With the bemused look of one studying an unexpected oddity, Elaric appraises the skull. "Phillip the Apt, I presume? Deathlock in service - or perhaps servitude - to Ghaunadaur?"
The Skull chuckles "At last! Someone around here is asking the IMPORTANT questions. That's right, knife-ears, and woe to any who don't know enough to fear Phillip the Apt, Acolyte of Ghaunadaur, Scourge of Sharn, Emperor of Eberron, and Lord of All He Sees. You've done me a decent service this day, and for that I suppose I should thank you. That Slaad was interfering with important work, corrupting my laboratory to suit his wicked and insane ends."
At this, Elaric glances up from his inspection of the pedestal on which the skull rests to look at the undead more directly. "That's where the Chaos Phage comes in?"
At this, Elaric glances up from his inspection of the pedestal on which the skull rests to look at the undead more directly. "That's where the Chaos Phage comes in?"
Phillip's eyes flash red, "Aye, the troublesome toad wanted to spread Slaadishness around without doing it the old fashioned way. Turn the whole city into Little Limbo and overrun the continent through sheer weight of numbers. It's damn difficult to conquer the world if there's no one left to rule, let me tell you. Or... I suppose it's easier in a way, but what's the point if your only subjects are frogs hopped above their station with superiority complexes to rival-"
"Yours?" the pale humanoid interjects with a smirk.
"Though my current subjects are almost equally vexing..." growls Phillip through teeth gritted by necessity as much as frustration.
As the conversation goes on, Gong begins smoldering inwardly - a reaction to the threat of a chaotic outbreak coupled with the potential reliance on undead aid. He keeps his peace for now, though he does not enjoy the fact that the party apparently must cooperate with the undead remnant of a warlock.
Elaric nods, "So, while the Slaad was looking for shortcuts that resulted exclusively in Slaadi, you were working toward something more... complex."
The skull shakes in it's cage. After a second, Elaric realizes it's trying to nod, "Complex and grand, my lad, complex and grand. I'd ask for your help, but more than one of you has the stink of the "divine" on you (He speaks the word in the same way a noble might say "beggar" ), so I doubt we'd get very far into it before one or both sides got squeamish. Nonetheless, you've done a service to me and mine, so let none say Philip the Apt doesn't repay his debts."
The skull's eyes flash yellow, "So what would you ask of these old bones? Money? Magic? Favors?"
Turning to regard the party, Elaric replies, "That is not a question for me - at least, not for me alone." Turning back, the Elf says to Phillip, "Please excuse us while we confer a moment."
[OOC: unless Phillip or anyone else says something to stop him, Elaric will motion his companions a small distance away that they may speak quietly.]
[Having finished releasing the pale humanoid at this point, Balasar will join the party, while still keeping an eye on the liberated prisoners. He does not have any initial suggestions to make in response to the skull's offer, however.]
"There is nothing an acolyte of a Great Old One could offer that would benefit us," Gong rumbles once the party is at a safe distance to talk. "That goes double, now that he joined the foul undead to continue his work. We should send him to his final fate while we have the chance."
"There is nothing an acolyte of a Great Old One could offer that would benefit us," Gong rumbles once the party is at a safe distance to talk. "That goes double, now that he joined the foul undead to continue his work. We should send him to his final fate while we have the chance."
"Ideologically, I agree with Gong," Wendell says, "The Undead are the enemies of life, and we all know this. If we had the strength, we'd probably be doing the poor soul a favor by freeing him from undeath. That said, on the practical we're not in the best shape right now, and I'm hesitant to pick a fight with someone who seems to be willing to let us leave on good terms, and with a reward to boot."
"There is nothing an acolyte of a Great Old One could offer that would benefit us," Gong rumbles once the party is at a safe distance to talk. "That goes double, now that he joined the foul undead to continue his work. We should send him to his final fate while we have the chance."
"Ideologically, I agree with Gong," Wendell says, "The Undead are the enemies of life, and we all know this. If we had the strength, we'd probably be doing the poor soul a favor by freeing him from undeath. That said, on the practical we're not in the best shape right now, and I'm hesitant to pick a fight with someone who seems to be willing to let us leave on good terms, and with a reward to boot."
I agree with Wendell. We can always return at some future point, if need be.
Without any hint of expression, Elaric follows the comments of the party. When the others appear to have said their piece, he replies in a hushed tone, "Though not necessarily in complete agreement, I don't think any of us are in active disagreement with the current situation and our chances if things took a violent turn. I'd be willing to debate the ethics of our options - in a theoretical sense - at length once we are in a safer locale. However, I had intended to take the deathlock up on his offer of reward, not merely for the potential benefit, but also because refusing to do so could risk offending a powerful spellcaster beholden to a capricious diety that prefers daily sacrifices of intelligent beings in horrible and agonizingly painful ways - the high priest polymorphing into an acid ooze and personally devouring the victim in front of the assembled faithful, for instance."
Looking at each of his companions in turn, the Elf continues, "The issue I'd hoped to discuss right now is what shall we ask of Phillip? I would prefer knowledge, but it is not my place to speak for the entire party. What preferences have the rest of you?"
Without any hint of expression, Elaric follows the comments of the party. When the others appear to have said their piece, he replies in a hushed tone, "Though not necessarily in complete agreement, I don't think any of us are in active disagreement with the current situation and our chances if things took a violent turn. I'd be willing to debate the ethics of our options - in a theoretical sense - at length once we are in a safer locale. However, I had intended to take the deathlock up on his offer of reward, not merely for the potential benefit, but also because refusing to do so could risk offending a powerful spellcaster beholden to a capricious diety that prefers daily sacrifices of intelligent beings in horrible and agonizingly painful ways - the high priest polymorphing into an acid ooze and personally devouring the victim in front of the assembled faithful, for instance."
Looking at each of his companions in turn, the Elf continues, "The issue I'd hoped to discuss right now is what shall we ask of Phillip? I would prefer knowledge, but it is not my place to speak for the entire party. What preferences have the rest of you?"
"We could ask him what he has," Wendell whispers back, "If we say 'money' and he gives us a single gold, I'd not be surprised in the slightest"
"Has the living history club reached a decision on whether or not the think they can take me?" the skull calls out, "Because the answer's no, but if suicide sounds more reward than money, favors, or magic... I guess I can be your huckleberry."
Without any hint of expression, Elaric follows the comments of the party. When the others appear to have said their piece, he replies in a hushed tone, "Though not necessarily in complete agreement, I don't think any of us are in active disagreement with the current situation and our chances if things took a violent turn. I'd be willing to debate the ethics of our options - in a theoretical sense - at length once we are in a safer locale. However, I had intended to take the deathlock up on his offer of reward, not merely for the potential benefit, but also because refusing to do so could risk offending a powerful spellcaster beholden to a capricious diety that prefers daily sacrifices of intelligent beings in horrible and agonizingly painful ways - the high priest polymorphing into an acid ooze and personally devouring the victim in front of the assembled faithful, for instance."
Looking at each of his companions in turn, the Elf continues, "The issue I'd hoped to discuss right now is what shall we ask of Phillip? I would prefer knowledge, but it is not my place to speak for the entire party. What preferences have the rest of you?"
"We could ask him what he has," Wendell whispers back, "If we say 'money' and he gives us a single gold, I'd not be surprised in the slightest"
"Has the living history club reached a decision on whether or not the think they can take me?" the skull calls out, "Because the answer's no, but if suicide sounds more reward than money, favors, or magic... I guess I can be your huckleberry."
Before Philip's latest outburst, Balasar replies to Elaric in a low tone: I, too, would prefer knowledge. Magic and money can be found across the land, but the knowledge of a being like this promises to be most unique and rare.
Balasar cracks a genuine smile at Philip's statement, and replies in a hearty, pleasant tone: It has been quite some time since I met someone who can turn a phrase like you can. Whatever our differences, I am pleased to have made your acquaintance.
Without any hint of expression, Elaric follows the comments of the party. When the others appear to have said their piece, he replies in a hushed tone, "Though not necessarily in complete agreement, I don't think any of us are in active disagreement with the current situation and our chances if things took a violent turn. I'd be willing to debate the ethics of our options - in a theoretical sense - at length once we are in a safer locale. However, I had intended to take the deathlock up on his offer of reward, not merely for the potential benefit, but also because refusing to do so could risk offending a powerful spellcaster beholden to a capricious diety that prefers daily sacrifices of intelligent beings in horrible and agonizingly painful ways - the high priest polymorphing into an acid ooze and personally devouring the victim in front of the assembled faithful, for instance."
Looking at each of his companions in turn, the Elf continues, "The issue I'd hoped to discuss right now is what shall we ask of Phillip? I would prefer knowledge, but it is not my place to speak for the entire party. What preferences have the rest of you?"
"We could ask him what he has," Wendell whispers back, "If we say 'money' and he gives us a single gold, I'd not be surprised in the slightest"
"Has the living history club reached a decision on whether or not the think they can take me?" the skull calls out, "Because the answer's no, but if suicide sounds more reward than money, favors, or magic... I guess I can be your huckleberry."
Before Philip's latest outburst, Balasar replies to Elaric in a low tone: I, too, would prefer knowledge. Magic and money can be found across the land, but the knowledge of a being like this promises to be most unique and rare.
Balasar cracks a genuine smile at Philip's statement, and replies in a hearty, pleasant tone: It has been quite some time since I met someone who can turn a phrase like you can. Whatever our differences, I am pleased to have made your acquaintance.
"What exactly are you offering?" Wendell says in a louder voice, turning back to the skull.
Phillip's eyes flash green, and with a sigh his newly emancipated companion picks up the cage and tucks it under one arm, "I know this place inside and out, longest living resident of this lab, by my own reckoning. I know where the lich who used to own the place kept all his good stuff. Crazy ****er burned his spell book after or as part of his ascencion... or fall, depending on how you look at it, so that's off the table, but he kept a fair number of magic weapons, arcane components, gold..."
Phillip growls in contempt, "Slaad burned through a lot of the last during his experiments, but the prune-faced poltergeist was loaded. I doubt he spent it all before you sent him to Hell. Wanna take a trip down to the treasure room and see what you like? I'm thinking... there's five..." The skull's eyes flash orange, "shoot, make that six of you now. Huh... so THAT'S how you got here. How about you pick three things you want out of there, and we'll part ways amicably? I can get on with my work, and you can go to whatever dung-smeared den of feudalism you chaps hailed from."
Speaking of arrivals, how did the Slaad end up here? It's a rather secluded locale.
"Still working that out, myself. Best guess is that my useless assistant here missed a portal to limbo opening up in it's bedroom, because that's the first place I detected it."
"Missed? I wake up to a nine-foot demon in my room, and somehow this is MY fault?!"
"Didn't show up in my chambers, just saying."
The skull's eyes rotate to Elaric, "Pretty fun setup I've got here, huh, Pointy? Damn useful if unexpected guests show up. Usually, anyways."
The Skull chuckles "At last! Someone around here is asking the IMPORTANT questions. That's right, knife-ears, and woe to any who don't know enough to fear Phillip the Apt, Acolyte of Ghaunadaur, Scourge of Sharn, Emperor of Eberron, and Lord of All He Sees. You've done me a decent service this day, and for that I suppose I should thank you. That Slaad was interfering with important work, corrupting my laboratory to suit his wicked and insane ends."
At this, Elaric glances up from his inspection of the pedestal on which the skull rests to look at the undead more directly. "That's where the Chaos Phage comes in?"
Phillip's eyes flash red, "Aye, the troublesome toad wanted to spread Slaadishness around without doing it the old fashioned way. Turn the whole city into Little Limbo and overrun the continent through sheer weight of numbers. It's damn difficult to conquer the world if there's no one left to rule, let me tell you. Or... I suppose it's easier in a way, but what's the point if your only subjects are frogs hopped above their station with superiority complexes to rival-"
"Yours?" the pale humanoid interjects with a smirk.
"Though my current subjects are almost equally vexing..." growls Phillip through teeth gritted by necessity as much as frustration.
Elaric nods, "So, while the Slaad was looking for shortcuts that resulted exclusively in Slaadi, you were working toward something more... complex."
As the conversation goes on, Gong begins smoldering inwardly - a reaction to the threat of a chaotic outbreak coupled with the potential reliance on undead aid. He keeps his peace for now, though he does not enjoy the fact that the party apparently must cooperate with the undead remnant of a warlock.
The skull shakes in it's cage. After a second, Elaric realizes it's trying to nod, "Complex and grand, my lad, complex and grand. I'd ask for your help, but more than one of you has the stink of the "divine" on you (He speaks the word in the same way a noble might say "beggar" ), so I doubt we'd get very far into it before one or both sides got squeamish. Nonetheless, you've done a service to me and mine, so let none say Philip the Apt doesn't repay his debts."
The skull's eyes flash yellow, "So what would you ask of these old bones? Money? Magic? Favors?"
Turning to regard the party, Elaric replies, "That is not a question for me - at least, not for me alone." Turning back, the Elf says to Phillip, "Please excuse us while we confer a moment."
[OOC: unless Phillip or anyone else says something to stop him, Elaric will motion his companions a small distance away that they may speak quietly.]
[Having finished releasing the pale humanoid at this point, Balasar will join the party, while still keeping an eye on the liberated prisoners. He does not have any initial suggestions to make in response to the skull's offer, however.]
"There is nothing an acolyte of a Great Old One could offer that would benefit us," Gong rumbles once the party is at a safe distance to talk. "That goes double, now that he joined the foul undead to continue his work. We should send him to his final fate while we have the chance."
"Ideologically, I agree with Gong," Wendell says, "The Undead are the enemies of life, and we all know this. If we had the strength, we'd probably be doing the poor soul a favor by freeing him from undeath. That said, on the practical we're not in the best shape right now, and I'm hesitant to pick a fight with someone who seems to be willing to let us leave on good terms, and with a reward to boot."
I agree with Wendell. We can always return at some future point, if need be.
Skoth shrugs his shoulders. "I do not have strong ideological concerns either way, however there is definitely no reason to pick a fight right now."
Without any hint of expression, Elaric follows the comments of the party. When the others appear to have said their piece, he replies in a hushed tone, "Though not necessarily in complete agreement, I don't think any of us are in active disagreement with the current situation and our chances if things took a violent turn. I'd be willing to debate the ethics of our options - in a theoretical sense - at length once we are in a safer locale. However, I had intended to take the deathlock up on his offer of reward, not merely for the potential benefit, but also because refusing to do so could risk offending a powerful spellcaster beholden to a capricious diety that prefers daily sacrifices of intelligent beings in horrible and agonizingly painful ways - the high priest polymorphing into an acid ooze and personally devouring the victim in front of the assembled faithful, for instance."
Looking at each of his companions in turn, the Elf continues, "The issue I'd hoped to discuss right now is what shall we ask of Phillip? I would prefer knowledge, but it is not my place to speak for the entire party. What preferences have the rest of you?"
"We could ask him what he has," Wendell whispers back, "If we say 'money' and he gives us a single gold, I'd not be surprised in the slightest"
"Has the living history club reached a decision on whether or not the think they can take me?" the skull calls out, "Because the answer's no, but if suicide sounds more reward than money, favors, or magic... I guess I can be your huckleberry."
Before Philip's latest outburst, Balasar replies to Elaric in a low tone: I, too, would prefer knowledge. Magic and money can be found across the land, but the knowledge of a being like this promises to be most unique and rare.
Balasar cracks a genuine smile at Philip's statement, and replies in a hearty, pleasant tone: It has been quite some time since I met someone who can turn a phrase like you can. Whatever our differences, I am pleased to have made your acquaintance.
"What exactly are you offering?" Wendell says in a louder voice, turning back to the skull.
Phillip's eyes flash green, and with a sigh his newly emancipated companion picks up the cage and tucks it under one arm, "I know this place inside and out, longest living resident of this lab, by my own reckoning. I know where the lich who used to own the place kept all his good stuff. Crazy ****er burned his spell book after or as part of his ascencion... or fall, depending on how you look at it, so that's off the table, but he kept a fair number of magic weapons, arcane components, gold..."
Phillip growls in contempt, "Slaad burned through a lot of the last during his experiments, but the prune-faced poltergeist was loaded. I doubt he spent it all before you sent him to Hell. Wanna take a trip down to the treasure room and see what you like? I'm thinking... there's five..." The skull's eyes flash orange, "shoot, make that six of you now. Huh... so THAT'S how you got here. How about you pick three things you want out of there, and we'll part ways amicably? I can get on with my work, and you can go to whatever dung-smeared den of feudalism you chaps hailed from."
Speaking of arrivals, how did the Slaad end up here? It's a rather secluded locale.
Elaric casts a spell upon himself and looks a full 360 degrees about.
"Still working that out, myself. Best guess is that my useless assistant here missed a portal to limbo opening up in it's bedroom, because that's the first place I detected it."
"Missed? I wake up to a nine-foot demon in my room, and somehow this is MY fault?!"
"Didn't show up in my chambers, just saying."
The skull's eyes rotate to Elaric, "Pretty fun setup I've got here, huh, Pointy? Damn useful if unexpected guests show up. Usually, anyways."
Elaric sees a network of thin, multicolored threads that fill the pace around them, all leading back to Phillip.