In the background, the brawl moves through the tavern like a tornado, dragging everyone inside a chaotic whirlwind.

A body flies overhead, and slams into Wyrmhoof's ally, knocking him over and sending the two of them crashes into the ale barrels. Behind the attack, Gramdal you see Kelten rush to join you.

That evening Cath your dreams are disturbed by strange visions, faces you've never seen, warriors you've never met...

Torches offer the only light in the dark. You are reluctant, but you look skyward. In the center of the dark cavern high above you see an unblinking eye. Within this eye twinkle a thousand distant stars. And then, arrows. Hundreds of arrows zip through the dark. Your comrades fall like leaves all around you... 

Traever nods at you Norvalor. He begins to twiddle his fingers. "Should I prepare faerie fire?"

Warrior is pleased with your strikes Arutha. Only this time, the blade defers to you. Guide my choice, you hear the blade say. Should the Warrior perform the same life-stealing attack as before? Or shall mercy guide your hand this time?

Arutha is filled with desire for revenge but expediency holds it in check. "I need to know what he knows and if I cannot discover that then I will turn him over to the guard." Looking at the cultist Arutha growls, Warrior at his throat. "Tell me who sent you."

Intimidation: 5

(Apparently his voice is still changing and it squeaked)

Norvalor looks down and thinks for a second before saying "be ready, but how many times can you cast it?"

Gramdal draws his rapier with his free hand and holds it out to cut off any escape Wyrmhoof may try to make. "Give it up, Wyrmhoof!" Gramdal will point Vapurrr at the Gnome. " You're surrounded. Surrender now, lad, and you can walk out with us. Keep it up, and the only way out will be us carrying your limp, bleeding body!" His brow furrows and his voice becomes dark and gruff.

Intimidation: 9

The cultist hisses. "I serve the darkness!" He lunges forward, attacking to strike you, Arutha, and fails, doubling over, his hand on his torso injury.

"Once. Sometimes twice a day, but I get sleepy if I cast it twice," Traever explains to you, Norvalor.

Wyrmhoof knows his surrounded. He concedes and drops his dagger into its matching sheath. He sighs bitterly. "What do you want?" he asks Gramdal.

Keeping Warrior at the throat of the Cultist Arutha moves behind the cultist to grab his arm and pull it behind him with the desire to put him in a handcuff hold and tie then tie him up so he could turn him over to the guard. However if the cultist would attempt to get free he would just slice his throat and be done with it. "Stay still and you may live. Move and you will be free one head." Arutha warns as he moves. 

“My friends and I’ve questions that need answering.” Gramdal holds out his hand “But first, the dagger, Wyrmhoof. Hand it over, sheath and all. Wouldn’t want you running afoul on some funny business.” 

Moving your sword to the cultist's throat disturbs his cowl, it falls back. Arutha, you see a familiar face.

If you make the Perception check, you'll remember where you saw him, and likely you'll recall his name.

Wyrmhoof grunts. "You and everyone else in this taproom wants the dagger. It's mine. I'm attuned to it. So, no, I won't be handing it over," he says with theatrical pride.

"Forget the dagger," Monduu snarls.

"Wyrmhoof," Kelten start, "We have some questions."

"Ask away.You know I can't tell the truth."

"Naturally," Kelten replies. "We have history, gnome. I know you. You know me. Monduu." Kelten cocks an eye in your direction, Gramdal. "You know nothing about the dwarf. I'd do as he says, Wyrmhoof. He didn't get through the Gate. The Fist refused him entry." He fills a pregnant pause with all the various ways a dwarf rogue might interrogate a gnome, letting Wyrmhoof's imagination take hold while waiting.

OOC: In all the excitement, I forgot what we needed to find out. Can I get a reminder?

The DM folds up a piece of paper and hands it across the Table to Xero_Larkspur.

Wyrmhoof was tailing you guys.

Perception: 2

Arutha, you recall seeing this man at the Wyrm's Gate. He was the one Gramdal shot with his crossbow. His name is Graegor, and he's a Flaming Fist.

And a Cloak cultist? This doesn't add up.

Growing even more suspicious Arutha presses the blade to his neck even more. "Tell me Graegor, why are you attacking this caravan. If the city folk can't trust thier own guards then this city will fall into anarchy and much will come to ruin. That is a war technique often employed to weaken your enemy before..... Wait." Arutha then starts thinking of all the potential ramifications. "Who do you really work for? Tell me or I will give you a smile that you will take to your grave." He says indicating he would cut his throat.

Graegor winces. "You fool. You know nothing. Baldur's Gate is one step toward doom." He pauses. "Damn dwarf ruined everything. He shot me. We—" He catches himself, but it's too late. He lowers his head, cackling. "Why stop now."

ARUTHA! you hear in your mind. You feel energy rush into your limbs. The dagger! Warrior warns, reflecting the Cloak's reach for his weapon along the tang.