Gramdal will sign to The Silver Queen I am already on a job. Perhaps another time, my lady. 

The Dwarf just nods as Kelten speaks, not wanting to take his eyes off of Jhaval at the moment. In an establishment that goes through such great lengths to ensnare people as to hide mimics around on purpose...well...no good could come of it. Especially with such a greasy, shifty layabout at the helm. Gramdals eyes narrow as he tries to pick up what Jhaval is saying. 

Perception: 79

Edit: Whoops! Accidentally rolled 7 dice lol. 

Perception (for real this time): 16

Feeling the renewed vigor and the slowing of the bleeding as the energy filters into him, Arutha reaches out to grab and hold the injured cultist in the attempt to restrain him with the intent to let one more experienced to interrogate him. 

(Grapple Attempt: 7  )

*Why when I hover over, does it show 16 but the number otherwise shows a 7?)

And with those interactions and encounters... so begins Episode 2: The Old Alliances. You are all awarded 850 XP for Combat, RP, Milestone, and a Bonus XP. Congratulations all!

OOC: Woo! Awesome job everyone! So much fun.

OOC: looks like Arutha learned from that battle and now gets to pick an archetype... Battle Master

** Ignore this **

DM: would Norvalor know if casting sacred flame would help him break free at the point?.

PS: it's been a lot of fun guys gratz on level ups 

OOC Any spell that requires S or M can't be cast. You can't move your hands to cast the spell and you have no equipment on you, Norvalor.

In other words, you're in the clothes you wear underneath your armor or whatever plain clothes you wear.

Kouronath eyes you, Cath, curiously. "Yes, adventurer. Have we met before?"

The Silver Queen signs back to you Gramdal. Some other time, sellsword.

In unison, her halfling escort bow then leave single file. They move quickly and quietly in procession. Their marching is reminiscent of soldier ants, structured, fluid, unconscious. They step through a side room concealed by the angle of the wall to your left. Moments later they return with a clay jug and goblet. One halfling—they could identical siblings— they're so similar—kneels before his queen, palms upraised. A second halfling places the goblet squarely in his hands. A third pours. And the fourth offers the beverage to her.

It's a rather peculiar sight. Jhaval watches her with bated breath, practically salivating as she sips. His eyes roll.

The earth genasi at his side points to the gathered throng. Jhaval concedes the reminder and stands. His mass rolls and shifts as he rises to his full height, which seems smaller than the spread of him as he rested.

He claps loudly. "Hello, everyone." His voice is deep like rumbling boulders. Full like thunder.

"Yes, at the Wyrm Gate, yesterday.  We had some trouble when I entered with a woman and 2 children.  One of the children was... unmasked.  We got trapped in some sort of vine wall and Zavakk came?  Do you remember now?  I need to speak with Zavakk as quickly as possible.  Is he here?"

Cath does his best to make the man understand that he is in a hurry.

Norvalor will move next to Traever in a protective manner. He will whisper "i'll try to get us out of this, i don't know how but i feel like these are cultist. Don't panic if i can get my hands free I might be able to cast a spell or two to get us out of this." He will look around the room/area for something to cut his binds. 

Perception: 6

Gramdal is a little disgusted by the fat dwarf's display. He sneers, but then quickly collects himself. The Silver Queen and her group certainly put on a show, and were quite uh...ritualistic? Gramdal supposes that'd be the best word for it. Regardless, it became clear what sort of company is being kept here, but the reason for them being here was still foggy at best. Sure, this place is safe for maybe Jhaval, but for Kelten? Gramdal? Surely they'd have to sleep with one eye open! 

His thoughts are then cut off at the surprisingly deep and booming voice this Jhaval mustered up. Impressive! He has a lot more questions for Kelten, but their in Jhaval's house now. Might as well let him say what he's got to say. 

"Welcome, everyone," Jhaval begins. "We have a… unique opportunity. One I think might interest you all," he says with a wry smile.

Whatever prearranged word or gesture triggered the response, the kingpin's attendant, the earth genasi reaches into a pocket for a small scroll tube, and leaves his master's side. He pops the top off nonchalantly then tips the container over. Into his deep brown hand pours a dazzling display of silver rings beautifully set with amethysts and emeralds. He lets the flickering light show them off by ever so gently turning his wrist. You sense magic though what properties have been imbued is unclear. The quality of the stones is enough to hold your attention. The magic within boosts their appeal. 

Counterclockwise, the genasi approaches the assemblage and offers a ring to each invited figurehead, starting with the Silver Queen. She accepts and takes the item nimbly with two long fingers, though she does not slip her finger through the fine piece of jewelry. She quizzically offers the item to her halfling escort, and it is they who cast an array of investigation spells. They say nothing. They reveal nothing. Their faces betray nothing. The ring never surrounds her finger. She holds it until instructed to do so. Even then, you sense the follower of Loviatar is reluctant to bind herself to an agreement, to the rules that come with submission to a mortal.

Kelten whispers the name, "Blackfury," as a hairless, charcoal-skinned male half-elf dressed in a striking red rob appears through a dimension door. "He likes his privacy," Kelten clarifies. Blackfury raises his arm waist-high, palm up, twiddling four fingers. A gust of wind rustles the rippling folds of his robe as an invisible servant glides around him to take his master's ring.

"Khazari Moreun," Kelten says for your benefit, Gramdal, when a short, muscular male dwarf dressed in a Highland kilt, his tattooed chest draped in winter pelts, emerges from a side room with a giant turkey leg in one hand, a four-headed hammer in the other. Beneath his heavy boots he leaves a trail of short-lived caltrop icicles and a dervish of arctic air. He is flanked by two male dwarves dressed in kilts, their crimson beards braided into a long thick tail that brushes their shins. Khazari does not accept the ring offered him. He lowers his eyes with contempt. "Jhaval, why have you summoned us? Why the ceremony? You pompous, bloated old goat. Get to it."

As the dwarf shouts his demands a robed figured with the cowl pulled tight and low moves through the crowd. You hear a shuffling of skin against stone. Poking out from the edges of the rob you see curled toes, symptoms consistent with one who suffers neuropathy, perhaps even bone pain. The hunched figure arrives at Jhaval's side and bows respectfully though you notice not reverently to the obese dwarf. "I am the reason why you all have been summoned here today," a female says with a throaty, phlegmy voice.

She coughs as she lifts away her hood, revealing herself to be an orc.

A mage, a priest, a warrior, whatever Kelten is, and of course Gramdal himself. Is the Dwarf assembling an adventuring party? This thought raced through his head as the rings were passed out to these wondrous cohorts. He looks to Kelten and examines his reaction as the ring is presented to him. How was he feeling about it? Was all this expected? Does he betray any intent or knowledge of this? Even still, Gramdal was all the more curious as to what was going down. Kelten claimed to be a recruiter of sorts for The Flaming Fist. Yet, here they are in a den of ill repute. Aye, these are the sorts Gramdal bedded with as part of his duties as a spy, but never before has it been so....ceremonious? 

 That's when the Orc presents herself. A disheveled mess of rags and some sort of accursed disease. Gramdal takes an instinctive step back at the sight of her!

Kelten has been truthful with you, Gramdal. You notice small beads of sweat trickling down the side of his face. Caution, perhaps even fear guide him now. He too must be on alert. Yes, he is a recruiter for the Flaming Fist. But clearly there is more than one side to Kelten. There are other sides to him. How else would he know his way around the Outer City and be allowed inside the Red Cowl, Jhaval's Hall, and mingle with these crime lords?

Are they flaunting their relationship? Testing him in some way? Proving something to him?

To you?

The gathered are unsure how to respond. Jhaval smuggled an orc into the city? Brazen.

Kelten takes a ring from the earth genasi while keeping his attention squarely on the female orc.

She winces, and bows to the group. "Those who know my relationship with the orc lord, call me, Vekka the Twisted One."

The earth genasi maintains his focus on Kelten. He left-eye winks at your newfound acquaintance, then right-eye winks you, muttering under his breath.

Make a Perception check, Gramdal.

Gramdal notices that he and Kelten are mostly in the same boat at this point. Perhaps he is being overly cautious, questioning someone who has been nothing but helpful so far. Then again, he hadn't made it this far in life without a healthy dose of paranoia. Besides, this line of work tends to instill an inexorable habit of questioning peoples motives. Especially those who are being helpful. 

With that, though, Gramdal will turn his attention back to these proceedings. He is far to engrossed in this little show to walk away now. No, he needs an an answer. Any answer! That's when he notices the wink just as his ears perk up at the mention of an Orc Lord

Perception : 10

Gramdal, you hear the genasi say, "The Zhents are here, too, gentlemen."

The remark is cryptic. It may bode well. It may not that a Zhentarim agent is among Jhaval's attendees.

Adjusting to the darkness surrounding you, Norvalor, a few blinks is all that's required for your elven blood to awaken your eyes to the dark. You see the silhouettes of three upright human males. Commoners each. They stand arrayed around a 5-foot diameter pit filled to the rim with bones. Their hands are tied with rope over the small of their backs. A pattern of stone spirals catches your eye. Upon closer examination you notice the spirals are actually narrow chasms that run deep into the ground. How far down they reach is anyone's guess. You cannot see that floor.

The room is engineered much like a tomb. Small. Cramped. Tall. The ceiling rises 50 feet above you. You are inside a cage of sorts. Hefty Iron rods prevent escape, and allow the passage of air. Anyone walking around the dungeon cell can easily watch you from the 40-feet wide perimeter hallway.

You were looking around so quickly you almost missed the movement. You look back. You see her. A lithe pale-skinned woman. Her face done up like a ghost. She wears sheer clothing, exposing the richness of her flesh. "Good morning," she says. "I pray the room is suitably warm? The living have such an easier time at keeping their body temperature. Unlike the dead." She kneels and pushes a plate of food through a serving window. The cast-iron disc slides noisily across the floor, and slows to a grinding halt a few feet from you. "Eat, please. Its been many hours since you last tasted food."