Beyond the City of Thieves IC

[Kaptin Keen]

Borgrim, oblivious, proceeds to scraths the dog's tummies.

Oooh! Do you like that - huh? Is that what you like? Yes. Oh you're such a good boy. Yes you are.

Turning the Therin, he shoots offhand:

Wonderful dogs. Frankly makes me wish I had a proper home to keep them. They'd be awkward at the inns we tend to stay at.

I've a question, though. This young man, Aleyn - he's looking for an apprenticeship. Not .. not here, obviously, but I bet you have your ear to the ground, no? Do you think you could point me to a succesful tradesmaster who'd like ... how can I put this ... a hardworking, clever and ambitious young lad and a purse of the kings finest coin to boot?

Spoiler: OOC

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Borgrim is big on social skills, everyone knows that. But sometimes, when asking for favors, Intimidate isn't the proper approach. Even Borgrim (vaguely) realises that. So here, he relies primarily upon the unspoken brotherhood between all dog lovers, everywhere, to all times.

It's like religion. Only stronger.

Also yes. I'm trying to use Handle Animal as a social skill =D

[Woggle]

"We're proposing you a deal. This urn is cursed. Aleyn's associate have desecrated that urn, when emptying its content. The specter of the being (Aleyn, let's avoid saying its name here) who's remains it contained came to them and marked them for death. We have been hired to handle that very same curse, and its how we found Aleyn and his associates, who in turn told us how to reach and warn you. On the way to your place, we were assaulted by the restless dead; A wight, I believe." Rosa takes out the broken sword of Bone's servant. "I let you decipher what's written on this hilt."

"More will come and, trust me, those dogs will not provide enough protection. Way I see it, we're the ones offering you a boon. By taking the cursed urn in our hands, we would take its curse upon ourselves, freeing you."

Therin brings his steepled hands to his chin in a skeptical gesture. "A wight, you say, in the city? Hmm. Well, I'm afraid I can't just let the urn go for nothing, cursed though it may be. I will take a look at the sword, though."

Therin carefully takes the offered sword hilt and remaining blade and examines it with a close eye under the lamplight. He turns it over and hovers a finger above it, tracing along the faint runes.

"And you say a wight was carrying this? Very curious! It appears quite old, in my estimation. Possibly a millennia, or even more. The runes are of an ancient elvish script, and look to concern "retribution"... hang, give me a moment." Therin places the sword gently on the table and scurries off into a far corner of the shop.

Oh - who's a good boy then, eh? He asks, rethorically, as he walks over, who's a good boy. Yes, that's right. Yes, you are.

Therin rolls his eyes and gives an exasperated sigh as he watches the larger of his two mastiffs, after a cautious snuffle, begin to pant happily and thump the hardwood floor with its tail as Borgrim approaches. A few moments of searching in amongst some shelves, and he returns to the table, large leather bound tome in hand. He quickly pages through the book, alighting on a dog-eared entry.

"Ah, here we are! Yes, the rune sequence here translates to "Just Retribution", and the other main sequence, something like "Blade of Mortal Wounding". Ha, I'd have thought most swords would fit that bill, heh heh!. In any case, it no doubt has or at least had some magic infusion relating to the runes. I've seen descriptions of very similar artifacts, generally dating back to before even the founding of Carsepolis. I don't know if even the elves still know how to produce such things anymore."

Therin looks to the urn and back to the sword hilt, and back to the urn. "Tell you what, I'll happily trade you the urn for the sword hilt. Otherwise its going to have to be gold. With the right clientele, I can get a pretty penny for it."

Borgrim, oblivious, proceeds to scraths the dog's tummies.

Oooh! Do you like that - huh? Is that what you like? Yes. Oh you're such a good boy. Yes you are.

Turning the Therin, he shoots offhand:

Wonderful dogs. Frankly makes me wish I had a proper home to keep them. They'd be awkward at the inns we tend to stay at.

I've a question, though. This young man, Aleyn - he's looking for an apprenticeship. Not .. not here, obviously, but I bet you have your ear to the ground, no? Do you think you could point me to a succesful tradesmaster who'd like ... how can I put this ... a hardworking, clever and ambitious young lad and a purse of the kings finest coin to boot?

The mastiffs are powerless to resist such guileless motives; both are soon lying on their sides, tails thumping.

"They are fine creatures, if I may say so myself. They put on a fearsome face, but, as you can see... they really are a couple of lovable dolts."

Therin looks up, a thoughtful expression on his face. He glances over to Aleyn's face, the young lad looking rather drained and strung out now. Therin taps his chin. "You know, it takes a special sort to realize when they've made a mistake and to accept that they're not cut out for certain work, and I commend you for it, Aleyn. And I think I might have something for the lad, sir. A Mr. Rupert Glinstone, over on Candle Street, is said to be looking for an apprentice. He's a silver-worker primarily, and I think Aleyn could make a fine go of it. Just let Glinstone know he has my recommendation, and he'll give it some thought, at least. We haven't always seen eye to eye, he and I, but I can say at the least we respect one another."

Spoiler: OOC

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Whether Therin believes the urn is cursed:

Believing - (1d20+3)[19]

[Kaptin Keen]

Glintstone, on Candle. Got it.

Hear that, Aleyn? Being a silversmith is a very respectable position, and much different from breaking your back as a mason, or slaving away in the coal mines. Way better than getting killed by a wight because you wanted a life of adventure.

But I want to tell you something. Your former associates will try to convince you to open the door for them some dark night. That's going to happen. It's a given. You will refuse them, and if they press you, you will call the guard. Because if you agree with them, everyone will know it was you. You'll be thrown in the hole, and they'll walk away with silver they stole, basically, from you.

Be smarter than that, Aleyn. I'm not buying you this chance so you can twiddle it away like a bloody fool.

If need be, you can tell anyone who's ever a problem to you that you're a friend of the Bloody Rose. It's a name likely to chill the blood of anyone in the know. You can drop my name too, but I'm somewhat less infamous around these parts.

I suppose we'll drop by Candle Street and unload Aleyn on our way back to .. wherever, Nicodemus or our inn.

[iTookUrNick]

Ben (indeed, Ben is with them now, as the shopkeeper rightly points out) enters the room with the others, making the point of staying as far from the dogs as he can, mostly next to the door, while the raven waits perched outside.

He keeps quiet for most of the exchange, only interjecting at the end. "Good sir, since you consider the broken sword and the cursed urn to be of similar value, I suggest we take the urn on loan and leave you the hilt as collateral. When we get back in a few days, we'll trade them back, plus a few gold coins as a 'service fee' for you. If we fail to return the urn, you get to keep the hilt, obviously. And in the meantime, you can perhaps find out if the rune magic can be recovered somehow. How does that sound?" he looks to the shopkeeper and to his allies both, to see if there is a consensus on the matter.

Spoiler: OOC

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Persuasion - (1d20+6)[19]

[WalkingTheShade]

Rosa hisses in frustration as Borgrim once again hijacks the conversation. Yet, her faces relaxes and she ends up nodding in approval to what he says. "Borgrim is right, I'll offer you protection, if anyone causes you trouble. Stealing from the one who takes you in is well..." Rosa seems thoughtful, and gives a side glance towards Therin, "Well, that wouldn't be right. Unless said master is treating you bad. Then I'll be the one helping you getting retribution..." Rosa's voice trails off.

She frowns, unsure it all made much sense. That speech gets a medal for mixed signals, mocks the Joker in her ear.

She's taken out of her moral dilemna when the Baron gets back to business. Here again, she nods in approval. "As collateral you said? Puts that 'free trader' thing under a new perspective." She smiles to César; Or maybe Benedict, or Ben or whoever he is.

[Woggle]

Aleyn nods with intent focus as he listens to Borgrim's words. Therin, meanwhile, quickly and neatly jots down a note on a clean sheet of parchment, sealing it up with a bit of wax and stamping it with a ring-seal. He hands it to Aleyn.

"Right. You hand that to Glinstone in the morning, and I'm sure he'll give you a trial run, at the very least. And once the silly halfling realizes he could actually use some help, he'll no doubt keep you on. Good luck!"

Therin turns to Benedict and folds his hands once more. After a pensive look he gives a single vigorous nod. "That sounds like a perfectly agreeable trade. I'll do some scrounging and see what else I can find about the sword's runes. Just be sure to keep the urn safe! It would be a real shame to see a lovely specimen like that come to harm."

Therin stands up and stretches out his arms, yawning. "Now, I think that concludes our business. I need to retire to bed, anyhow. I bid you all goodnight, and wish you all the best, Aleyn. You've a fine future ahead of you if you apply yourself!"

Therin ushers the quartet out through the back door into the alley, gives a final wave, and closes the door firmly behind them. The sounds of latches behind secured comes muffled through the door, the only noise disturbing a now quiet night.

Borgim, Benedict, Rosa and Aleyn head off northward. Across the Singing Bridge, Aleyn splits off toward Weaver Street, giving his firm promise to see Glinstone the silversmith first thing in the morning. "I'll stay with me Ma tonight, she'll be happy t'see me --after she gives me ears a boxing, no doubt-- and I'll set me ways right in the morning. Thanks fer all yer help, I- I don't know what I can do t'repay you... Thanks." Aleyn stands a little sheepishly, then hurries off toward a small shop front.

The trio, after a long night, retire to Nicodemus' shack below the bridge. Opening the door quietly reveals Nicodemus snoring gently in his chair, his pipe diligently emptied on the small table beside him. The three doors to the guest rooms open to soft beds with fresh linens. Sleep washes over the three adventurers like a gentle wave.

Spoiler: Benedict

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Across calm, rolling waves on a dream-sea, an echoing, distant voice comes calling. As if speaking through a multitude of winding passages, the sound eddies and wavers in Benedict's mind.

"One- one- one of Bone's thrall is destroyed, thanks thanks in part to you. Keep our pact, warlock, and reward reward of knowledge will be yours. Defeat this Bone Zanbar Bone once and for all, remove the stain of his existence from this world, and I I I shall set you on the path of vengeance..."

Benedicts dreams become muddled afterward, and he shifts into restful sleep.

Spoiler: OOC

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If you'd like to benefit from more than just a short rest (you regain one hit die, so if you want to spend one first to regain any lost hit points go for it), you'll need to sleep in until the afternoon. If you don't care about that, then obviously you can check on Aleyn in the morning, or prepare whatever else you'd like to for the day. This is the last day before the day of the Festival

[Kaptin Keen]

Borgrim will rest for as long as possible - but he'll be on Candle Street to make sure Aleyn is also there at the start of the day. At that point, he'll also chat with Mr. Glintstone, asking that he give the boy a chance and treat him well, but also keep an eye on him. And he will hand him 10 gold, for ... 'eventualitites'.

That concluded, he's done all he can for Aleyn.

Then he'll wander off at random, thinking in a city as big as this, fate will surely - magically - reunite him with his friends when it's time. He'll go look around the festival preparations, see the sights, get in the 'festival mood'. He'll have his usual casual relation to the property rights of others, but will not be actively looking for too much trouble. It's simply too early in the morning for fistfights or rooftop chases.

[WalkingTheShade]

Rosa rises early, with no after effect of her encounter with Zanbar Bone. Clearly, the reputation of the dark wizard is not deserved. What did his minion do? Go out without much of a fight, brittle like an old, rusted, cursed and broken sword. What about his spells? Give you a headache and a nosebleed, nothing that doesn't wash out after a quick beauty nap. What threat is an unsubstantial skeleton do to anyone, anyways, except old impressionable soon-to-be defrocked priests?

Hearing Borgrim's deep snores, she relaxes a bit. "Well, he indeed stops his antics at some times. He almost seems reasonable in sleep. Wonder if he dreams of dogs and battles and maidens... Maybe battling dog-maidens?" Rosa shrugs to herself.

At least no more antics this morning. She takes a frugal breakfast, lost in her thoughts. If Nicodemus is here, she'll discuss with him, asking him to corroborate what Borgrim heard about his fights of old against Bone. Of the urn, she says nothing. But hesitation and uneasiness are betrayed by a slight wavering of her voice.

Spoiler: OOC

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Who needs rest when they have Wizard hit dice?! H6D - (1d6)[6] HAH, the RNG vindicates my belief!

[iTookUrNick]

Ben sleeps the night away, half snoring. At one points he mumbles... "Yes... bless... path... follow... vengeance...mine...". Then he tosses to the side and sleeps quietly till the morning.

Spoiler: OOC

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If I tracked everything correctly, Ben only cast two spells (which recharge on a short rest) and has no wounds nor expended other uses of stuff. If that is the case, then he gets up in the morning and check on things that need to be checked. If not, he'll happily prolong his rest as required.

[Woggle]

Borgrim rises late in the morning, refreshed from the previous nights exertions. He says nary a word to Benedict or Rosa as he heads out onto the streets, aiming for the general vicinity of Candle Street. He ambles down the city streets in the warm spring sun, stopping briefly to grab some spiced meats and dried fruit from a vendor set up for the festival crowds. He watches as folk bustle about hanging green and gold banners from second-story windows, emblazoned with a stylized sheaf of wheat and an apple, hopping for a good growing season. Street workers and labourers hurry about with casks of cider and mead, delivering to taverns and street-booths alike.

A bell tinkling announces Borgrim's entrance to Glinstone's shop, who looks up from his work and hops down from his chair when he recognizes the strapping half-orc. The halfling silversmith mentions his distaste for Therin, but he does acknowledge, "If there's one thing that gnome knows, it's the value of things. So I'm sure Aleyn will work out well. Besides, I have to admit it's rather pleasant having someone else in the shop. Hopefully I don't chatter his ears off!"

Rupert Glinstone does his humble best to dissuade Borgrim from giving the 10 gold, but eventually the halfling is forced to throw up his hands in defeat and accept the coin. Aleyn pokes his head around the corner to the backroom and gives Borgrim a wave and a thank you. The lad looks to be in good spirits, his ears un-boxed.

Rosa and Benedict wake earlier, breakfasting in the quiet of Nicodemus' abode. The wizard rummages about the hut somewhat aimlessly as he nibbles on tea-cakes. Nicodemus' responses are curt and sharp; the old wizard appears possessed of a particularly foul mood, though it does not seem to be directed toward Benedict or Rosa.

Rosa pries as tactfully as she is able into the stories she got from Borgrim about Nicodemus' history, which the wizard gruffly corroborates. He is short on details, however, and speaks barely a word in reply when the topic of Pen Ty Kora (Nicodemus' old friend) and the curse that was transferred to her --which lead to her untimely demise-- is brought up. Rosa gets the impression that it was perhaps some mistake that Nicodemus himself made that lead to the curse being transferred, as opposed to being properly dispelled. Not willing to risk souring the wizards mood, she doesn't prod any further.

******

EDIT: Shifting subjects, Rosa and Benedict set the funerary urn down on the low table in the centre of the hut, and Rosa scrounges about for a magic scroll. Reading through the arcane sigils activates a hidden door, so to speak, in her mind causing symbols and words to flutter past her eyelids when she closes her eyes. Studying the urn, the cuneiform runes begin to reveal their meaning. Benedict prepares some parchment in order to jot down any notes.

Upon the rim of the urn's lid is a simple inscription: Cursed be they who would disturb this vessel; Let it rest lest you bring doom upon yourself.

Across the centre of the urn is inscribed: Here lie the remains of Ezepius, Son of Ikron, once a proud priest of Kelemvor, but forever hence a traitor his priesthood and to all the other gods the Djarati people hold dear. Let his spirit be torn asunder for ten thousand years in the deepest pits of Stygia, and so too let his body wither and rot imprisoned in this receptacle, until the Sun ceases its travel across the skies. Do not disturb his torment; know that his treachery was terrible and his punishment just.

The urn translated, Rosa ceases her concentration. In the meantime, Nicodemus' mood seems to have improved, particularly after a pipe's worth of tobacco. He shuffles his chair a little closer to take a better look at the urn. He squints, stroking his long beard in old fingers.

"Humm. Where did you come across this curious artifact, then? I must say, it looks somewhat familiar now that I look at it more closely... no, surely not..." Nicodemus' brow furrows deeply, bringing his bushy white eyebrows together. When informed that the urn was stolen from Nicodemus' house, the old wizard's expression sags and grows weary. He settles back into his chair.

"I-- Ah, no, it must the be the same one, you're certainly correct. I'm afraid I am getting old, too old now... I could have sworn I hide the thing away a number of years ago, safely, but... well I suppose my memory must be going. Blast. Anyhow, I first came across the urn many years ago, travelling far to the south. A merchant traded for it, though I'm certain the fellow was more tomb robber than merchant. And you say that Bone has taken the remains? Hmm. No doubt to create some undead thrall to serve him. Luckily Bone doesn't have the power to fully restore the damned priest's remains. Even so, the revenant he creates will be a formidable foe; incapable of much thought, but strong. Likely a mummy of some sort, and stronger than a typical wight. You'll likely want to seek out some source of fire in the advent you run into it, and beware its touch! It may well infect you with some withering curse or disease."

Nicodemus listens to the suggestion of turning the urn into some sort of trap. "I'm woefully tired of late and can't help you with that, but the idea is sound. The proper application of magic should re-invigorate the curse-runes and could be altered into a snare of sorts."

******

Their preparations made, Ben and Rosa head out after Borgrim, who spent his time after leaving Glinstone's meandering about the streets, heading in the general direction of Market Square. Borgrim watches as groups of laughing children sprint up and down the alleys and streets, chasing each other with small willow sprigs and cattails. Borgrim gets caught up in a particularly large gaggle and joins in the fun, snatching up two handfuls of small branches and play-terrorizing the children, much to their delight.

Reaching Market square, Borgrim is perfectly place to watch as a would be cutpurse lifts a pouch of coin from a stall vendor hawking candied meats. All it takes is a firm hand in the thief's chest and a glowering look from Borgrim, and the thief relinquishes the coin pouch and dashes off into the crowd. The vendor thanks the half-orc profusely and offers him his fill of candied meat, as well as a wine skin full of sweet apple cider. Basking in his good fortune, Borgrim turns to spot Ben and Rosa strolling over to greet him.

EDIT: Bustling past at that very same moment is Petra, the young novice of At'ar, looking busy and a little harried. She looks up and stops when she sees the trio, however, and smiles broadly.

"Oh! I hope you're all having a fine day, and looking forward to the festival! Oh! Priest Furtha mentioned that should I run into you, I should tell you that his preparations are in order. I don't know what for, of course, but I'm sure that will mean something to you! Are you planning something special for the festival, mayhap?" Petra looks inquisitively at the trio, still smiling brightly.

[iTookUrNick]

Before leaving the house, Cèsar asks the old wizard: "Say, should we need a Magic Circle, would you be able to provide us with one? Can you cast one yourself? I am sure it would be good for Rosa to get familiar with it too if you could do it with her."

---

Whatever the answer, it's time to find Borgrim. Their success is grounded by the summon of their "friend" the priest, who has possibly succeeded in being useful. He might be of more use still, with his knowledge of spirits and the trapping thereof.
"Thank you dear, we'll be on our way presently. And yes, we are preparing some things for the festival, though we are not yet sure if we will get to put them on display." he tells Petra. He leaves it to Borgrim to be charming this time, as he would not want to be seen as a rival in this matter.

[Kaptin Keen]

Petra! Borgrim beams brightly, clearly pleased to see her. All we have planned for the festival is .. well, saving the world, frankly. Keep your head down once the fireworks start. Again, he beams, as if joking. There's a hint of concern about his eyes, though. The church is going to be near the epicentre, so he believes. Once we're done with that, maybe you'll finally allow me to buy you a drink, eh?

[Woggle]

Before leaving the house, Cèsar asks the old wizard: "Say, should we need a Magic Circle, would you be able to provide us with one? Can you cast one yourself? I am sure it would be good for Rosa to get familiar with it too if you could do it with her."

Nicodemus sighs, then slowly lifts himself from his chair. He rummages about for a few minutes. Eventually he produces a scroll, to which he makes a few hasty additions. Satisfied, he hands over the parchment. "These instructions should be clear enough to follow, though Rosa and César will have to expend some magical reserves in order to complete the circle effectively."

Nicodemus settles back into his chair and folds his hands across his chest. He closes his bushy-browed eyes and in a minute is snoring softly.

---

"Thank you dear, we'll be on our way presently. And yes, we are preparing some things for the festival, though we are not yet sure if we will get to put them on display." he tells Petra. He leaves it to Borgrim to be charming this time, as he would not want to be seen as a rival in this matter.

Petra! Borgrim beams brightly, clearly pleased to see her. All we have planned for the festival is .. well, saving the world, frankly. Keep your head down once the fireworks start. Again, he beams, as if joking. There's a hint of concern about his eyes, though. The church is going to be near the epicentre, so he believes. Once we're done with that, maybe you'll finally allow me to buy you a drink, eh?

Petra looks up in alarm, her eyebrows raised exaggeratedly. "Oh, that does sound important! I'll be sure to take care of myself, thank you." Petra looks to César and then Rosa, then back to Borgrim. She catches his beaming smile, and then laughs herself. "Ha ha! Oh, you are a funny one, mister Borgrim! If I can find time after the festival, I'll take you up on the drink. I'd best be off, Spring's blessing to you all!"

Petra gives a parting wave and then bustles her way through the crowd.

---

Arriving at the Temple of At'ar, Rosa, César and Borgrim find the main hall crowded with acolytes and novices making preparations for the festival, having banners, setting up incense burners, assembling wreaths of cat-willow and hollyhock, and other such things. At the back, the trio spot Furtha overseeing the stuffing of a massive cured bull carcass with fruits, candied meats, dried figs, and olives shipped from across the Glimmering Sea. The exasperated priest spots the three and gives an obvious sigh, but waves them over non-the-less. He motions to the novices to continue their work, and steps off to the side of the main dais.

"Well, you'll be happy to know I've got all the materials ready for a defensive magic circle, as well as for a certain something --that is, if you're still interested in drawing out the Bone. As you can see, we're quite swamped here, but I'm sure I can make some time tonight for our little side project, hmm?" Furtha speaks quietly and quickly, tapping his nose surreptitiously for emphasis. "Did you happen to have any luck with our other mutual friends last night?" Furtha pulls out a handkerchief and dabs away at the sweat on his brow.

Spoiler: OOC

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The last time you spoke with Furtha he offered to prepare a magic circle, so you may not need to use the scroll that Nicodemus has given you. If you do wind up wanting to use the scroll, I'll require Rosa and César to each expend a 1st level spell slot in order to complete it.

[Kaptin Keen]

Nicodemus settles back into his chair and folds his hands across his chest. He closes his bushy-browed eyes and in a minute is snoring softly.

Borgrim looks uncharacteristically concerned for a moment. Very busy, he mutters to himself.

Petra gives a parting wave and then bustles her way through the crowd.

Staring at her receding back, he sighs: I wasn't kidding, though. Please be careful.


Borgrim will leave the magic stuff to the magic people. Foul sorcery. Feh!

[iTookUrNick]

Cèsar thanks Nicodemus for the gift, letting Rosa take the scroll itself. You can never have too many protections, he thinks. Then they are off.

---

At the temple, looks around with mild interest, in case something catches his eye on the way to the priest. He keeps a discreet and dignified demeanour as he confers with him.
"Good. Very good. Yes, I think it would be worth it to try it tonight." He looks around for confirmation. "Also, we might be needing some extra safety measures. Something to protect against disease, or to cure it after the fact. And fire. Do you think you can help with any of those, or can you tell us where to look? I think the first one at least should be right up a priest's alley."
He thinks back about what they told the priest about the werecrows. "Yes, we've met. After the initial perplexities, we seem to have reached an understanding of sorts." he says, keeping things a big vague. Others might elaborate if they feel it's worth it.

[Kaptin Keen]

Feh. Foul sorcery!

And yet ... grandma Borgrimma did say the barbarian who lives is the barbarian who prepares, and plays to his strengths.

Speaking of fire - would there be some sort of magic incantation or the like, Borgrim visibly restrains himself from spitting on the floor that would engulf my blade in flame?

[Woggle]

Furtha waves a hand and nods. "[color=DarkBlue]The church will be able to cure any ailments, worry not! As for fire, oil should be readily available anywhere in the city. I'll have some of the temple's stores on hand just in case. There is an alchemist or two in the city who may be able to provide you with vials of naphtha {Alchemist's Fire}, a sort of sticky, volatile liquid which ignites in air. Dangerous, but if you want to start a fire, it is quite effective. And you'll be able to find all sorts of vendors selling Kallamehri candles and other fireworks, if you want to try setting things alight from afar. I do hope you'll take some care to avoid burning down the temple, of course.

Turning to Borgrim, Furtha takes on a thoughtful look. "I think I may be able to provide a boon which would allow you to accomplish something to that effect. I should have it ready by this evening, if I can. Otherwise applying oil to it may work, at least for a few swings?"

Taking a closer look at the urn, Furtha traces a hand across the runes inscribe about the lid and neck. He mouths a few of the cuneiform letters soundlessly as he studies. After a few moments he looks up and nods determinedly. "The runes are still capable of holding much power. With a small application of mana I should be able to re-charge them, if you will, and include a command to call the urn's resident. Though it won't be of much use against any other creature. The magic is quite specific, relying as it does on the power of naming. It should prove effective if you encounter the one who was imprisoned within, regardless of its current form."

Furtha claps his hands together. "Now then, I've got much to do if we want to go ahead tonight. Unless you have any further questions, I must take my leave for the afternoon!"

Spoiler: OOC

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Alchemist's Fire (as in the PHB) will set you back ~15 gp a vial, max three vials. Flasks of Oil are readily available throughout the city. (Roman)-style candles (fireworks) are available for ~ 1 sp apiece, and would allow you to make ranged attacks (without proficiency, being improvised weapons) dealing 1 fire damage at a range of up to ~ 100 feet. They'll be able to ignite oil and the like. Also torches can be used as a melee weapon to deal fire damage (1+Str fire damage, I believe).

For Borgrim, the boon that Furtha is preparing will let him convert his Rage bonus damage into fire damage.

[WalkingTheShade]

"The runes are still capable of holding much power. With a small application of mana I should be able to re-charge them, if you will, and include a command to call the urn's resident. Though it won't be of much use against any other creature. The magic is quite specific, relying as it does on the power of naming. It should prove effective if you encounter the one who was imprisoned within, regardless of its current form."

Rosa nods. "Well, my intuition wasn't far off. How about the mention of a curse on the lid? Do you believe it to be genuine, or just a detterent? Some happless fools have emptied the urn of its remains."

She then adds to her companions: "Fire may not be needed, it we can put the urn to work. We may be able to use it to guide away the servant from its master. So, when you say 'call' its resident, you mean it will come to the one bearing the urn? But without being under their control?"

[iTookUrNick]

Cèsar listens attentively. “ correct me if I’m wrong, but I think he simply means it as in “trap within”. he tells Rosa.

Alright, we’ll let you do your things. I think I will be grabbing a vial or two nonetheless. And our man Borgrim will look downright smashing with a lit blade in the darkness .”

[Kaptin Keen]

A wide grin spreads across Borgrim's rough features as he imagines himself, cloaked in darkness, but wreathed in flickering red shadows by the flames crawling along the great length of his blade.

Then he remembers himself, and mutters foul sorcery. The smile doesn't entirely fade though.

[WalkingTheShade]

Then he remembers himself, and mutters foul sorcery. The smile doesn't entirely fade though.

Rosa can't hold it anymore. At first, it seems she's going to hit Borgrim again. But then, she closes her eyes and takes a deep breath. When she opens her eyes again, she speaks with an even voice.

"Listen, ever heard anyone say 'fight fire with fire'? It may seem to you that sorcery is wrong or, unnatural, but it's just really like a sword. You can use a sword to do bad stuff. You can use a sword to do good stuff, like protect people who don't have swords from people who have them and use them to do bad stuff."

"It's the same really with sorcery. It's neither good nor bad. If there's no hand to swing the sword, it's just a lump of soon to be rusted metal. What makes it good or bad is what people do with it. The same with sorcery. Really."

Rosa's smile seems a bit forced, but she looks somehow more at peace than her usual self.

Spoiler: OOC

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Do you know the Riddle of Steel, Conan Borgrim?

[Kaptin Keen]

Men - and women - can be good or bad. They will use swords, or magic, or other men and women, to do what good or evil they have in them.

They say even the strongest steel is no stronger than the hand that wields it. And that is the difference, between steel and magic. Magic can be stronger than it's wielder. It can snatch the power from the wielder, become it's own master. It can summon demons, or raise the dead. It can twist flehs into an abominable mockery.

Steel, for all the intentions of men or women, is just steel. It's natural, and can do only natural things.

Magic is unnatural, and can do unnatural things.

Tell me, Rosa ... are you firmly in control of your magic? Or does that power sometimes whisper in your ear, egg you on? Are you ever tempted? To add just a little more fire than is strictly necessary? To go a little furter?

Borgrim looks around. Long sentences are tiresome and slightly overwhelming. Sadly, they are in a church. But it is a festival. Maybe there's beer to be had?!

[iTookUrNick]

Cèsar remains utterly quiet, wary of redirecting a debate about control over magic towards himself. Control his not his strong suit at all.

[Woggle]

Cèsar listens attentively. “ correct me if I’m wrong, but I think he simply means it as in “trap within”. he tells Rosa.

Furtha nods. "Cèsar has the gist of it. Alas, the knowledge and power to convert the urn to a charm or lure is beyond me. It will instead function as a trap, which when sprung when the creature is near, will attempt to draw it's spirit back into the urn, imprisoning it once more."

"How about the mention of a curse on the lid? Do you believe it to be genuine, or just a detterent? Some happless fools have emptied the urn of its remains."

Furtha waves a hand and shakes his head, 'no'. "I'm almost certain that it is simply a warning about the contents of the urn, and not an actual curse. I've not read of any verified accounts actual cursed funerary urns."

Furtha shoots a sidelong glance toward Borgrim, and notices the young man's wandering eye. With a sigh the aging priest commandeers a small cask of ale, in the process of being brought out of storage by a temple novice. He hands the cask to Borgrim, adding "Spring's blessings to you, my friends. Until tonight." Furtha then bustles off to the temple's west annex.

---

After an afternoon of relative ease (apart from running a few errands, picking up oil and naphtha), the trio finds themselves back at the Temple of At'ar an hour or two after sunset. Furtha meets them furtively at a side door. He ushers the three quickly and quietly into the main hall, where a few items are gathered by the statue of the goddess in preparation for the ritual. Two large wineskins and a large, burnished brass bowl sit at At'ar's feet. Beside that is a leather bound book and several small bits of spice and mandrake root, among other ingredients.

Furtha gestures to the south wall, where in one of the alcoves a rope and pulley allow for the quick closing of the main hall's roof windows, which currently let in just the first sliver of the rising moon. He indicates the pre-prepared magic circle (only needing a pinch of silver to close completely and activate) cleverly concealed by a series of light silk sheets coloured in the same pattern to the floor. The camouflaged effect is quite strong; in the dim light of the hall the three would have found it nearly imperceptible had it not been pointed out. Furtha nods. He hands Borgrim a small stone of onyx, wrapped in copper wire to resemble a crescent sun, and hung from a leather cord. He returns the urn to Rosa or Cèsar (whoever prefers it). "Where the amulet about your neck, Borgrim, and the fire of the sun will flow through you. With the urn, utter the prisoner's name, and then 'Ad Carcerem', and it will activate its magic. I'm ready to begin whenever you are."

Spoiler: OOC

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The full magic phrase for the urn is "Ezepius, Son of Ikron, Ad Carcerem!" Depending on how well the creature resists, it may take several rounds before the urn is able to completely capture it. However it will be weakened as soon as the urn is activated.

Make a note if any of you want to spend any coin for oil or alchemist's fire, or anything else that would be readily available in the city. I'll allow any one with a vial of it to apply it to a weapon as an action, dealing 1d4 fire damage as a bonus for 5 rounds.

If you had other questions for Furtha before nightfall, I'll retcon that in. Or if there was anything else you wanted to do during the afternoon.

Oh, and just in case: The last time I looked over your sheets, I noticed that Rosa didn't have her 3rd level Tiefling ability written down. It allows her to cast Hellish Rebuke (upcast to second level, so 3d10 fire damage) once per long rest.

[iTookUrNick]

“I’ll take the urn” says Cèsar “I am ready when you are”.

Spoiler: Ooc

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”one vial of naphta if you please, good sir. Make sure it doesn’t leak.”
I’ll take the irn if you don’t mind. Hypothetically, would activating the urn break Sanctuary?

[Kaptin Keen]

Borgrim takes the onyx, looks at it half-perplexed, and utters a brief 'grunf' sound, and hangs it around his neck.

[Woggle]

Furtha looks a little worn and drawn as he nods. He readies himself at the foot of the statue of At'ar, placing the brass bowl and arranging the other components neatly beside. With a final look back to the trio, he takes one of the wine skins and unstoppers it. He pours its contents slowly into the bowl, all the while chanting quietly two repeating phrases:

Spoiler: Rosa

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Furtha chants mantra-like in Infernal: "Spirits and Aeons, heed the call of blood! Congregate about the warmth of life, freshly spilled! "

Furtha continues with ritual, occasionally pausing in his pouring to make a few eldritch gestures, or to sprinkle about some of the materials set about him. A faint scent of incense mixed with singed hair wafts about the hall. Beads of perspiration form on the priest's brow as he concentrates intently. He pays no notice as the moon rises high enough to begin to cast its soft beams of light into the hall from the window high above. The air fills with a sense of expectation and apprehension which causes the hair on the back of Borgrim's arm to stand up. Just beyond the edge of hearing, Cèsar feels a myriad of minor spirits or other harmless entities whispering from the ethereal. Rosa notices the smell of blood growing stronger as Furtha chants and supplicates the spirits of the ether.

Furtha finishes pouring from the wineskins. Motes of light appear and disappear as they float and dance about the priest like fireflies. Occasionally larger, ghostly shapes reveal themselves for a moment before twisting away from sight. Furtha continues chanting.

Several minutes pass. The dancing of the motes becomes almost entrancing, but a disturbance in the moonlight catches the eyes of the trio as they lie in wait. A figure descends and materializes from the broad moonbeam, gathering substance as it approaches the marble floor of the hall. A click, clack sounds out as skeletal feet make contact, announcing their owner's arrival. The skeletal figure approaches Furtha, its dark cloak thrown over one of its protruding and malformed shoulders. The glint of a circlet flashes in the moonlight from the skeletons head, which is covered with bony nodules almost resembling small horns.

A voice emanates from the skeletal figure, though its jaw does not move. Its twisting tone causes hackles to rise. "A second mistake, priest. Stand, and show me your fear."

Rosa recognizes the voice from her smokey reveries; there is no mistaking the voice of Zanbar Bone. Bone steps toward Furtha. Furtha in turn straightens up and turns to face Bone, as if compelled. Even thought the command was not directed toward Rosa, Borgrim, and Cèsar, still they feel a very momentary impulse to follow Bone's order, which they quickly shake off. Furtha looks toward Bone then quickly scrunches his eyes shut, mouthing a silent prayer.

"Your myriad patrons will not aid you. Come, face your death!"

A clawed skeletal hand stretches out toward Furtha as Bone takes another step closer.

Spoiler: OOC

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I’ll take the urn if you don’t mind. Hypothetically, would activating the urn break Sanctuary?

I'll say that it WON'T break Sanctuary.

Zanbar Bone is currently standing in the disguised magic circle, which is placed a little in front of the dais that the statue of At'ar is on. Furtha is about 10 feet away from him.

The layout of the Hall of At'ar:

Spoiler: OOC

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------------d-------
|                   |
| s s s s s s s s s |
| o  o  o  o  o  o  |
|                   |
|A                  E
|                   |
| o  o  o  o  o  o  |
| s s s s s s s s s |
|                   |
--------------------

A= statue of At'ar, E= entrance, o= column, s= small statue or shrine.

[Kaptin Keen]

Zenbir Boone, right? Begins Borgrim, a definite tone of taunting to his voice, I'm honestly pleased you still think it's Priest Furtha you have to worry about here - it shows you're frankly completely misinformed. Furtha the Frankly Inconsequential you've already met. This is Rosa, called the Red for reasons I'll leave to your imagination - and the gentleman has a bewildering array of names I'm afraid you won't have time to learn.

I'm Borgrim, called Wyldstrike and Grim Leaper. Oh, and lest I forget .... this is Hastings!

Borgrim makes a few opening remarks to get the true debate going, and to give everyone time to take their places, do their stuff, get out spell components or whatever. Then he leaps across the altar (such is my hope) with a blood-curdling cry of unbridled rage and aggression. Bone has the barest sliver of a moment to stare at bloodshot, near-insane eyes before everything is ecclipsed by the whirling red and silver arch of the flaming greatsword.

GRAAHHH!!!

Spoiler: Rolls

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Initiative: (1d20+2)[20]
Rage, Reckless Attack, Frenzy.
Athletics (to jump over anything that presents itself for leaping over): (1d20+6)[15] or (1d20+6)[18] (because Rage, and this is a strength check)
Attack: (1d20+2)[10] or (1d20+6)[15] (because Reckless Attack)
Damage: (2d6+6)[14]
Bonus action, Frenzy attack: (1d20+6)[16] or (1d20+6)[11]
Damage: (2d6+6)[15]

For the hell of it, Crit Confirm: (1d20+6)[12]

For all that's invested - that could easily be two misses. Wow =(

[iTookUrNick]

As the Barbarian takes the scene by storm, Cèsar quietly but quickly pulls the curtains down to obscure the moonlight in the room. Then, he prepares to help his friends.
Init - (1d20+3)[14], or Init - (1d20+3)[21] if Tides of Chaos can be used to gain advantage on initiative.
Now, if I have more actions, I will also cast Bless (and possibly roll on the Wild Magic Table). If not, I will do it next turn.

The raven will go and help/set up Borgrimàs attack if it can help - (1d20+4)[6].

[Woggle]

Zanbar is about to take a final step toward Furtha when Borgrim strides out of the shadows with sword in hand. The dread skeleton turns and gazes with empty sockets at the barbarian. The impression of a sneer seems to creep across Bone's bare skull. His sockets glow with a faint green light and his voice projects, though his mouth does not move.

"Ah, the meddlers, at last... I'd very much like to see you all! Where do the rest of you lurk?"

As Borgrim rushes the alter with muscled speed, Benedict steps a little forward after pulling the shutter cord, blessing his companions, and in the process, sending out a wave of chaotic magical energy {Wild Surge}. Just before Borgrim's blade slices home, Bone raises a skeletal hand and conjures a translucent shield of force that deflects the sword {reaction Shield, blocks B's attacks}. Bone's toothy mouth gapes and grins.

"All you have to offer, man-orc?" He chortles.

The laughter is short-lived, however, as a moment later Rosa steps from behind a pillar and lines up a shot with hand-crossbow loaded with a silver quarrel. Bone has no time to raise his magical shield of force in defence; the bolt slips by and penetrates his skeletal chest with remarkable effect {Hit, 16x2=32 dam}. Bone staggers back and drops to a knee, his eyes glaring with a panicked green flash of sickly light.

Bones looks up and sees his connection to the moon severed. He desperately grasps a small pouch from beneath his cloak and tosses it just beyond the edge of the magic circle. Small whisps of dust begin to rise and swirl about the satchel as Bone speaks a word and briefly disappears from sight.

And then reappears a moment later, in exactly the same spot {Teleport: fail}. If a bare, skeletal skull could show surprise, then Zanbar Bone's would be covered in it. He hastily twists an armlet on a bony wrist and several illusory doubles sprout from his body, surrounding him {Mirror Image}.

"Aid your master! Bone calls out.

Spoiler: OOC, Rolls

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Round 1 Initiative: Benedict 21, Borgrim 20, Rosa 18, Zanbar Bone 17.

Here are some of Zanbar's and Rosa's rolls: LINK

Benedict's Wild Magic Surge renders all the participants in this fight vulnerable to piercing damage, thus Rosa's doubled damage.

Bless for Borgrim's rolls: (1d4)[2] and (1d4)[2] (unfortunate not enough to bypass Zanbar Bone's Shield spell.)

Group Stealth, to see if Zanbar is surprised (two successes needed vs. DC 12):
Rosa - (1d20+8)[22]
Ben - (1d20+5)[18]
Borgrim - (1d20+4)[19]
*EDIT*: I realize that Borgrim's monologue (though short) prevents Zanbar from being surprised.

Tides of Chaos CAN be used for initiative, so Benedict acts first. Here is his wild magic surge: WMS - (1d100)[96]
"You and all creatures within 30 feet of you gain vulnerability to piercing damage for the next minute." Hmm. Do you think Benedict was within 30 feet of Zanbar Bone when Bless was cast? I think I'll go with that.