Cerridwen's healing magic surges over the Dark Elf, closing his wounds and realigning his broken nose. Unfortunately the convulsions are only growing more violent, and the pale hint of blood begins to stain foam spilling forth uncontrollably from his lips. His eyes roll back in his head and dark blood beings to run from his eyes and nose.
He takes a final, desperate, gasping breath. "Hecatrix." The Svartalf gaps in a voice like the grave. He collapses to the floor, dead.
For Cerridwen:
As your magic heals the Dark Elf you feel an unfamiliar and unsettling sensation. It feels as if something...else, has invaded the Dark Elf's body and is actively pushing back against your magic.
Roondar stands behind everyone else, eyes wide and nostrils flared. "Ugh, that was awful! But... who is Hecatrix? Anyone heard of the name?" He racks his brain for any trace of what or who Hecatrix may be.
"Also, now that we've all shared alcohol and witnessed death together.... who are you all? I," he says bowing, "am Roondar Stumbleduck Ningel. You can call me Ducky or Roondar, whichever your preference. I am a skald who has traveled far and wide bringing joy to the masses. I'm familiar with death and destruction, as is the nature of things these days, but I don't... usually cause it."
Rollback Post to RevisionRollBack
DM "Journey Unto Chaos!" DM "Hoard of the Dragon Queen" Roondar Stumbleduck Ningel - Gnome Bard lv 1 "Scourge of the North"
This post has potentially manipulated dice roll results.
Hecatrix? Ragnar racks his brain to try and place the name. There were a lot of drunken nights and brawls up in that head, but he'd been around quite some time, if they were anyone of note, he might remember them. (History: 16)
"Pah, cow'ahd." Ragnar spits on the lifeless body of the Svartalf and turns to the rest of the silent onlookers. "Moi name's Ragnah Long'ammah, 'an Oi don' know about any of yew, but Oi'd loike to finish drinkeen, an' figure out who, an' where, in Hela's name Hecatrix is."
Eying the woman who just had just attempted to heal the Elf, Ragnar bowed his head slightly, "Attache to dah Vanir yew say? If yew'd loike, we can finish owr convahsation we was 'avin, 'an yew can tell me 'ow Oi ended up in dah same place as the only woman more bewtiful dahn Freya 'errself. Losing the admiring smile that had crept over his face while talking to Cerridwen, he looks at the others, "As fer dah rest of yew lot, Oi don' know if all yew holy men is mute, but if anyone 'as any clue who Hecatrix is, now moight be a good toim to talk."
Leaning toward Vahlen, Ragnar whispers, "A goddess, two holy men, 'an a singah. 'Ow did we get caught in 'dis mess, and 'ow drunk was Oi, dat Oi let someone drag me to a bloody temple?"
"Sounds like the name of some sorceress. Maybe this unlucky bastard was her thrall. Whoever or whatever Hecatrix is, our friend was scared about something." Vahlen thought to himself for a moment and wondered if this fit the description of any magic he was familiar with. Arcana: 4
Vahlen appraised the others. Whatever their reasons, they had all stuck around for the interrogation. It appeared that they were all in this together, at least for the time being. He inherently disliked the thought of working with such a large group. However, without them to occupy the other Svartalfari, he would likely be sporting a few extra stab wounds. His desire to make some easy coin in Drifsgaard was now superseded by the more immediate threat to his life. It seemed clear to him that Ragnar was their target, and there was some safety in numbers. He supposed the company of these strangers was acceptable, at least for now. Plus, if this Hecatrix was worth their salt, (whoever they were,) they might be sitting on a tidy sum of gold in desperate need of a new owner.
He shrugged in response to the dwarf's question. "Ragnar, we haven't run afoul of any witchy types lately, have we?"
He frowned momentarily. Perhaps he had failed to check dark elf thoroughly enough. He could have palmed a dose of that poison he was carrying before they bound his arms. That would certainly explain the stalling while he waited for it to take effect. Seems pretty unlikely given all the eyes on him, but how else would one explain the convulsing? Medicine: 6
"...And erm, like I said, the name's Vahlen. Problem solver. Problem causer. Either really, provided the coin is good."
As you search the fresh corpse you find 30 gold pieces as well as another pouch of the strange green powder expertly hidden up the dark elf's boot.
For Ragnar:
As a dwarf you're somewhat familiar with Svartalfari culture. Your two races have battle over territory in Svartalfheim since time long since forgotten. You've heard the word 'Hecatrix' before, spoken in hushed, reverent, and fearful tones. You know it to be someone, or something, or deep importance to the Svartalfari, though its true nature is well hidden by their shadowy and secretive race.
This post has potentially manipulated dice roll results.
Halvar had been leaning against the wall near the door they had all entered through, taking in the scene. It had been some time since he was in a temple, let alone one of Odin's, and he was enjoying the familiar smells and sounds of a holy place, even if it was one of Odin's and rather a bit larger than the small shrine back home. The sound of boot hitting skull had brought him back to the present, and he had watched while the dwarf....interrogated...their hostage.
He jerked himself off the wall when the Svartalf began to convulse, but the human woman was already moving. He watched her heal his outer wounds, but sighed to himself as he died anyway. Even if he had attacked them first, he was a prisoner in their charge, and he had died under their watch.
Hecatrix...he thought to himself...does that sound familiar for some reason? He thought back to his lessons with Gunnar, the man who saved him. (Religion 4 and History 13)
As he combed through his memory, he moved to the body to examine it closer. The dwarf, though strong, probably didn't cause that death, but Halvar was starting to wonder what did. Whatever it was, it worked quickly, but most deadly things left a trace, and he was hoping to find it (Medicine 10).
Rollback Post to RevisionRollBack
Niels H.
Halvar Gunnarsson - Half-Elf Cleric - lvl 1 "Scourge of the North"
Your studies of religion and ancient lore leave you somewhat familiar with Svartalfari culture. There's little love lost between the two races of elves, and you've never met a Svartalf who wouldn't stab you in the back. You've heard the word 'Hecatrix' before, spoken in hushed, reverent, and even fearful tones. You know it to be someone, or something, or deep importance to the Svartalfari, though its true nature is well hidden by their shadowy and secretive race.
"Well... what's going on?! Everyone keeps poking around and not telling us what they see! I don't have much info... seems as though the monks here are trying to find ways to deal with the Fimbulwinter, but I know nothing about this Svartalf! If I'm to travel with you or help any more of you out I'd like to know what is going on... And by the way, Longhammah... I'm not just a singer, but you did seem to enjoy my tribute to the Blood of Heroes, so I would appreciate even a little thanks! And I believe I could be of some service to you by inspiring you on your adventures! Besides, there is safety in numbers!"
Roondar scans the room and hopes for another soul to speak... The dead Svartalf is unnerving and he's not terribly fond of holy houses either...
Rollback Post to RevisionRollBack
DM "Journey Unto Chaos!" DM "Hoard of the Dragon Queen" Roondar Stumbleduck Ningel - Gnome Bard lv 1 "Scourge of the North"
Raganr scrunches his nose in disgust as he glances at the monks in the room, still silent. Still making him uneasy. "Oi've 'erd the name, but Oi 'ave no idea wut it means or who it is. Oi do know 'dat dese Svartalfari keep to demselves most of the toim, so what Oi 'ave 'erd, is juss whispers. As yew can tell, we don' exacly get along wiff one another, so it ain't loike Oi've asked before..."
Ragnar looks at the Skald with a slight smirk forming at the corner of his mouth, "Yew're oroight, Skald. I think we moight get along afterall." He laughs a deep raspy chuckle as he pats the strange little dwarf on the back, much too hard.
"Now, Oi ain't sure how much longer 'dis temple is gonna stan' wiff me in it. If yew got somefing to say, why don' you say it on dah way out. Oi need a drink, an' all 'dis worshippin' is makin' me lose moi thirst for mead..." With this, Ragnar begins sauntering toward to door, looking back impatiently to see if anyone is following.
This post has potentially manipulated dice roll results.
Hem, who had been standing by the door with the cleric, watched in curious silence as the Svartalf was questioned. He started to go to the body once he keeled over, but a few of the others rushed in first. Instead he stood back again waiting to see if anyone would find anything. No need in crowding the scene; Hem firmly believed observation to be the best choice in most situations, unless he was clearly in danger, and he was not. The elf looked pretty dead to him.
He sighed as Ragnar moved to leave the room, putting a hand out to stop him. "The dead elf behind you is as much your problem as it is mine, friend. I'd rather not leave it here for my coworkers to deal with; they have been kind enough to us already. They will turn a blind eye, but it's our responsibility to figure out what to do with it." He turned to speak to everyone else. "I say we strip him of any clues and dump him in an alley somewhere. The guard will just chalk it up to a mugging gone wrong."
Hem pushed off from his place against the wall and walked towards the dead Svartalf. He shrugged off his brown robe and threw it over the body, seeing a wet spot form near the face where the elf had been pouring blood. He winced slightly, thinking of his dirtied robes, and turned back to the crowd. "Will a couple hearty volunteers please grab this fellow? There's a back exit I will lead you all through. We can dump the body in a nearby alley. If any of you have a trick to help hide the body-shaped lump under my robes, that would be much appreciated now. I will speak with Brother Birger on our way out. They won't give us any trouble."
After saying his piece, Hem thought hard about this Hecatrix, wondering if he'd heard the name in any of his travels or during his training. Perhaps Master Amund had mentioned it at some point in the many years they'd studied? Or maybe he'd heard it from one of the many pilgrims that came through the temple. He wracked his brain to think of anything remotely related.
Vahlen was surprised to hear that plan coming from the mouth of a holy man. He couldn't have thought of a better one himself. He cocked his head slightly, wondering if their pasts were more similar than he'd imagined. "Fair enough, monk."As late as it was getting now, they had likely missed last call at the Oyster. If memory served, that only left The Muddy Rudder. He sighed audibly. Vahlen hoped that the one who tended bar there had forgotten about their last visit. They did leave a nice tip to smooth things over, and to be fair, the place was already a hole to begin with.
"Ragnar, come 'ere and give me a hand with the stiff." He pauses for a moment and chuckles softly to himself, pleased with the accidental double entendre. "After we dump him somewhere, we can drop by the Rudder and see if Nine-fingers has heard anything about this 'Algrim' or 'Hecatrix,' he usually has his ear to the ground. Might have contacts among the refugees too. Vahlen grinned widely, remembering the nub of an index finger that the fixer used to pack his pipe. "Or, he could at least point us in the right direction." Noting his companion's impatience, he adds: "Come on, when we get there I'll buy you some of that Dwarvern spirit that you've been going on about... Rocksmasher? Gem...sauce? ...Something or other."
"Skald, it seems like you know a few tricks, can you make the corpse look a little less conspicuous?"
(OOC: I intend to call upon one of my contacts from my criminal past background.)
As Ragnar shuffled his way to the door he listened to Hem say his peace and as he reached out his hand to stop him, he spun and smacked it away quickly, "Don' touch me. Oi don' loike it wen peeple touch me.." He looked Hem in the eyes as Vahlen spoke, asking for help lugging the dead elf and shaking his head at Vahlen's quips about the stiff and Nine-Fingers. "Is called Aegir's Family Jewel-Crusher, 'an they was all out last toim we was there. As for 'dis one," Ragnar gestured toward the dead mercenary, "He ain't moi problem no more, but if it means gettin' to drink sooner, Oi'll 'elp you get him to a more comfortable guttah." Putting one arm under the limp Elf he began to lift it off the ground with Vahlen's help.
"An for the record, Vahlen, yew'd bettah hope Noine-Fingahs don't remember what yew an' Oi did wiff his daughters..."
"They were consenting adults and what Nine-fingers doesn't know won't hurt him. ....Wait, doesn't remember? ...Gods, you didn't say anything about it, did you? Well, I suppose any halfway decent fixer could figure it out." Vahlen frowns, picturing what could be an awkward interaction later. "Even if he does know, I don't feel bad in the slightest. He said that last job for him would be a milk run. Apparently, we have very different definitions of the term. I'd say after nearly getting us killed, we're even. In fact, I think he still owes us one."
Roondar smiles widely, "Well, well, well! It seems we'll get along better than I thought! I like your jokes, ranger! And," he elbows Vahlen a little as he makes his way to the now cloaked Svartalf "I like your style... Daughters? You say? I'm not picky... Sons, daughters, anything that's interested in me... I'm interested in it!"
He stares down at the cloak, the darkness spreading slowly around one area, and scratches his head. "Lessee... I can minor illusion this, but it might do for someone else to maybe... prestidigitate him clean first? After that I can make it look like you're carrying out a suit of armor between you. Real pretty plate... or a statue, but I figure that would draw unwanted attention. Or! I could make him look like a stretcher and I could lay down on him (Roondar shudders a little) and pretend I'm ill! What'll it be!? I love acting!"
Rollback Post to RevisionRollBack
DM "Journey Unto Chaos!" DM "Hoard of the Dragon Queen" Roondar Stumbleduck Ningel - Gnome Bard lv 1 "Scourge of the North"
Amidst your preparations, Brother Birger opens the door. He takes one look at the bloodstained sheet on the floor and shakes his head. "Merciful Freya, Hemingr! Again? Really?" He looks around to ensure none of the other monks are listening. "You know how to find the back exit, be quick about it! Not all of your brothers and sisters are as forgiving as I!"
He spares the corpse another glance and sighs. "Oh, and before you go, I had Sister Skilfar take a look at that green powder the Svartalf's were carrying. Definitely a poison of some kind, though even she couldn't discern what it was for. Interesting though, she identified the base compound as guano. Nasty stuff really, but its fertile and versatile enough. Whatever it is the Dark Elves must have a fresh source of the stuff."
Brother Birger notices the crimson puddle staining the floor beneath the corpse. He curses under his breath. "And get that taken care of quickly would you?"
This post has potentially manipulated dice roll results.
Hem gritted his teeth as Brother Birger entered the room, slinking back against the wall as the monk's retribution blasted him. "The last one was a mistake, you know that! His neck was a lot thinner than I expected. Also, this one killed himself. We had nothing to do with it. Seems like he might have done it with some of that poison."
Hem hurriedly grabbed a a rag off the table as he spoke and began sopping up the blood, using his water skin to help wash it away. He then used the same rag and waterskin to try and sop up the blood on the elf's face, moving the the robes around so as to hide the stain.
Deception check to hide the bloody robes/clean the elf's face: 4
"Hopefully that will do...Skald, would you be so kind as to work your illusion? Dealer's choice as to what you do, you're the expert." Hem then turned to Brother Birger, sporting a serious look and tone now. "I'm sorry, brother...you've done so much for me over the last few months, I'm truly grateful for all your understanding and help. Here, take this. Consider it a charitable donation to the hof for this trouble." Hem then reached into a pouch, grabbed three gold pieces and handed them to the brother. "I don't know when I'll be back from this mystery, but you might want to think about replacing me here. I need to figure out what happened with this svartalf. Something suspicious is afoot, and I don't like it."
Hem then turned to the rest of the party. "Alright, who's with me? Let's get this svartalf out of here and figure out what happened. I'd personally like to hear what this Nine-Fingers fellow has to say."
"Ooooh, dealer's choice you say?!" Roondar rubbed his hands together gleefully. "Ok, then. Since the large, bearded one is grumpy, and the tall, pointy one likes to stick things with his pointy things... I'll say I'd stay away from being slung in between them. Therefore! You'll be carrying my instrument case! Well don, lads!" he chides and steps to pat Ragnar on the arm. He hesitates however, as he remembered the dwarf's last threat about being touched, stops, and turns the extended hand into an exaggerated bow. As he does so he casts minor illusion onto the concealed Svartalf, making the whole ensemble look like a large, brown trunk. Where Ragnar and Vahlen have their hands Roondar makes it appear as though they are holding beautiful leather handles so they can readjust without fear of being discovered.
Roondar then begins to hum a tune and again addresses the other magic users, "Prestidigitation, anyone? It'll certainly help Brother Hemingr here clean everything up posthaste! I never learned it myself... spent too much time... showing people what they wanted to see, shall we say?" He adds with a smile.
"Ah, and the illusion doesn't last terribly long, so if we could hurry..."
Cerridwen was standing next to the rather short Dwarf that seemed to be so enamored with her. Without really thinking she leans in and whispers to him:
For Ragnar and DM:
"If you dare try anything with me I will tear you apart" as she starts to slip into Primal Savagery and her teeth became sharp and menacing.
She stands backs up and moved to help Hemingr clean up the mess that the Sfartalf left on the floor. While cleaning up the mess she watched Roondar turn the corpse into an illusory chest. Obviously impressed she compliments the Bard on his magic. "Impressive work Roondar, I think I will continue to follow you all through to the end of this journey, I seem to be in the company of an experienced group and I agree that there is safety in numbers."
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Bronwyn M.
Cerridwen Ebbenflow- Human Variant Druid- lvl1 "Scourge of the North"
Azrial- Half Elf Cleric- lvl1 "Horde of the Dragon Queen"
As they finished cleaning and began to depart, dead elf in hand, Vahlen mulled over Brother Birger's words and the ranting of the dying svartalf. "Guano, eh? Fresh too... This one mentioned something about caves before he started foaming at the mouth. Far too cold for bats to be above ground. Probably a whole network of caves somewhere. Seems like the kind of place this scum would choose for a hideout." He was still puzzling over the significance of the barely coherent bits about the moon and spiders. His mind wandered to one of Old Ivar's tales about a witch who had been corrupted by powerful chaos magic and partly transformed into a giant spider. He hoped that this Hecatrix was nothing of the sort.
Feeling slightly uneasy, Vahlen tries to catch a glimpse of the moon as they depart.
Cerridwen's healing magic surges over the Dark Elf, closing his wounds and realigning his broken nose. Unfortunately the convulsions are only growing more violent, and the pale hint of blood begins to stain foam spilling forth uncontrollably from his lips. His eyes roll back in his head and dark blood beings to run from his eyes and nose.
He takes a final, desperate, gasping breath. "Hecatrix." The Svartalf gaps in a voice like the grave. He collapses to the floor, dead.
For Cerridwen:
As your magic heals the Dark Elf you feel an unfamiliar and unsettling sensation. It feels as if something...else, has invaded the Dark Elf's body and is actively pushing back against your magic.
Roondar stands behind everyone else, eyes wide and nostrils flared. "Ugh, that was awful! But... who is Hecatrix? Anyone heard of the name?" He racks his brain for any trace of what or who Hecatrix may be.
Investigation: 19
"Also, now that we've all shared alcohol and witnessed death together.... who are you all? I," he says bowing, "am Roondar Stumbleduck Ningel. You can call me Ducky or Roondar, whichever your preference. I am a skald who has traveled far and wide bringing joy to the masses. I'm familiar with death and destruction, as is the nature of things these days, but I don't... usually cause it."
DM "Journey Unto Chaos!"
DM "Hoard of the Dragon Queen"
Roondar Stumbleduck Ningel - Gnome Bard lv 1 "Scourge of the North"
Ignoring the gnome while she leaned in and inspected the body for anything worth keeping as well as what was his cause of death.
Investigation check: 22
Arcana Check: 5
After inspecting the body she stands up towering over the person whom she now knows as Roondar.
“My name is Carridwen, I am an attaché to the Vanir. Do any of you recognize the name that the Sfartalf just muttered?”
Bronwyn M.
Cerridwen Ebbenflow- Human Variant Druid- lvl1 "Scourge of the North"
Azrial- Half Elf Cleric- lvl1 "Horde of the Dragon Queen"
Hecatrix? Ragnar racks his brain to try and place the name. There were a lot of drunken nights and brawls up in that head, but he'd been around quite some time, if they were anyone of note, he might remember them. (History: 16)
"Pah, cow'ahd." Ragnar spits on the lifeless body of the Svartalf and turns to the rest of the silent onlookers. "Moi name's Ragnah Long'ammah, 'an Oi don' know about any of yew, but Oi'd loike to finish drinkeen, an' figure out who, an' where, in Hela's name Hecatrix is."
Eying the woman who just had just attempted to heal the Elf, Ragnar bowed his head slightly, "Attache to dah Vanir yew say? If yew'd loike, we can finish owr convahsation we was 'avin, 'an yew can tell me 'ow Oi ended up in dah same place as the only woman more bewtiful dahn Freya 'errself. Losing the admiring smile that had crept over his face while talking to Cerridwen, he looks at the others, "As fer dah rest of yew lot, Oi don' know if all yew holy men is mute, but if anyone 'as any clue who Hecatrix is, now moight be a good toim to talk."
Leaning toward Vahlen, Ragnar whispers, "A goddess, two holy men, 'an a singah. 'Ow did we get caught in 'dis mess, and 'ow drunk was Oi, dat Oi let someone drag me to a bloody temple?"
"Sounds like the name of some sorceress. Maybe this unlucky bastard was her thrall. Whoever or whatever Hecatrix is, our friend was scared about something." Vahlen thought to himself for a moment and wondered if this fit the description of any magic he was familiar with. Arcana: 4
Vahlen appraised the others. Whatever their reasons, they had all stuck around for the interrogation. It appeared that they were all in this together, at least for the time being. He inherently disliked the thought of working with such a large group. However, without them to occupy the other Svartalfari, he would likely be sporting a few extra stab wounds. His desire to make some easy coin in Drifsgaard was now superseded by the more immediate threat to his life. It seemed clear to him that Ragnar was their target, and there was some safety in numbers. He supposed the company of these strangers was acceptable, at least for now. Plus, if this Hecatrix was worth their salt, (whoever they were,) they might be sitting on a tidy sum of gold in desperate need of a new owner.
He shrugged in response to the dwarf's question. "Ragnar, we haven't run afoul of any witchy types lately, have we?"
He frowned momentarily. Perhaps he had failed to check dark elf thoroughly enough. He could have palmed a dose of that poison he was carrying before they bound his arms. That would certainly explain the stalling while he waited for it to take effect. Seems pretty unlikely given all the eyes on him, but how else would one explain the convulsing? Medicine: 6
"...And erm, like I said, the name's Vahlen. Problem solver. Problem causer. Either really, provided the coin is good."
Vahlen Rimewind - Elf Ranger LVL 1 - Scourge of the North
Jesse M.
For Cerridwen
As you search the fresh corpse you find 30 gold pieces as well as another pouch of the strange green powder expertly hidden up the dark elf's boot.
For Ragnar:
As a dwarf you're somewhat familiar with Svartalfari culture. Your two races have battle over territory in Svartalfheim since time long since forgotten. You've heard the word 'Hecatrix' before, spoken in hushed, reverent, and fearful tones. You know it to be someone, or something, or deep importance to the Svartalfari, though its true nature is well hidden by their shadowy and secretive race.
Halvar had been leaning against the wall near the door they had all entered through, taking in the scene. It had been some time since he was in a temple, let alone one of Odin's, and he was enjoying the familiar smells and sounds of a holy place, even if it was one of Odin's and rather a bit larger than the small shrine back home. The sound of boot hitting skull had brought him back to the present, and he had watched while the dwarf....interrogated...their hostage.
He jerked himself off the wall when the Svartalf began to convulse, but the human woman was already moving. He watched her heal his outer wounds, but sighed to himself as he died anyway. Even if he had attacked them first, he was a prisoner in their charge, and he had died under their watch.
Hecatrix...he thought to himself...does that sound familiar for some reason? He thought back to his lessons with Gunnar, the man who saved him. (Religion 4 and History 13)
As he combed through his memory, he moved to the body to examine it closer. The dwarf, though strong, probably didn't cause that death, but Halvar was starting to wonder what did. Whatever it was, it worked quickly, but most deadly things left a trace, and he was hoping to find it (Medicine 10).
Niels H.
Halvar Gunnarsson - Half-Elf Cleric - lvl 1 "Scourge of the North"
For Halvar
Your studies of religion and ancient lore leave you somewhat familiar with Svartalfari culture. There's little love lost between the two races of elves, and you've never met a Svartalf who wouldn't stab you in the back. You've heard the word 'Hecatrix' before, spoken in hushed, reverent, and even fearful tones. You know it to be someone, or something, or deep importance to the Svartalfari, though its true nature is well hidden by their shadowy and secretive race.
"Well... what's going on?! Everyone keeps poking around and not telling us what they see! I don't have much info... seems as though the monks here are trying to find ways to deal with the Fimbulwinter, but I know nothing about this Svartalf! If I'm to travel with you or help any more of you out I'd like to know what is going on... And by the way, Longhammah... I'm not just a singer, but you did seem to enjoy my tribute to the Blood of Heroes, so I would appreciate even a little thanks! And I believe I could be of some service to you by inspiring you on your adventures! Besides, there is safety in numbers!"
Roondar scans the room and hopes for another soul to speak... The dead Svartalf is unnerving and he's not terribly fond of holy houses either...
DM "Journey Unto Chaos!"
DM "Hoard of the Dragon Queen"
Roondar Stumbleduck Ningel - Gnome Bard lv 1 "Scourge of the North"
Raganr scrunches his nose in disgust as he glances at the monks in the room, still silent. Still making him uneasy. "Oi've 'erd the name, but Oi 'ave no idea wut it means or who it is. Oi do know 'dat dese Svartalfari keep to demselves most of the toim, so what Oi 'ave 'erd, is juss whispers. As yew can tell, we don' exacly get along wiff one another, so it ain't loike Oi've asked before..."
Ragnar looks at the Skald with a slight smirk forming at the corner of his mouth, "Yew're oroight, Skald. I think we moight get along afterall." He laughs a deep raspy chuckle as he pats the strange little dwarf on the back, much too hard.
"Now, Oi ain't sure how much longer 'dis temple is gonna stan' wiff me in it. If yew got somefing to say, why don' you say it on dah way out. Oi need a drink, an' all 'dis worshippin' is makin' me lose moi thirst for mead..." With this, Ragnar begins sauntering toward to door, looking back impatiently to see if anyone is following.
Hem, who had been standing by the door with the cleric, watched in curious silence as the Svartalf was questioned. He started to go to the body once he keeled over, but a few of the others rushed in first. Instead he stood back again waiting to see if anyone would find anything. No need in crowding the scene; Hem firmly believed observation to be the best choice in most situations, unless he was clearly in danger, and he was not. The elf looked pretty dead to him.
He sighed as Ragnar moved to leave the room, putting a hand out to stop him. "The dead elf behind you is as much your problem as it is mine, friend. I'd rather not leave it here for my coworkers to deal with; they have been kind enough to us already. They will turn a blind eye, but it's our responsibility to figure out what to do with it." He turned to speak to everyone else. "I say we strip him of any clues and dump him in an alley somewhere. The guard will just chalk it up to a mugging gone wrong."
Hem pushed off from his place against the wall and walked towards the dead Svartalf. He shrugged off his brown robe and threw it over the body, seeing a wet spot form near the face where the elf had been pouring blood. He winced slightly, thinking of his dirtied robes, and turned back to the crowd. "Will a couple hearty volunteers please grab this fellow? There's a back exit I will lead you all through. We can dump the body in a nearby alley. If any of you have a trick to help hide the body-shaped lump under my robes, that would be much appreciated now. I will speak with Brother Birger on our way out. They won't give us any trouble."
After saying his piece, Hem thought hard about this Hecatrix, wondering if he'd heard the name in any of his travels or during his training. Perhaps Master Amund had mentioned it at some point in the many years they'd studied? Or maybe he'd heard it from one of the many pilgrims that came through the temple. He wracked his brain to think of anything remotely related.
History: 4
Religion: 19
Vahlen was surprised to hear that plan coming from the mouth of a holy man. He couldn't have thought of a better one himself. He cocked his head slightly, wondering if their pasts were more similar than he'd imagined. "Fair enough, monk."As late as it was getting now, they had likely missed last call at the Oyster. If memory served, that only left The Muddy Rudder. He sighed audibly. Vahlen hoped that the one who tended bar there had forgotten about their last visit. They did leave a nice tip to smooth things over, and to be fair, the place was already a hole to begin with.
"Ragnar, come 'ere and give me a hand with the stiff." He pauses for a moment and chuckles softly to himself, pleased with the accidental double entendre. "After we dump him somewhere, we can drop by the Rudder and see if Nine-fingers has heard anything about this 'Algrim' or 'Hecatrix,' he usually has his ear to the ground. Might have contacts among the refugees too. Vahlen grinned widely, remembering the nub of an index finger that the fixer used to pack his pipe. "Or, he could at least point us in the right direction." Noting his companion's impatience, he adds: "Come on, when we get there I'll buy you some of that Dwarvern spirit that you've been going on about... Rocksmasher? Gem...sauce? ...Something or other."
"Skald, it seems like you know a few tricks, can you make the corpse look a little less conspicuous?"
(OOC: I intend to call upon one of my contacts from my criminal past background.)
Vahlen Rimewind - Elf Ranger LVL 1 - Scourge of the North
Jesse M.
As Ragnar shuffled his way to the door he listened to Hem say his peace and as he reached out his hand to stop him, he spun and smacked it away quickly, "Don' touch me. Oi don' loike it wen peeple touch me.." He looked Hem in the eyes as Vahlen spoke, asking for help lugging the dead elf and shaking his head at Vahlen's quips about the stiff and Nine-Fingers. "Is called Aegir's Family Jewel-Crusher, 'an they was all out last toim we was there. As for 'dis one," Ragnar gestured toward the dead mercenary, "He ain't moi problem no more, but if it means gettin' to drink sooner, Oi'll 'elp you get him to a more comfortable guttah." Putting one arm under the limp Elf he began to lift it off the ground with Vahlen's help.
"An for the record, Vahlen, yew'd bettah hope Noine-Fingahs don't remember what yew an' Oi did wiff his daughters..."
"They were consenting adults and what Nine-fingers doesn't know won't hurt him. ....Wait, doesn't remember? ...Gods, you didn't say anything about it, did you? Well, I suppose any halfway decent fixer could figure it out." Vahlen frowns, picturing what could be an awkward interaction later. "Even if he does know, I don't feel bad in the slightest. He said that last job for him would be a milk run. Apparently, we have very different definitions of the term. I'd say after nearly getting us killed, we're even. In fact, I think he still owes us one."
"Right, I've got his legs. Lead on, monk."
Vahlen Rimewind - Elf Ranger LVL 1 - Scourge of the North
Jesse M.
Roondar smiles widely, "Well, well, well! It seems we'll get along better than I thought! I like your jokes, ranger! And," he elbows Vahlen a little as he makes his way to the now cloaked Svartalf "I like your style... Daughters? You say? I'm not picky... Sons, daughters, anything that's interested in me... I'm interested in it!"
He stares down at the cloak, the darkness spreading slowly around one area, and scratches his head. "Lessee... I can minor illusion this, but it might do for someone else to maybe... prestidigitate him clean first? After that I can make it look like you're carrying out a suit of armor between you. Real pretty plate... or a statue, but I figure that would draw unwanted attention. Or! I could make him look like a stretcher and I could lay down on him (Roondar shudders a little) and pretend I'm ill! What'll it be!? I love acting!"
DM "Journey Unto Chaos!"
DM "Hoard of the Dragon Queen"
Roondar Stumbleduck Ningel - Gnome Bard lv 1 "Scourge of the North"
Amidst your preparations, Brother Birger opens the door. He takes one look at the bloodstained sheet on the floor and shakes his head. "Merciful Freya, Hemingr! Again? Really?" He looks around to ensure none of the other monks are listening. "You know how to find the back exit, be quick about it! Not all of your brothers and sisters are as forgiving as I!"
He spares the corpse another glance and sighs. "Oh, and before you go, I had Sister Skilfar take a look at that green powder the Svartalf's were carrying. Definitely a poison of some kind, though even she couldn't discern what it was for. Interesting though, she identified the base compound as guano. Nasty stuff really, but its fertile and versatile enough. Whatever it is the Dark Elves must have a fresh source of the stuff."
Brother Birger notices the crimson puddle staining the floor beneath the corpse. He curses under his breath. "And get that taken care of quickly would you?"
Hem gritted his teeth as Brother Birger entered the room, slinking back against the wall as the monk's retribution blasted him. "The last one was a mistake, you know that! His neck was a lot thinner than I expected. Also, this one killed himself. We had nothing to do with it. Seems like he might have done it with some of that poison."
Hem hurriedly grabbed a a rag off the table as he spoke and began sopping up the blood, using his water skin to help wash it away. He then used the same rag and waterskin to try and sop up the blood on the elf's face, moving the the robes around so as to hide the stain.
Deception check to hide the bloody robes/clean the elf's face: 4
"Hopefully that will do...Skald, would you be so kind as to work your illusion? Dealer's choice as to what you do, you're the expert." Hem then turned to Brother Birger, sporting a serious look and tone now. "I'm sorry, brother...you've done so much for me over the last few months, I'm truly grateful for all your understanding and help. Here, take this. Consider it a charitable donation to the hof for this trouble." Hem then reached into a pouch, grabbed three gold pieces and handed them to the brother. "I don't know when I'll be back from this mystery, but you might want to think about replacing me here. I need to figure out what happened with this svartalf. Something suspicious is afoot, and I don't like it."
Hem then turned to the rest of the party. "Alright, who's with me? Let's get this svartalf out of here and figure out what happened. I'd personally like to hear what this Nine-Fingers fellow has to say."
"Ooooh, dealer's choice you say?!" Roondar rubbed his hands together gleefully. "Ok, then. Since the large, bearded one is grumpy, and the tall, pointy one likes to stick things with his pointy things... I'll say I'd stay away from being slung in between them. Therefore! You'll be carrying my instrument case! Well don, lads!" he chides and steps to pat Ragnar on the arm. He hesitates however, as he remembered the dwarf's last threat about being touched, stops, and turns the extended hand into an exaggerated bow. As he does so he casts minor illusion onto the concealed Svartalf, making the whole ensemble look like a large, brown trunk. Where Ragnar and Vahlen have their hands Roondar makes it appear as though they are holding beautiful leather handles so they can readjust without fear of being discovered.
Roondar then begins to hum a tune and again addresses the other magic users, "Prestidigitation, anyone? It'll certainly help Brother Hemingr here clean everything up posthaste! I never learned it myself... spent too much time... showing people what they wanted to see, shall we say?" He adds with a smile.
"Ah, and the illusion doesn't last terribly long, so if we could hurry..."
DM "Journey Unto Chaos!"
DM "Hoard of the Dragon Queen"
Roondar Stumbleduck Ningel - Gnome Bard lv 1 "Scourge of the North"
Cerridwen was standing next to the rather short Dwarf that seemed to be so enamored with her. Without really thinking she leans in and whispers to him:
For Ragnar and DM:
"If you dare try anything with me I will tear you apart" as she starts to slip into Primal Savagery and her teeth became sharp and menacing.
She stands backs up and moved to help Hemingr clean up the mess that the Sfartalf left on the floor. While cleaning up the mess she watched Roondar turn the corpse into an illusory chest. Obviously impressed she compliments the Bard on his magic. "Impressive work Roondar, I think I will continue to follow you all through to the end of this journey, I seem to be in the company of an experienced group and I agree that there is safety in numbers."
Bronwyn M.
Cerridwen Ebbenflow- Human Variant Druid- lvl1 "Scourge of the North"
Azrial- Half Elf Cleric- lvl1 "Horde of the Dragon Queen"
As they finished cleaning and began to depart, dead elf in hand, Vahlen mulled over Brother Birger's words and the ranting of the dying svartalf. "Guano, eh? Fresh too... This one mentioned something about caves before he started foaming at the mouth. Far too cold for bats to be above ground. Probably a whole network of caves somewhere. Seems like the kind of place this scum would choose for a hideout." He was still puzzling over the significance of the barely coherent bits about the moon and spiders. His mind wandered to one of Old Ivar's tales about a witch who had been corrupted by powerful chaos magic and partly transformed into a giant spider. He hoped that this Hecatrix was nothing of the sort.
Feeling slightly uneasy, Vahlen tries to catch a glimpse of the moon as they depart.
Vahlen Rimewind - Elf Ranger LVL 1 - Scourge of the North
Jesse M.