from here. Best thing there is Kelos, and The Broken Wheel Inn. I'd stay away from the Lake, if you do stop in there. Something just isn't right, there."


Caleun
"Fluke" pales as you pull him away from the rest of the soldiers. He takes a cautious sniff of the water as you unbind him, which turns to a greedy guzzle after it's brief inspection. He interjects, "But I was just-!" Before you tell him to listen. Which he does.

As you relate your undercover agent status, he spits up a stream of water after coughing on it. A steady torrent of apologies and pleas come next, until you can get him to shut up again.

He stumbles over his words once you give him time to talk; "There were just the five of us until two days ago; Kevin, that private with the rose crest shield, spotted those other four approaching. Our Bowman, drew out arrows before Brannis stopped him, Up by Chara's depths. He said they were friends- calling them "The Order of the Burning Spear!" I just shut up and kept quiet- Same with Kevin, but Kevin tired talking to his Brother and his Brother just wouldn't budge either. None of them wore the right uniforms and they all ate their meat raw; practically right after they killed it.

Suddenly, he points at a member of the other fireteam (Private A), "That man said his name was Stanford Chistov; a page report said he died on a Giant hunting mission in The Steps! I bet the others are dead-men too!"


OOC: Anyone is free to read these, the spoiler tags are just for readability. Caleun's meeting is secretive. As a note, the Private bought it, hook, line and sinker.

[Grey_Wolf_c]

Caleun
"Fluke" pales as you pull him away from the rest of the soldiers. He takes a cautious sniff of the water as you unbind him, which turns to a greedy guzzle after it's brief inspection. He interjects, "But I was just-!" Before you tell him to listen. Which he does.

As you relate your undercover agent status, he spits up a stream of water after coughing on it. A steady torrent of apologies and pleas come next, until you can get him to shut up again.

He stumbles over his words once you give him time to talk; "There were just the five of us until two days ago; Kevin, that private with the rose crest shield, spotted those other four approaching. Our Bowman, drew out arrows before Brannis stopped him, Up by Chara's depths. He said they were friends- calling them "The Order of the Burning Spear!" I just shut up and kept quiet- Same with Kevin, but Kevin tired talking to his Brother and his Brother just wouldn't budge either. None of them wore the right uniforms and they all ate their meat raw; practically right after they killed it.

Suddenly, he points at a member of the other fireteam (Private A), "That man said his name was Stanford Chistov; a page report said he died on a Giant hunting mission in The Steps! I bet the others are dead-men too!"


Caleun Tranil (http://www.thetangledweb.net/forums/profiler/view_char.php?cid=12375)

Caleun thanks him and adds with a wink, "Now, remember, next time you see me, I'm just some guy that came into the village at the worst possible time. I'll try my best you do not dance the grim fandango. Oh, if you can let your team members know I'm on your side, that'll be a great help. Don't give them any details - I'm in enough troubole as it is - just that I'm on your side. That way, I don't have to break the rules three times. I'll deal with that "Stanford"" Caleun ties him again and returns him to his cell, and politely talks to the prison guard so that he and the other members of the squad are treated well (meaning clean bedding and water). He also suggests that special care is taken with Private A. [OOC: I assume Brannis is already as secure as can be. If not, Caleun suggests how to make him more secure. That's one bastard that Caleun wants to keep locked up]

Caleun then takes a moment to go outside and brief on his finding to Soren. "Soren, I've got one of the privates to trust me. I'm going to try the others, but we'll see. I will call for him, and maybe some of his companions, for lenient sentences, in part because of the info he has given me, and also because I believe they were simple soldiers just doing their job, and the true bastard to be that Brannis. Hopefully I can convince you to see it my way, but if you have any reservations, do say now for I respect your views on this matter."

"Now, about what I've discovered, I have a very bad feeling about the second group of soldiers - the ones that got away. According to the guy I've talked to, they claim to be soldiers that are known to have died. I don't know who those guys are, but the Flame doesn't break and run that easily. We did capture one of them - do you think you could take a look at him and tell me what your feelings are about him? I think I may also get Trevor to take a look - if there is something magical, Trevor should be able to see it. I cannot help but think of those shape shifting spiders rumours I heard back in the city, not to mention Leem's stories and fears."

"Finally, I think we should deal with Brannis together. I wouldn't trust him as far as I can throw him, and I doubt he'd buy the story I've told the soldiers. Let me know when you are ready, and we'll talk about what we will do to make him talk"

With that, Caleun refills the water skin, and goes back to talk to the other numeric privates, one at a time.

Actions:

I'm basically suggesting that Soren checks Private A for evil, and Trevor checks him for magic/alter self/etc. I'm fairly certain Trevor would've made his abilities known by know (when collecting the loot), and Soren is very open with his ability to read auras.

Not sure if I should roll against the other two privates - I'm hoping that private 2 will do most of the work for Caleun - the other members of this team should trust him. Also, since Caleun is no longer improvising, I'd just take 10 +11 base diplomacy + whatever circunstance bonus are appropiate. If, however, I do need to roll, here they are just in case.
[roll0]
[roll1]
Same as before, Caleun is fishing for whatever information they can give him about their mission, the circunstances, and these weird guys that joined them. He also wants their opinion on Brannis - particularly if they have noticed strange changes in personality, etc.

Edit: seriously, what is with me and rolling 2s in social rolls? Oh well, I was hoping not to need those rolls anyway, and even if I do, I do get the third one to trust me. For what is worth, given that I doubt they're different, I go first to private 1 and then to private 3.

[Glyphic]

Kevin (Private 1)
Having been unconscious from most of the battle, it takes this soldier some time to come back to his senses. Blotchy, discolored spots of black and blue still radiate malevolent energy. He sits, slumped up against a wall. As you offer him the canteen, he waves it off with an apathetic motion.

Looking down into his lap, he curls his fingers into a fist, then relaxes them. His left eye stares off into nothingness, while the other buggishly focuses on your face. "My brother.. isn't with the others." He beings, his voice crawling to find the words, "He's... Not in this realm either.." His head knocks against the wall, as he tilts his head back. Tears flow down his face, mixing with blood and dirt, "My father.. He appointed us to Military service. No where else to go, nothing left to inherit. We're only a small family, serving the Diocletion clan.."

"Five months ago, my brother had me transferred into Brannis's command; I'd been pushing for it for a year. I.. didn't want anything to happen to him, but it the request was always denied."

"Brannis has about 7 men, who practice and spew about that statue-god. It's visage still gives me shivers. According to my Brother..I think it was five months- maybe less- that they started worship."

You're free to press him for more, but at this point, he's looking pained, and clenching his stomach.


Kenneth (private 3)
Kenneth bares fresh, still dripping wounds when you get to him. This left calf bares his only bandaged wound, a spear-thrust. He leans with both hands on it, constricting the blood flow. He lets out a barely audible curse as you isolate him.

"Sargent Brannis has always been one mean bastard. Crazed or not, he's kept the Principalities safe- and killed the same scum you brought into town. He was -right- to kill a dwarf-licking 'Ribbon' like Gerald. You might let those other men live for being cowards and snot-nosed weaklings. But my Sargent, was following orders; it was Gerald who refuted and ignored whatever he wanted. He's had his warnings and penalties; He knew what specters were coming for him.

We just needed that little help to make sure he got it. The Burning Spear is dedicated to getting lost commands finished. They don't report to anyone in Fort Silvanos or anything. I bet the Prince himself commands them."

He taunts, a slice of smile flicking across his face, "With a little more help, -you'd- be in the grave right next to Gerald."

Replace "Ribbon" with whatever derogatory term you like, as long as it borders incredibly offensive.

[Beschoren]

Tasntafaal



The first villiger you meet is a balding man named Andrew...
After the inquiry of Gold pieces, Andrew gives a lamenting smile, trying to gloss over the offense."The price of a soul isn't measured in coins, Friend." ...

Still dry and unemotive, the elf replies to Andrew "I meant I want to pay for the damage, at least a part of it. I'll buy any lost livesotck and pay for the repairs on the buildings. This is not charity - the lost livestock is mine, and you will be responsible to keep the barn and burnt houses in good condition for 10 years, as part of them is mine too."

About the vilagers thanks: "I apreciate your gratitude. But if you trully mean it, leave Brannis to me. He is mine."

Heading towards Mistress Srikun (her house, the inn or herself), he asks: "I've heard you have unusual itens that may or may not be available for trade. could we make a deal? or coul you identify some magical proprieties over some armor?

After talking to the villagers, the scout tries to peek by the manor's windows (for anything (even more) unusual), and then knocks the door (hopefully with Trevor at his side)

[Duke of URL]

Trevor

Trevor seems visibly shaken for a moment reading through the messages, or, more precisely, one message in particular. He seems to manage to shake it off, however, after a few seconds.

He shares all of the other messages with the rest, regarding the one that seemed to bother him, he says, "there is some strong protective magic on this. I was lucky; the next to try to read it might not be as fortunate. It is much like the others, though, except that it gives some vague indications that there is definitely something of interest in Roke's Peaks, beyond this matter of the book," he adds, pointing to the message regarding the journal.

"If we want to check it out, we need to go to Firefell and head north from there."

After this, he is available for other duties, such as magical scanning and advice to Tasntafaal. (To the latter, he points out that if he's suspecting a ghost, that's beyond his area of expertise, but what he knows of planar binding would indicate that once one part of a link is gone, such as the summoner or binder dying, the link is severed. Whether that has any bearing on the current situation is beyond Trevor, however.)

[Glyphic]

Andrew shakes his head, and gives Tanstafaal a pat on his shoulder, "Ten years from now, I'll help you and yours build a house here. No need for coin; just faith and good will."

The Golden Strings-Anyone may choose to be present

The Golden Strings Inn sits on the west side of town. From a distance, it looks like a lonely sentry to the village. A small spire pokes out of the north side of the building. The spire hosts four spacious windows, a small seat and pedestal.

The inside of the Golden Strings is lavishly devorated. A warm light embellishes the unblemished hardwood floors, fanciful tables for two are set up all about. The scent of fresh brewed tea mingles with fresh cut lavender flowers. Banners, woven of silk and gold hang from ceiling, faming several oil paintings of lush scenery, inspiring kings, warriors, and knights of the past, and of course, Mistress Srikun herself.

She sits at one of the tables for two, with a black-lace parasol set beside her and a steaming tea cup set on a frilly doily. Her faces bares the first signs of age, cleverly masked with oils and pigments. She accentuates her figure with a black, almost sheer dress with soft floral patterns hiding among it's threads. She quickly rises, with brisk steps barring your entrance to the Inn.

She extends her smooth, melodic voice, "Welcome to the Golden Strings, Traveler. What.. Pleasures do you seek so early this morning?"

With a laugh, she provides some booties to cover your feet, and requests that you brush the dust and blood off of you before entering, "Ah! My antiques. They are such wonderful things.. I would be glad to show you; provided you pay the 7 coin fee.. which will go to your purchase, if you make one."

Assuming you do, and you put on the booties, she'll show you up to a small room, full of goblets, frilly dresses, old bottles of wine, and various magical things.

A faux-gold crown, with half a faceplate.
This crown is pale gold in color, with bits of wood visible on the inside rim. Decorated glass "Jewels" line the edges, and firmly locked into the brim is half of a faceplate, depicting a laughing man in faux-gold paint.
It radiates a moderate amount of divination magic if detected

"This is one of my quainter oddities. It is sadly, incomplete. I would be very willing to have someone track down the other half.. or rid my collection of it completely. It was formerly owned by a two-man entertaining group. Turns out that their show fell to shambles when a halfling stole both masks; the performers couldn't get their timing down near as well, as when they had these.. For the price of 150 coins, I would be willing to part ways with it. I would certainly pay double that, for the missing counterpart."

A woman's locket.
This heart-shaped locket is wrought of fine silver. It is completely untarnished, and it's chain emulates the pattern of spiderwebs. The locked itself delicately opens, but is currently empty.
Faint divination
"A young woman who stayed here, alone, left this on her departure. I have never seen a such a dismal looking girl; She came to Re-marr, wearing her finest clothes to meet a certain gentleman. She left, all disheveled and afluster, leaving this behind. For.. 1000 coins, or suitable equivalent, It may be yours. The name of the man, is a different bargain, however."

She goes on to show you some other wares, and her small little observatory in the northern spire.

Any one magical item, up to 8000 gp, can be found here. Proposed trades will be weighed individually.

[Miraqariftsky]

Blessed blade slashed spectral smoke
Asunder rent, foeman's armour
An arm hangs now limp

Highlander's claymore dripped with gore
Made he ready, that head to cleave
As did his hallowed heart so heave

With sinful strength of dark despair
Blazed forth and deep did delve
Western woe's blade of blood

Foul daemon-blood there blazed
From that sorrow-sword
That felled Soren

Just craven cold stole all flesh away
The wound burned not with pain
No death's agony felt he

To a black abyss he fell, forever falling
All dark the world, bereft of light
Yet twas no hell, no devils' dell

Slow there shifted, black to glowing grey
A flame there fell and about him blazed
Light he had, the light of faith

This was his god or a spark thereof
Come through strange planes
Fear shall he not

Voices there spoke of blood and birth
Of golden goals and singing strings
Of scarlet-stained snow

A warmth unfelt by that shivering boy
A love nevermore on earth be seen
In that cold, cold morn

((To be continued))

[Grey_Wolf_c]

The Golden Strings

The inside of the Golden Strings is lavishly devorated. A warm light embellishes the unblemished hardwood floors, fanciful tables for two are set up all about. The scent of fresh brewed tea mingles with fresh cut lavender flowers. Banners, woven of silk and gold hang from ceiling, faming several oil paintings of lush scenery, inspiring kings, warriors, and knights of the past, and of course, Mistress Srikun herself.

Caleun Tranil (http://www.thetangledweb.net/forums/profiler/view_char.php?cid=12375)

Taking a break while he waits for Soren and Trevor to take a look at the prisoners, Caleun decides to pay a visit to this collector of magical goods. As he approaches, he notes, through the ample windows, the carefully kept teashop. Stopping for a second, he takes a good look at himself, covered in blood and grime, and with severl cuts and bruises. His clothes fared even worse in the fight, particularly the cloak. With a sigh, he pats off what he can and then, with a look of concentration, he invokes the power of the hat, which manages to hide the rest. Looking more appropiately clad, he strodes confidently to the door, and politely attracts the attention of the owner


She extends her smooth, melodic voice, "Welcome to the Golden Strings, Traveler. What.. Pleasures do you seek so early this morning?"

With a laugh, she provides some booties to cover your feet, and requests that you brush the dust and blood off of you before entering, "Ah! My antiques. They are such wonderful things.. I would be glad to show you; provided you pay the 7 coin fee.. which will go to your purchase, if you make one."

"Good morning to you too, mylady," answers Caleun with a smile and a twinkle of his eyes, "I am indeed interested in your antiques - I have heard they are a wonder to behold - but I must say, now that I am here, that I doubt I will be finding anything more beautiful than what is already before me [1]"

While making some more small talk, Caleun fishes out a few coins from his pouch, and passes them over to Mistress Srikun. "Shall we proceed to the collection?" he says, offering her his arm and beaming his most charming smile


A faux-gold crown, with half a faceplate.
This crown is pale gold in color, with bits of wood visible on the inside rim. Decorated glass "Jewels" line the edges, and firmly locked into the brim is half of a faceplate, depicting a laughing man in faux-gold paint.
It radiates a moderate amount of divination magic if detected

"This is one of my quainter oddities. It is sadly, incomplete. I would be very willing to have someone track down the other half.. or rid my collection of it completely. It was formerly owned by a two-man entertaining group. Turns out that their show fell to shambles when a halfling stole both masks; the performers couldn't get their timing down near as well, as when they had these.. For the price of 150 coins, I would be willing to part ways with it. I would certainly pay double that, for the missing counterpart."

"Fascinating," says Caleun, his interest clear in his voice. "A pair of entertainers, you say? Did you ever watch their act? Was it acting or maybe juggling? Remarkable story. I must say it is always the danger of relying in magic for anything - the body comes to rely too much on it, and devoid of its crutch it can no longer keep it up. I would love to see the pair used in conjunction again. Do you have any information on this halfling? Maybe I will cross paths with him - traveling across Valorium is likely to be my fate for the foresable future. Do the masks work at all when separate?"


A woman's locket.
This heart-shaped locket is wrought of fine silver. It is completely untarnished, and it's chain emulates the pattern of spiderwebs. The locked itself delicately opens, but is currently empty.
Faint divination
"A young woman who stayed here, alone, left this on her departure. I have never seen a such a dismal looking girl; She came to Re-marr, wearing her finest clothes to meet a certain gentleman. She left, all disheveled and afluster, leaving this behind. For.. 1000 coins, or suitable equivalent, It may be yours. The name of the man, is a different bargain, however."

"A tragic story, one heard too often in this world," answers Caleun, politely, "However, that is a hefty pricetag for what is, admitedly, a beautiful casting, but have you any clue what its properties are? I am afraid my current hazardous circumstances do not allow me to purchase objects for their beuty alone, as I once did. I see a patter of spiderweb - might that be a clue to is magical properties?"

Caleun remains in the shop some time, taking a good look at the collection of objects and hapily becoming better aquainted with Mistress Srikun

Actions:

[1] Not too sure where I'm going with this - but maybe all the flirting will get Caleun's entrance money back, or maybe a discount, or at least a bit of fun :smallwink: . But it fits Caleun's character too well not to go for it.
[roll0] - see next post
The flirting is meant to be throughout the whole time together. Maybe multiple checks would be appropiate.

[Grey_Wolf_c]

Actions:

Not too sure where I'm going with this - but maybe all the flirting will get Caleun's entrance money back, or maybe a discount, or at least a bit of fun :smallwink: . But it fits Caleun's character too well not to go for it.
(badly formed roll)


I always forget I cannot preview when I want to roll. Sorry for that.
[roll0]

[Glyphic]

The Mistress plucks a few of the more wanted wares, holding them close to her bosom. With a flash of a smile, she 'asks' if you'd like to join her for tea. She locks the little nook behind her, and motions with her free hand to the tables set about. A few minutes pass, before she returns with the items, and a rather stark-tasting cup of black tea for those gracing her Inn.

"Mm.. Memory serves me; the two entertainers danced their way from Dee-lee-ta to Occulous. Their brand of acrobatic-infused two man dramas relied heavily on ironies; each man had several parts and personas; timing had to be precise on all accounts." A faint color rises in her cheeks, "I would place an equal emphasis on Sisko's marvelous face and the definition of his.." She hides her lips behind her cup, before continuing, "The halfling that stole the show from underfoot lived in Occulous. He never arrived in this hamlet; if he flew to safer skies at all."

"That circlet, is of course still functional; as long as another has found it's mate." With that, she sets the circlet aside, and sips from her cup again. She then picks up the locket, smoothly lifting it to her collar and snaps it on.

Her finger then traces the chain of the locket, a sigh falling from her lips, "The young girl had the unfortunate condition of self doubt, and a history of falling into troublesome situations. I place this locket's worth at easing those burden's of the mind, and forecasting such conundrums." She turns her eyes, taking a moment to look into the gaze of each person present, "But it is of little help, if it is another who is being unfaithful."

The conversation turns to a few other items and gems of interest, as the tea slowly disappears.

reminder: she'll sell/trade one item of up to 8000 gold value. (not per party member).

[Miraqariftsky]

Soren Solaren...is baaaaackk...


Blessed blade slashed spectral smoke
Asunder rent, foeman's armour
An arm hangs now limp

Highlander's claymore dripped with gore
Made he ready, that head to cleave
As did his hallowed heart so heave

With sinful strength of dark despair
Blazed forth and deep did delve
Western woe's blade of blood

Foul daemon-blood there blazed
From that sorrow-sword
That felled Soren

Just craven cold stole all flesh away
The wound burned not with pain
No death's agony felt he

To a black abyss he fell, forever falling
All dark the world, bereft of light
Yet twas no hell, no devils' dell

Slow there shifted, black to glowing grey
A flame there fell and about him blazed
Light he had, the light of faith

This was his god or a spark thereof
Come through strange planes
Fear shall he not

Voices there spoke of blood and birth
Of golden goals and singing strings
Of scarlet-stained snow

A warmth unfelt by that shivering boy
A love nevermore on earth be seen
In that cold, cold morn

((To be continued))


In the lowlands lay no home for him
Only the road that wound ever on
No true hearth unmoving

Treading precipice keen as blackest night
World fell again to fathomless dark
On a knife's edge stood he

Long the path he walked with bleeding soles
As daemons licked the dripping blood
And hackled in their horrid hordes

He wandered the wastes a-withering
Naked but for his searing sword
Far he fared with burning soul

Unwavering, he marched uncounted miles,
Walked the waters of the sanguine sea
The froth was seething sulfur

High they rose and livid loomed
The waves were of blood,
The tides of terror

With tentacles and corrupting claws clung they on
The thousands of shadowspawned shades
His soul stood strong, his faith held fast

For every one he slew, a hundred more filled the breach
Weariness set in, profound in strength-sapping might
His sinews withered and he fell

Ghastly the festering mortal wound that he espied
When Soren fell to the serpent's sepulchre
With coils horizon-great

Darkness loomed as his sword rusted away in his hands
But song there arose and banished blight
A song sublime summoned his soul

Pu'ur's eye glared gladly from heaven above
Breath to his nostrils came
Light, his eyes did greet

A song of souls filled the air
Singing hymns of healing
Chants of remaking

Suddenly from the blue sky
Lightnings there flashed
Soren arose transfixed

Flame from heaven, crimson, gold and white the hues
Blazed down through steel and flesh and blood
A sacred scream tore through those of Pu'ur

Twelve folk arise, their eyes afire, their souls singing
Many are their trades--- farmer, weaver, smith
Singer, scribe and soldier...

Twelve folk arise, their blood hailing varied lineage
To green glades hark some, mountains others
But by fire they are all called

Spring they forth with speech of multitudes
In one breath, such power tumbles forth
Words of Heaven and words of Hell

The parched land births blessed abundance
Grass and grain grow green and gold
A moment springs rich harvest

Rises to paradise, by spark and flame and ember
Shifts and stands, no longer mortal bleeding
The valiant Gerald, the mighty mayor

Thunder rumbles and the fire dims
White gleams his throat's scar
Soren stirs and stands

Alvukshta's fair voice ceases its singing
Flame flows on flame as they kiss
Sudden stops the song

Dostt's blessed book bursts ablaze
Every word and every phrase
Into his soul a-searing

In a voice barely beyond a whisper
His lips from beloved's part
Then speak, "Doom..."

Please correct me if I am mistaken. How many are there? I remember that you said Re-marr had forty-some residents with one-fourth converted?

Also, sorry if I may have missed my verb tenses in some spots...

Hmm... I suppose it would be going too far if Gerald suddenly resurrected?

And if I do say so myself... Oh screaming ironic thankless prophet! First thing ya say after comin' back from the dead is "Doom..."? Blast ye!

[Glyphic]

Those dedicated and faithful to Pu'ur find themselves transfixes with amazed piety, finding their voices replaces with the crackle of a divine fire. A few Troglodytes find their scales glazed and branded with harmless flame, including Bethany, who's eyes brighten to vivid, burning orange. Off to the side, Leen, Vir-ra, and the rest of the Troglodytes stand with contempt, caution, or fear. Vir-ra clutches Leen's leg as she pained yowl to the chorus of the pious.

Dostt, the portly man on stage with fire-streaked hair, stands with his mouth open as his holy book turns to ash and floats into a brisk breeze.. The zephyr of flame-crumbled parchment and spine swirls above the crowd, before swallowing Soren's righteous Claymore and Brannis's blade, tearing both from this realm.

Dostt falls to one knee, pushed by the wind. He lifts both hands, his plams lying flat. His lips move, his voice unearthly and crackling with energy, "With fire, so we shall see through the darkest of nights."

Reforged and hot, Soren's claymore forms in Dostt's hands, a wreath of orange and red flames dancing on the blade.


Maaajor Kudos on your Writing, Nexus. Truely a delight to read. :)

Oh, yes. +1 Flaming Greatsword. Adds 1d6 of fire damage per hit.

[Glyphic]

A few viligers linger outside of Gerald's manor, talking in hushed voices to each other. As you make your approach, they look over with hopeful eyes. They pass a few religious baubles and charms your way, as they quietly murmur their thanks. They disperse, but make sure to note that no-one has entered or exited.

The manor house is just as you left it, dust gathering in odd nooks. Pas the foyer, and into the dining room where breakfast for one sits, and grows colder. In a side chair sits the Gem of Re-marr, Adaliade. She's wearing the same gown you last saw her in, woven of blue-hued textile, and a novella lays open in her lap. She presses her lips inro small, toothless smile, "Oh, hello there. I'm sorry to say, Gerald left, not long ago..." She closes the small booklet, and lifts her gaze to you, her movements gentle as a doe, "I've... I've a feeling he will be joining me soon."

[Miraqariftsky]

All around, the true believers still speak in tongues, spouting prophecies, singing otherworldly hymns and spewing miracles...

"Pu'ur burns away all darkness and impurity" Soren replies to Dostt with thundering voice. He reverently takes the sword from his friend's hands, lifts it to his face, kisses the quillions, then touches the tip to Dostt's forehead. There blooms a pinprick of flame and it opens into a white-hot eye set in the man's forehead. Soren here declares, "You are a sage and a scribe, Dosst. Pu'ur chose you to be a vessel for the purging of ignorance, for the spreading of enlightenment. May your light shine through this coming long night, your mighty mind and your ever-seeing eyes providing guidance for those who are lost"

The ashes of the Book of Fire arise from a field of fresh flowers and green grass. Grey motes swirl in the air, borne by winds ethereal. The swirling grows faster, moving into a horizontal vortex, ever-tightening. In less than a minute, the swirling stops as a long spear wrought of solidified ash, the haft seeming pliant yet strong as old hardwood. From the tip drips burning ink. A few prime pages fly, floating about the priest's head, sacred scripture glowing in red-hot ink that does not burn the papers... A corner of Soren's lips curls up in a smile and he says, "Lead the church well, Deacon Dostt"

Soren puts his right hand on the bard Alvuskshta's shoulder, his smile slowly widening in sorrow as he shakes his head. Their foreheads meet, her golden locks meshed with his red-black ones and he whispers her, "Doom draws nigh, my love. I fear that soon, my Call will consume me and that all that shall be left of my pitiful form would be ash and dust. Things are moving, 'Shta, and unless stopped, the land will be consumed in a tide of nameless horrors older than creation itself"

Soren's sword sinks into a nearby stone just as he sinks to his knees before her, taking her hands in his. Trembling, he lifts those fair fingers and kisses the knuckles, saying, "Please, please for the good of the people here, for your sake, please stay and be safe. Let your soul sing on, 'Shta, bringing hope to the despairing, bringing light and laughter to the dour and drear. I love you, milady Alvukshta, by spark and blaze and ember, I love you... Aure entuluva, Tinuviel"

Gathering himself, Soren then stands, lifting the blazing blade high. His voice thunders across the commons. "Followers of Pu'ur, staunch citizens of Re-marr! By spark and blaze and ember, have faith! Though our beloved Gerald no longer walks this earth with us, we will treasure his memory and let his old thoughts and deeds burn on like a beacon of hope through our lives. Beware, for the forces of darkness are once more on the move. But have faith and fight, my beloved comrades! Though we are few, if we stand together, we are strong! I and my companions shall have to leave soon, to stop the problem at its roots and knock on Helgates, if need be... Though this may be the case, comrades, I will always be with you. The light of Pu'ur shall always be with you, his flame guiding and guarding you, by spark and blaze and ember!"

[Duke of URL]

Trevor

Trevor kneels down beside Adaliade. "My lady," he says gently, "I fear I have to bear ill news. As we returned to Re-Marr, we found members of the Flame already here. With cruel and premeditated intent, Gerald and several of the villagers were attacked.

"We intervened, but were unable to reach Gerald in time. I am very sorry to have to tell you this, but he has passed beyond this realm.

"Little comfort though it may be, we saved the village from destruction, and have apprehended the villain who killed Gerald. Tell me what you will have done with the murderer, and I will see it happen."


Trevor also checks for anything unusual about Adaliade, based on Tasntafaal's concerns. Feel free to make any appropriate perception and/or social rolls for me.