"My new companions have described yesterday's events well," Yaudara says between bites, "and I share there concern at such a profane place being so close to Havenford. Now that we're rested and our wounds healed, it would be wise to return there and make sure its evil is truly destroyed."
Balen just shifted uncomfortably in his seat throughout this whole conversation. At first it was legs crossed, then not, then spread out, on the chair in front of him ('not on the chair! you're fancier than that'), then back again crossed. All the while, he tried to figure out what was his part to play here.He found himself out of place with the other guests. A rouge among what looked to be a dignified court, yet he somehow sat among them eating. He had only gotten a piece of bread (and a few other goodies he might've stuffed in his bag). It was just... the atmosphere, the decor, the wallpaper.... they were all getting to him. 'How on land are you feeling seasick?'
He woke up this morning with his shoulder sore and not knowing why. There was no discernible marks or wounds, well, at least not any he could find. The strangest part, however, was the fact that he woke up in a cushy room with a nice bed and good clothes and not in his canoe! Was he impersonating a knight or someone important? He had to check the bathroom mirror to be sure ('wow this is so nice and fancy. who has the money for this?'). Yet it was his own reflection that stared back and not someone else's (He could keep a form in his sleep.Yeah it's a cool skill). Because, he surmised, he was an actual guest, he decided to brush his hair for once and not just shapeshift with it better.
He thumbed through his memory journal to get any information about his current position.
Ever since he, well, 'basically died' on the ship (meaning hit in the head with the largest, burning mast that flung him overboard that fateful night), he'd been having memory problems. By that, it meant, forgetting everything that happened up until that fateful (awful) day. Truly, it was a short short-term memory. And that meant now, he had no idea where he was. Unfortunately, he either forgot or didn't want to write it down. There were some drawings and some notes about a couple of people he'd met the day before. An orc (accompanied with a scribbled sidenote about berries), a bard named Faen, a teifling priest labeled Judge of the Dead (drawn very haphazardly in his book 'wow thanks past-me'), and a small genasi (drawn really small, like jokingly small). 'Okay?' He thought in his head as he read through his own journal, 'That was incredibly unhelpful.' He must have been real tired or somethinglast night because there was nothing to explain why he was in this massive castle.
He had followed a butler downstairs (he flinched at first, but realized it was not a trick) where he was greeted by this massive buffet and waves from people he couldn't recognize anymore. He slunk in a seat near the big orc. Maybe a little bit to assert dominance ('I'm not afraid of you, big guy'), but also because this one was the one who had took up most of the drawings in his notebook. He silently ate his bread, listening in to the conversation to discern what they were saying.
'A temple, a Death Dog, and a cult? Interesting... did we really do that?,' He thought. This was one of the best breads he'd ever ate (at least he thought so). He was captivated by the story as much as the other guy... uh Baron Something Something. 'Late Faen?' Huh, he didn't realize that the guy from his drawings had died, and he silently crossed the name out in his journal. It felt weird mourning someone he didn't really know or well, knew at one point. 'Had this really all happened yesterday?'
He just sat there for a while, absorbing it all in, "Yep. It was crazy," was all that he could say. Guess he better figure out what happened if they were to go back fighting again. Yay, welcome to the team~
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<---- me irl slow reader, even slower writer easily jumpy thanks for being patient
DM: Drakkenheim Mind and Matter + Blood Secrets + What's in the Here and Now;
Rinn had been on the road for several months, trekking across forests and mountains, and even meeting up with a wagon train, to finally arrive in the frontier town of Havenford. These types of long treks were common even when he was an apprentice in the Arcane Syndicate, but this one was the first one he had taken as a journeyman wizard, and already he could feel that he's learnt much.
He had learned in the Syndicate to observe nature, and to take lessons from it, as everything is ultimately connected together through the Weave. Rachael and him had seen many sights on this journey: a treant that he had (a very long) philosophical debate with, a herd of wild horses galloping across an amber grassland, and a glacier fall that fed snake-like rivers as they slithered into the distant Sea. Even those things that were ugly he had learned to often take lessons in, though he never would have guessed the song bird corpse he had found among the highway would end up being a dark premonition of the tragedy that befell the bard (who he has since learned was named Faen).
He hoped here in Havenford, at the "edge of the world", that he would find long-lost knowledge and new discoveries that could benefit his and his fellows' arcane journeys.
Rinn and Rachael had arrived in Havenford the day before, tired from the journey and had taken to the Swiftfoot Lodge (owned by Elara Swiftfoot). Given everything that had happened yesterday, he hardly can believe that it had only been a day, especially with how much of a blur the events were. He had just arrived in town, ate with his familiar in front of a fire to drive off the aches and chill of the road, when they both were shaken by the sink hole collapse. Before long, he saw all the rush of civilians trying to discover what was going on, and then hearing that a small group had decided to descend into the depths but hadn't returned. He thought that these people were brave to have gone down there, and he wanted to help however he could.
The elf wizard and the tressym had gladly helped the group out of the ruins, and accompanied them to Stormshield Hall where they had gladly took the offer to stay. He was impressed by this group of clearly-impressive, though perhaps slightly dysfunctional, adventurers.
Rinn is eating silently as he listens to the tale, tossing scraps of meat under the table to Rachael while she purrs softly at the food. The elf has his hair pulled back and combed, having bathed off remnants of the road and had his clothes laundered to ensure that he's presentable to the Baron; he may prefer the wilderness, he understands how the more "civilized folk" operated, having grown up in a city himself.
"This all seems consistent with what I observed when I went in after them," says Rinn, corroborating the story of the others, "Something felt very...off about that place when I first set foot into it. My suspicions were confirmed after I found the mark of Bhaal etched on the the ground. It was clear that there was some sort of ritual that was targeting Havenford, and it was these heros, along with their friend Faen (rest his soul), to stop them and the beast they had managed to summon."
"Personally," says Rinn with a sigh, "somethings still don't sit right to me either, even after all we found yesterday. Why now? Why Havenford? Who...or what...is behind all of this activity? These events may suggest something more is going on...and given the location of the sinkhole, I think for whatever is behind all this, Havenford is a target."
‘Evil magic? Profane place? It's just an old temple people used some magic it. An ancient ruin that should be left to rest.' Ichep hoped they would in fact not actually burn the place down like Balen had suggested yesterday - jokingly the tiefling thought and hoped. Structural integrity and difficulty aside, it would be just wrong to destroy the past. He began feeling a bit nauseous as unwanted memories of smoke and ash resurfaced. With a shake of his head he pushed them away. 'Distract yourself. Lalalala. What nice weather. Good table. Oh, I think Balen actually combed his hair today, good to know that he knows how to do that.‘ With how much Balen shifted on his chair Ichep wondered if he had failed to find a toilet or chamber pot or whatever they used in these parts of the lands. He suspected nothing of the inner turmoil that plagued the changeling.
„We should indeed return. The conjurer was some kind of fishfolk...“ Ichep shortly describes the appearance. „Do they have any kind of history with this town?“
This new elf asked the right questions, all very good questions but questions Ichep doubted would be answered at a breakfast table. The priest was fascinated with that creature that kept the elf at his side - as a servant Ichep suspected. Cat-like creatures held high esteem were he was from. In some parts they were even worshipped. This winged one - he had never seen a tressym - looked alike to a certain demi-godess with her wings. He tried not to look directly at her as to not offend her with his presence.
After breakfast, the group was joined by a stout dwarf woman wearing the regalia of a militia captain. The baron introduced her as Lucinda Ironguts, the leader of the Havenford militia. She seemed a very capable, if gruff, person.
The morning sun rose higher now, and began to cast its warm glow through the windows of Stormshield Hall, Baron Stormshield sat at the head of the dining table, his expression grave as he and Lucinda listened to the heroes recount their encounters in the dungeon.
With furrowed brow, he absorbed the details of their report, particularly troubled by the mention of the Cult of Bhaal and the Kuo-Toa cultist. As they finished speaking, he leaned forward, shared a look with his militia captain, then spoke ... his voice laced with concern.
"This news is deeply troubling, Kuo-Toa are known degenerates of the Underdark. If they have set their sights on the surface world ... it can not mean anything good."
The baron considered this in silence for a moment before continuing. "The presence of such a cult poses a grave threat to Havenford and its people. We cannot afford to ignore it."
Turning his attention to his militia captain, he met her gaze. "Our militia forces are not equipped to go dungeon delving. Most of them are farm boys who give over one or two days of service each month. They are good for threats of a more ... traditional nature."
Captain Ironguts considered Donovan's words and nodded at the baron's assessment, taking no offense.
"I need brave souls like yourselves to investigate further." The baron continued. "To uncover the intentions and capabilities of this cult, and to put an end to their sinister schemes."
With a final nod, he made his offer. "I am prepared to hire you for this task. Another journey into the depths. Find out what you can about this cult, deal with any threats as they arise ... and report back."
"Each of you will receive 50 gold pieces upon successful completion of your mission."
His offer hung in the air, the weight of his words underscoring the gravity of the situation.
Rinn thinks carefully about the situation, and looks down at Rachael, seeming to have a silent communication between himself and the small winged creature. After that moment and a small second to pet his companion behind the ear, the high elf looks back to Donavan and says, "Assuming that the others would be willing, I would be happy to take you up on that offer. Bhaal is not a god to be ignored, as each account of their presence so often ends bloodshed. They are bloodthirsty for its own sake, and have no respect for the natural cycles of Fate. They would turn this whole world to ash to feed the hunger of their blood-hungry god."(OOC - 11 + 3 on Religion)
Rinn is no fool, however, and knows he cannot easily match a hoard of Kuo-Tao in close quarters. The Arcane Syndicate taught him to both revel in his arcane ability, but to be aware of his martial weaknesses; he needed strong allies. Unless he can get the others to agree, then this Baron Stormshield would be best to find him the nearest swordsmen that actually have a spine.
The elf is still frustrated by the cowardly nature of those two guards; he's one to hold grudges, even if it means sometimes getting the best of his logical self.
He does compose himself though enough to say, "Personally, I don't think it would be wise of us to just destroy the place, both for the possibility of more sinkholes forming, and due to the potential wisdom to be gained from the ruins. We should cleanse them, not destroy them." He wants to emphasize this point, as his interest in what he could learn from the ruins is immense.
Balen didn't like that offer. Though he had no memory of the day before nor did he much care about buying material things with that money, he still didn't want to be cheated out of a better deal. '50 gold pieces?' He looked around at his apparent companions. They had literally lost a man yesterday.Nah that wasn't gonna be enough.
After Rinn's appeal, he decided to weigh in on that offer.
"You know what... I'm really surprised about is that your militia didn't go check out the sinkhole when you first heard it earlier. Livin' out here on the frontier town and you don't know what's out there? You have people to govern. You have families... children... lives, people living here! Isn't this supposed to be your town? And you didn't think to go check it uh, what, until this guy-" He pointed over at Rinn, "-Came on in about an hour too late. Not to mention his guards didn't even set foot in the chamber. And our team member's already dead?"
"We literally risked our lives out there yesterday. We went in when your men didn't. And we were actually still planning to go on in, even without your offer. There's something down there. Something dark. Something that you didn't- still don't even know about!" He scoffed, "It looks like we care more about your little town than you do."
"We- we are ready to go. But if you think that that is all we're worth, then you're mistaken. We went in there and lost a man that day." For some reason this got him a bit more riled up than he thought. "Your food, your house, your nice clothes? Thank you, but that's not going to cut it. Livin' here in your cushy mansion and servants while you're letting us, someone else, do your dirty work? We're not even hired by your military and we're still doing it! We deserve better. Their salary. Maybe even more!"
During his whole spiel his mind seemed to wonder about the elaborate breakfast spread they had earlier. He began to worry if maybe he was insulting them too much given their previous hospitality. Maybe even he undermined his own point by saying they would even do it without money. This made him lose his train of thought.
((Charisma: Persuasion: 5 = 4 = 9 ))
That didn't seem to work... He switched to his next best shot: outright deception. "What we saw in there yesterday... what we're going to see in there today. It's going to make wish you never said for us to step foot in there. You're going to need a big cover-up or your people are going to start worrying. They're already worrying. They're not going to see the last of it."
He took a deep breath, not sure why he was getting so heated over this, but, boy, was he passionate. He was nearly shaking, but he didn't want to show it. He eyed the military captain, his blank eyes burrowing into hers. The dark circles around his changeling eyes really felt heavy today. He really was tired. "Whatever is in that sinkhole is not going to stay in their forever without our help."
((Charisma: Deception: 1 + 4 = 5 ))
None of his showmanship seems to be working. Looks like he's just out of it today.
Yaudara watched the conversation in silence, not necessarily agreeing with Balen's approach, but at the same time acknowledging his concerns. It is a dangerous place, after all, with the fallen fey as a reminder. He'd go back in, alone if necessary. The Penance of Duty brought him to Havenford, and he would carry out his charge for the good of the Order, and the chance of finding his mother again. But he had to admit there was comfort in crusading with others, even as varied a lot as these.
The sacred cat communicated its will to the elven wizard and it seemed it took issue with the destructive force of Bhaal and those manifesting his will.Ichep did revere death in a way but his god was also one of balance and temperance. Bhaal was… not quite compatible with such values. He felt enormous relieve to have an ally that was opposed to the destruction of the ruins. It put his mind at ease to have such a companion. Yesterday did prove that his mindset and that of his companions differed and although there had not been a confrontation he would rather not feel like he has to fear one. The priest nodded firmely in agreement not wanting to draw too much attention to himself.
Suddenly Balen spoke out quite passionately on their behalf. He brought up some valid concerns about the town‘s security measures but it was not their place to deal such judgement as strangers. Concerning the gold, Ichep was honestly just glad he would get some form of official approval. Drastically decreased the fire-and-pitchfork probability.
As Balen began to cross over in a more demanding even attacking tone it was Icheps turn to shift uncomfortably in his chair. Nobles did cruel things to whomever they disliked, did they not? Because they had all the power and that was the point of power. Outsiders had little esteem. Strange outsiders even less. Nobody would care. Were they useful enough to tolerate insolence? Ichep didn't know. He heard and saw men suffer for less. 'What are you doing, Balen? I cannot kill a Baron and a militia captain for you.‘
Ichep suddenly stood up, his chair creaking loudly and somewhat awkwardly. ‚Aye, shite. What am I doing?‘ Too far to go back now. „As you see… we are rather… unsettled by the death of late Faen. Balen himself was very close to dying… I… uh… Any further assistance to decrease the likelihood of more of such… occurrences would be much appreciated.“
He really was awful at the whole trying to help people thing. Maybe he should just stick to his books.
The baron withstood Balen's emotional onslaught and kept his own counsel for a moment after it had ended.
One moment, then another. The silence stretched. Became a palpable thing.
He sighed once, as if the next part of the conversation was an unpleasant necessity. He dabbed at his face with a silk napkin and fussily arranged it neatly upon the table before speaking.
"You have overstepped the line, sir." He began. "It is something I will forgive on account that your group lost a comrade yesterday."
"I've done more than my fair share of campaigning," He admitted. "And have felt that sting more times than I care to recount."
The baron appeared lost in thought for a moment. "I know that rage well." He added quietly.
"Things may be different wherever it is your people hail from," He said, collecting himself, and placing a measure of steel in his voice that had not been there a moment ago. "But in this land, I am a baron. My title is one of nobility. My word and my will in Havenford are law. I am — by the very definition of the title afforded me — beyond reproach."
Addressing the group then, "You have sorely misjudged me ... and how far it is that I could, or should, be pushed. You have chosen to keep poor company and I will not do business with ruffians that dare speak in such a manner to those that would hire them. There will be no deal to explore the newfound dungeons, and I declare it off limits to your group."
He rose from his seat. "And I will most assuredly not be spoken to in that manner again ... certainly not in my own home."
To Balen specifically then, "You are forgiven for your outburst." He said, holding up a hand to stay any rebuttals. "But my patience and my hospitality have reached their very bitter end."
The baron turned to his militia captain.
"Captain Ironguts," He said, his tone grim and neutral. "See these gentlemen off of the grounds of Stormshield Hall, and if the albino speaks again whilst inside my home ... bring me his tongue."
'This is forgiveness? Forgiveness? Threatening one of us into submission, denying us access to ruins that do not belong to you. You fully know we would help your people for free and you intend to throw that away for... what? Pride?' Why was Ichep even surprised. There existed no heart in the world that was not evil.
Ichep felt this inner rage. He felt the burden of helplessness. He had no power here. He was weak, had always been. In the end nothing mattered except for power. Power.
He bowed his head like a beaten dog. 'Let's just get out of here before worse happens.'
Yaudara frowned at the conversation's turn, but rose and bowed curtly to the baron. "You have spoken, sir, and it is your hall, as you've said. We will take our leave of you."
He'll motion for the party to leave, and then stride out of the hall. He'll endeavor to work his way next to Captain Ironguts as the walk, and say quietly to her, "Be wary of that place, Captain. Not only are there foul things down there, but a stairway that leads into one of Havenford's buildings. The cult may have help within the town."
Once outside, he'll turn to the captain. "We wish you well in the defense of Havenford, Captain, and if you ever have need of our protection, you have but to ask."
Lucinda nodded her thanks when Yaudara proffered his observations and advice.
"Hmph." She remarked. "Traitors within the town?" Something in her tone indicated the unsaid part of the sentence ' ... not for much longer.'
...
A short while later, after the group had had some time to compose themselves ... errands were run.
Toadstool & Rinn
Toadstool, after asking around, had been pointed toward Mirabelle Greenleaf, the town alchemist and herbalist. If anyone had a need for rare gems and crystals in their works ... it was she. Eradin, who was just as interested in rare components, accompanied the druid.
Yaudara & Ichep
In an attempt to lighten his pack of the twenty pound silver chain, the paladin found himself on Rothgar Ironguts' doorstep. Lucinda's husband was the metallurgist in town and if anyone would be interested in purchasing the raw materials off of someone's hand ... it would be the dwarven blacksmith. The priest of Anubis ... having some gear in need of exchanging, accompanied.
The door to Mirabelle's shop swung open, a tinkling bell announcing the arrival of the visitors. The interior was a cozy haven of warmth and color. The shelves lined with an eclectic assortment of trinkets and treasures. Sunlight filtered through the lace curtains, casting a soft glow upon the worn wooden floorboards.
Mirabelle, a kindly gnomish woman, welcomed her guests into her workshop. "Hello dears," She said. "What can I do for you?"
Yaudara & Ichep
Upon entering Rothgar Ironguts' shop, the atmosphere from outside changed dramatically. The air was heavy with the scent of molten metal and the walls felt close in. Claustrophobic almost. Dwarves weren't terribly fond of wide open spaces, and even the ones that made their lives topside often lived in cramped quarters. The shop felt as much a den or a warren as anything else. The walls in this place were lined with racks of gleaming armor and weapons, each piece forged with skill and precision.
The blacksmith, a stout dwarf with a beard as fiery as the forge he worked, stood at the heart of the workshop. Hammer in hand, working a glowing red ingot at the anvil, he paused his work and glanced at the newcomers.
"Good day to ye." He said simply, then added. "I'd be guessin' yer the ones what mouthed off to Lord Stormshield at his breakfast table?"
Upon entering Rothgar Ironguts' shop, the atmosphere from outside changed dramatically. The air was heavy with the scent of molten metal and the walls felt close in. Claustrophobic almost. Dwarves weren't terribly fond of wide open spaces, and even the ones that made their lives topside often lived in cramped quarters. The shop felt as much a den or a warren as anything else. The walls in this place were lined with racks of gleaming armor and weapons, each piece forged with skill and precision.
The blacksmith, a stout dwarf with a beard as fiery as the forge he worked, stood at the heart of the workshop. Hammer in hand, working a glowing red ingot at the anvil, he paused his work and glanced at the newcomers.
"Good day to ye." He said simply, then added. "I'd be guessin' yer the ones what mouthed off to Lord Stormshield at his breakfast table?"
"Actually, good sir," Yaudara responded, smiling, "we're the two who didn't mouth off to the baron. We're simply here to sell or trade something that has little value to us, but may be of use to you."
He produced the chain from his pack and offered it to the smith. "This stout chain kept a devil at bay, right below this town, so it must be made of quality metal. We don't have a use for it, and are looking to sell it to get money for healing potions and other adventuring equipment, so we can venture forth and serve the people of this land further by ridding it of more evil. Would you be able to assist in this transaction?"
The heat of the forge woke memories in Ichep of the hot sun that stared down mercilessly on anyone daring to surface at daytime in the desert plains of his home lands. Neither heat bothered him, there was little advantages in being a ‚hell spawn‘, resistance against the fiery heat was one of them.
It was not comforting though since Ichep was still in a bad mood. The safety coming with being hired by the baron crumpled to dust, the future uncertain.
„Honestly I‘d rather be known for slaying that Death Hound. That was a team effort at least. But I suppose it does not matter. New day, new chances to die. I would like to sell this mace. It has never seen battle since it was gifted to me. Beyond that I would be interested in the purchase of a dagger.“
The door to Mirabelle's shop swung open, a tinkling bell announcing the arrival of the visitors. The interior was a cozy haven of warmth and color. The shelves lined with an eclectic assortment of trinkets and treasures. Sunlight filtered through the lace curtains, casting a soft glow upon the worn wooden floorboards.
Mirabelle, a kindly gnomish woman, welcomed her guests into her workshop. "Hello dears," She said. "What can I do for you?
I suppose Toadstool bumps his head as he is entering a business of a gnome.
"Greetings ma'am" Toadstool bows and sits down in the middle of the shop to look less intimidating.
"I, I've come across these rubies, blood coloured rubies. We were told that you might be interested, yes interested in these."
Toadstool looks nervously at Rinn and goes "We can trade, we can sell"
Up until this point, Rinn had only heard the large orc speak simple phrases, and while his Elvish cultural upbringing may have left a slight underlying hesitation about the "barbarous" Orcs and their kind, he had seen a wisdom in his eyes that those few simple phrases failed to express. Hearing him talk to the kindly Gnome makes him smile a bit, and he nods in approval to Toadstool, trying to give the "gentle giant" a bit of reassurance.
Eradin (Rinn) nods and says, "As my friend said, we would like to sell these gemstones. In my experience, such things can be very useful in the arcane arts, and we would like to use the gold to buy components for his alchemy; we are adventurers, and so ensuring that we have healing draughts is critical for our success." (OOC - Eradin is essentially helping Toadstool with the negotiation, hoping to give them any advantage they can get in the negotiation).
The elf hopes that the friendly Gnomish shop keep continues to remain friendly, and that the mention of being adventurers doesn't bring any sort of negative attention. After all, Havenford is a small town, and their confrontation with Baron Stormshield could prove mighty disastrous for their reputations.
Rinn continues to a separate subject, "Further, I would like to inquire about purchasing a diamond? I am a wizard, and I'm interesting to acquiring a modest diamond for use among my material components."
He doesn't mention yet that he doesn't have the gold yet, instead just feeling out what the shop has. After all, shopping around gives him an idea of what it is he will have to save up.
Toadstool & Rinn Rachael is simply rubbing against Rinn's leg for a moment, but notices how the large orc is nervous about the situation. As the orc is bowed, the tressym nuzzles against Toadstool affectionately, trying to give him a bit of reassurance.
It's clear that he's nervous, and Rinn needs him to relax a bit for the sake of bartering...plus, he can tell that everything that's occurred over the last day hasn't helped the nerves of his new companions.
Rothgar listened to the heroes as they told him about their adventures (and misadventures).
"Well, I would have paid good money to see it with my own eyes." He said with a chuckle. "Me wife said that the baron was fit to be tied."
The blacksmith took the chain and hefted it in one meaty hand. He took a moment to inspect the links, and, liking what he found proceeded to help the adventurers out.
"The going rate in Havenford is ten percent commission." He began. He gestured to the chain in question. "You have 100gp worth of silver here ... I can go 90gp."
The dwarf then took the mace from Ichep and inspected its craftsmanship for a moment. "Seems like a fair trade to me." He said, replacing the mace with a finely crafted dagger.
OOC — For planning purposes, any non-cash treasure that needs to be exchanged into cash will be worth about 10% less. So 100gp worth of non-cash treasure became 90gp in coins. Also, when selling gear back, any used gear will be purchased at 50% of book price. So a mace with a cost of 5gp was worth 2.5gp (which rounded down to 2gp, exactly the cost of a dagger).
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"My new companions have described yesterday's events well," Yaudara says between bites, "and I share there concern at such a profane place being so close to Havenford. Now that we're rested and our wounds healed, it would be wise to return there and make sure its evil is truly destroyed."
Balen just shifted uncomfortably in his seat throughout this whole conversation. At first it was legs crossed, then not, then spread out, on the chair in front of him ('not on the chair! you're fancier than that'), then back again crossed. All the while, he tried to figure out what was his part to play here. He found himself out of place with the other guests. A rouge among what looked to be a dignified court, yet he somehow sat among them eating. He had only gotten a piece of bread (and a few other goodies he might've stuffed in his bag). It was just... the atmosphere, the decor, the wallpaper.... they were all getting to him. 'How on land are you feeling seasick?'
He woke up this morning with his shoulder sore and not knowing why. There was no discernible marks or wounds, well, at least not any he could find. The strangest part, however, was the fact that he woke up in a cushy room with a nice bed and good clothes and not in his canoe! Was he impersonating a knight or someone important? He had to check the bathroom mirror to be sure ('wow this is so nice and fancy. who has the money for this?'). Yet it was his own reflection that stared back and not someone else's (He could keep a form in his sleep. Yeah it's a cool skill). Because, he surmised, he was an actual guest, he decided to brush his hair for once and not just shapeshift with it better.
He thumbed through his memory journal to get any information about his current position.
Ever since he, well, 'basically died' on the ship (meaning hit in the head with the largest, burning mast that flung him overboard that fateful night), he'd been having memory problems. By that, it meant, forgetting everything that happened up until that fateful (awful) day. Truly, it was a short short-term memory. And that meant now, he had no idea where he was. Unfortunately, he either forgot or didn't want to write it down. There were some drawings and some notes about a couple of people he'd met the day before. An orc (accompanied with a scribbled sidenote about berries), a bard named Faen, a teifling priest labeled Judge of the Dead (drawn very haphazardly in his book 'wow thanks past-me'), and a small genasi (drawn really small, like jokingly small). 'Okay?' He thought in his head as he read through his own journal, 'That was incredibly unhelpful.' He must have been real tired or something last night because there was nothing to explain why he was in this massive castle.
He had followed a butler downstairs (he flinched at first, but realized it was not a trick) where he was greeted by this massive buffet and waves from people he couldn't recognize anymore. He slunk in a seat near the big orc. Maybe a little bit to assert dominance ('I'm not afraid of you, big guy'), but also because this one was the one who had took up most of the drawings in his notebook. He silently ate his bread, listening in to the conversation to discern what they were saying.
'A temple, a Death Dog, and a cult? Interesting... did we really do that?,' He thought. This was one of the best breads he'd ever ate (at least he thought so). He was captivated by the story as much as the other guy... uh Baron Something Something. 'Late Faen?' Huh, he didn't realize that the guy from his drawings had died, and he silently crossed the name out in his journal. It felt weird mourning someone he didn't really know or well, knew at one point. 'Had this really all happened yesterday?'
He just sat there for a while, absorbing it all in, "Yep. It was crazy," was all that he could say. Guess he better figure out what happened if they were to go back fighting again. Yay, welcome to the team~
<---- me irl slow reader, even slower writer easily jumpy thanks for being patient
DM: Drakkenheim Mind and Matter + Blood Secrets + What's in the Here and Now;
Player: Dragonlance
Rinn had been on the road for several months, trekking across forests and mountains, and even meeting up with a wagon train, to finally arrive in the frontier town of Havenford. These types of long treks were common even when he was an apprentice in the Arcane Syndicate, but this one was the first one he had taken as a journeyman wizard, and already he could feel that he's learnt much.
He had learned in the Syndicate to observe nature, and to take lessons from it, as everything is ultimately connected together through the Weave. Rachael and him had seen many sights on this journey: a treant that he had (a very long) philosophical debate with, a herd of wild horses galloping across an amber grassland, and a glacier fall that fed snake-like rivers as they slithered into the distant Sea. Even those things that were ugly he had learned to often take lessons in, though he never would have guessed the song bird corpse he had found among the highway would end up being a dark premonition of the tragedy that befell the bard (who he has since learned was named Faen).
He hoped here in Havenford, at the "edge of the world", that he would find long-lost knowledge and new discoveries that could benefit his and his fellows' arcane journeys.
Rinn and Rachael had arrived in Havenford the day before, tired from the journey and had taken to the Swiftfoot Lodge (owned by Elara Swiftfoot). Given everything that had happened yesterday, he hardly can believe that it had only been a day, especially with how much of a blur the events were. He had just arrived in town, ate with his familiar in front of a fire to drive off the aches and chill of the road, when they both were shaken by the sink hole collapse. Before long, he saw all the rush of civilians trying to discover what was going on, and then hearing that a small group had decided to descend into the depths but hadn't returned. He thought that these people were brave to have gone down there, and he wanted to help however he could.
The elf wizard and the tressym had gladly helped the group out of the ruins, and accompanied them to Stormshield Hall where they had gladly took the offer to stay. He was impressed by this group of clearly-impressive, though perhaps slightly dysfunctional, adventurers.
Rinn is eating silently as he listens to the tale, tossing scraps of meat under the table to Rachael while she purrs softly at the food. The elf has his hair pulled back and combed, having bathed off remnants of the road and had his clothes laundered to ensure that he's presentable to the Baron; he may prefer the wilderness, he understands how the more "civilized folk" operated, having grown up in a city himself.
"This all seems consistent with what I observed when I went in after them," says Rinn, corroborating the story of the others, "Something felt very...off about that place when I first set foot into it. My suspicions were confirmed after I found the mark of Bhaal etched on the the ground. It was clear that there was some sort of ritual that was targeting Havenford, and it was these heros, along with their friend Faen (rest his soul), to stop them and the beast they had managed to summon."
"Personally," says Rinn with a sigh, "somethings still don't sit right to me either, even after all we found yesterday. Why now? Why Havenford? Who...or what...is behind all of this activity? These events may suggest something more is going on...and given the location of the sinkhole, I think for whatever is behind all this, Havenford is a target."
‘Evil magic? Profane place? It's just an old temple people used some magic it. An ancient ruin that should be left to rest.' Ichep hoped they would in fact not actually burn the place down like Balen had suggested yesterday - jokingly the tiefling thought and hoped. Structural integrity and difficulty aside, it would be just wrong to destroy the past. He began feeling a bit nauseous as unwanted memories of smoke and ash resurfaced. With a shake of his head he pushed them away. 'Distract yourself. Lalalala. What nice weather. Good table. Oh, I think Balen actually combed his hair today, good to know that he knows how to do that.‘ With how much Balen shifted on his chair Ichep wondered if he had failed to find a toilet or chamber pot or whatever they used in these parts of the lands. He suspected nothing of the inner turmoil that plagued the changeling.
„We should indeed return. The conjurer was some kind of fishfolk...“ Ichep shortly describes the appearance. „Do they have any kind of history with this town?“
This new elf asked the right questions, all very good questions but questions Ichep doubted would be answered at a breakfast table. The priest was fascinated with that creature that kept the elf at his side - as a servant Ichep suspected. Cat-like creatures held high esteem were he was from. In some parts they were even worshipped. This winged one - he had never seen a tressym - looked alike to a certain demi-godess with her wings. He tried not to look directly at her as to not offend her with his presence.
After breakfast, the group was joined by a stout dwarf woman wearing the regalia of a militia captain. The baron introduced her as Lucinda Ironguts, the leader of the Havenford militia. She seemed a very capable, if gruff, person.
The morning sun rose higher now, and began to cast its warm glow through the windows of Stormshield Hall, Baron Stormshield sat at the head of the dining table, his expression grave as he and Lucinda listened to the heroes recount their encounters in the dungeon.
With furrowed brow, he absorbed the details of their report, particularly troubled by the mention of the Cult of Bhaal and the Kuo-Toa cultist. As they finished speaking, he leaned forward, shared a look with his militia captain, then spoke ... his voice laced with concern.
"This news is deeply troubling, Kuo-Toa are known degenerates of the Underdark. If they have set their sights on the surface world ... it can not mean anything good."
The baron considered this in silence for a moment before continuing. "The presence of such a cult poses a grave threat to Havenford and its people. We cannot afford to ignore it."
Turning his attention to his militia captain, he met her gaze. "Our militia forces are not equipped to go dungeon delving. Most of them are farm boys who give over one or two days of service each month. They are good for threats of a more ... traditional nature."
Captain Ironguts considered Donovan's words and nodded at the baron's assessment, taking no offense.
"I need brave souls like yourselves to investigate further." The baron continued. "To uncover the intentions and capabilities of this cult, and to put an end to their sinister schemes."
With a final nod, he made his offer. "I am prepared to hire you for this task. Another journey into the depths. Find out what you can about this cult, deal with any threats as they arise ... and report back."
"Each of you will receive 50 gold pieces upon successful completion of your mission."
His offer hung in the air, the weight of his words underscoring the gravity of the situation.
Rinn thinks carefully about the situation, and looks down at Rachael, seeming to have a silent communication between himself and the small winged creature. After that moment and a small second to pet his companion behind the ear, the high elf looks back to Donavan and says, "Assuming that the others would be willing, I would be happy to take you up on that offer. Bhaal is not a god to be ignored, as each account of their presence so often ends bloodshed. They are bloodthirsty for its own sake, and have no respect for the natural cycles of Fate. They would turn this whole world to ash to feed the hunger of their blood-hungry god." (OOC - 11 + 3 on Religion)
Rinn is no fool, however, and knows he cannot easily match a hoard of Kuo-Tao in close quarters. The Arcane Syndicate taught him to both revel in his arcane ability, but to be aware of his martial weaknesses; he needed strong allies. Unless he can get the others to agree, then this Baron Stormshield would be best to find him the nearest swordsmen that actually have a spine.
The elf is still frustrated by the cowardly nature of those two guards; he's one to hold grudges, even if it means sometimes getting the best of his logical self.
He does compose himself though enough to say, "Personally, I don't think it would be wise of us to just destroy the place, both for the possibility of more sinkholes forming, and due to the potential wisdom to be gained from the ruins. We should cleanse them, not destroy them." He wants to emphasize this point, as his interest in what he could learn from the ruins is immense.
Balen didn't like that offer. Though he had no memory of the day before nor did he much care about buying material things with that money, he still didn't want to be cheated out of a better deal. '50 gold pieces?' He looked around at his apparent companions. They had literally lost a man yesterday. Nah that wasn't gonna be enough.
After Rinn's appeal, he decided to weigh in on that offer.
"You know what... I'm really surprised about is that your militia didn't go check out the sinkhole when you first heard it earlier. Livin' out here on the frontier town and you don't know what's out there? You have people to govern. You have families... children... lives, people living here! Isn't this supposed to be your town? And you didn't think to go check it uh, what, until this guy-" He pointed over at Rinn, "-Came on in about an hour too late. Not to mention his guards didn't even set foot in the chamber. And our team member's already dead?"
"We literally risked our lives out there yesterday. We went in when your men didn't. And we were actually still planning to go on in, even without your offer. There's something down there. Something dark. Something that you didn't- still don't even know about!" He scoffed, "It looks like we care more about your little town than you do."
"We- we are ready to go. But if you think that that is all we're worth, then you're mistaken. We went in there and lost a man that day." For some reason this got him a bit more riled up than he thought. "Your food, your house, your nice clothes? Thank you, but that's not going to cut it. Livin' here in your cushy mansion and servants while you're letting us, someone else, do your dirty work? We're not even hired by your military and we're still doing it! We deserve better. Their salary. Maybe even more!"
During his whole spiel his mind seemed to wonder about the elaborate breakfast spread they had earlier. He began to worry if maybe he was insulting them too much given their previous hospitality. Maybe even he undermined his own point by saying they would even do it without money. This made him lose his train of thought.
((Charisma: Persuasion: 5 = 4 = 9 ))
That didn't seem to work... He switched to his next best shot: outright deception. "What we saw in there yesterday... what we're going to see in there today. It's going to make wish you never said for us to step foot in there. You're going to need a big cover-up or your people are going to start worrying. They're already worrying. They're not going to see the last of it."
He took a deep breath, not sure why he was getting so heated over this, but, boy, was he passionate. He was nearly shaking, but he didn't want to show it. He eyed the military captain, his blank eyes burrowing into hers. The dark circles around his changeling eyes really felt heavy today. He really was tired. "Whatever is in that sinkhole is not going to stay in their forever without our help."
((Charisma: Deception: 1 + 4 = 5 ))
None of his showmanship seems to be working. Looks like he's just out of it today.
<---- me irl slow reader, even slower writer easily jumpy thanks for being patient
DM: Drakkenheim Mind and Matter + Blood Secrets + What's in the Here and Now;
Player: Dragonlance
Yaudara watched the conversation in silence, not necessarily agreeing with Balen's approach, but at the same time acknowledging his concerns. It is a dangerous place, after all, with the fallen fey as a reminder. He'd go back in, alone if necessary. The Penance of Duty brought him to Havenford, and he would carry out his charge for the good of the Order, and the chance of finding his mother again. But he had to admit there was comfort in crusading with others, even as varied a lot as these.
This was to be an interesting day, indeed.
The sacred cat communicated its will to the elven wizard and it seemed it took issue with the destructive force of Bhaal and those manifesting his will. Ichep did revere death in a way but his god was also one of balance and temperance. Bhaal was… not quite compatible with such values. He felt enormous relieve to have an ally that was opposed to the destruction of the ruins. It put his mind at ease to have such a companion. Yesterday did prove that his mindset and that of his companions differed and although there had not been a confrontation he would rather not feel like he has to fear one. The priest nodded firmely in agreement not wanting to draw too much attention to himself.
Suddenly Balen spoke out quite passionately on their behalf. He brought up some valid concerns about the town‘s security measures but it was not their place to deal such judgement as strangers. Concerning the gold, Ichep was honestly just glad he would get some form of official approval. Drastically decreased the fire-and-pitchfork probability.
As Balen began to cross over in a more demanding even attacking tone it was Icheps turn to shift uncomfortably in his chair. Nobles did cruel things to whomever they disliked, did they not? Because they had all the power and that was the point of power. Outsiders had little esteem. Strange outsiders even less. Nobody would care. Were they useful enough to tolerate insolence? Ichep didn't know. He heard and saw men suffer for less. 'What are you doing, Balen? I cannot kill a Baron and a militia captain for you.‘
Ichep suddenly stood up, his chair creaking loudly and somewhat awkwardly. ‚Aye, shite. What am I doing?‘ Too far to go back now. „As you see… we are rather… unsettled by the death of late Faen. Balen himself was very close to dying… I… uh… Any further assistance to decrease the likelihood of more of such… occurrences would be much appreciated.“
He really was awful at the whole trying to help people thing. Maybe he should just stick to his books.
The baron withstood Balen's emotional onslaught and kept his own counsel for a moment after it had ended.
One moment, then another. The silence stretched. Became a palpable thing.
He sighed once, as if the next part of the conversation was an unpleasant necessity. He dabbed at his face with a silk napkin and fussily arranged it neatly upon the table before speaking.
"You have overstepped the line, sir." He began. "It is something I will forgive on account that your group lost a comrade yesterday."
"I've done more than my fair share of campaigning," He admitted. "And have felt that sting more times than I care to recount."
The baron appeared lost in thought for a moment. "I know that rage well." He added quietly.
"Things may be different wherever it is your people hail from," He said, collecting himself, and placing a measure of steel in his voice that had not been there a moment ago. "But in this land, I am a baron. My title is one of nobility. My word and my will in Havenford are law. I am — by the very definition of the title afforded me — beyond reproach."
Addressing the group then, "You have sorely misjudged me ... and how far it is that I could, or should, be pushed. You have chosen to keep poor company and I will not do business with ruffians that dare speak in such a manner to those that would hire them. There will be no deal to explore the newfound dungeons, and I declare it off limits to your group."
He rose from his seat. "And I will most assuredly not be spoken to in that manner again ... certainly not in my own home."
To Balen specifically then, "You are forgiven for your outburst." He said, holding up a hand to stay any rebuttals. "But my patience and my hospitality have reached their very bitter end."
The baron turned to his militia captain.
"Captain Ironguts," He said, his tone grim and neutral. "See these gentlemen off of the grounds of Stormshield Hall, and if the albino speaks again whilst inside my home ... bring me his tongue."
'This is forgiveness? Forgiveness? Threatening one of us into submission, denying us access to ruins that do not belong to you. You fully know we would help your people for free and you intend to throw that away for... what? Pride?' Why was Ichep even surprised. There existed no heart in the world that was not evil.
Ichep felt this inner rage. He felt the burden of helplessness. He had no power here. He was weak, had always been. In the end nothing mattered except for power. Power.
He bowed his head like a beaten dog. 'Let's just get out of here before worse happens.'
Yaudara frowned at the conversation's turn, but rose and bowed curtly to the baron. "You have spoken, sir, and it is your hall, as you've said. We will take our leave of you."
He'll motion for the party to leave, and then stride out of the hall. He'll endeavor to work his way next to Captain Ironguts as the walk, and say quietly to her, "Be wary of that place, Captain. Not only are there foul things down there, but a stairway that leads into one of Havenford's buildings. The cult may have help within the town."
Once outside, he'll turn to the captain. "We wish you well in the defense of Havenford, Captain, and if you ever have need of our protection, you have but to ask."
Lucinda nodded her thanks when Yaudara proffered his observations and advice.
"Hmph." She remarked. "Traitors within the town?" Something in her tone indicated the unsaid part of the sentence ' ... not for much longer.'
...
A short while later, after the group had had some time to compose themselves ... errands were run.
Toadstool & Rinn
Toadstool, after asking around, had been pointed toward Mirabelle Greenleaf, the town alchemist and herbalist. If anyone had a need for rare gems and crystals in their works ... it was she. Eradin, who was just as interested in rare components, accompanied the druid.
Yaudara & Ichep
In an attempt to lighten his pack of the twenty pound silver chain, the paladin found himself on Rothgar Ironguts' doorstep. Lucinda's husband was the metallurgist in town and if anyone would be interested in purchasing the raw materials off of someone's hand ... it would be the dwarven blacksmith. The priest of Anubis ... having some gear in need of exchanging, accompanied.
Toadstool & Rinn
The door to Mirabelle's shop swung open, a tinkling bell announcing the arrival of the visitors. The interior was a cozy haven of warmth and color. The shelves lined with an eclectic assortment of trinkets and treasures. Sunlight filtered through the lace curtains, casting a soft glow upon the worn wooden floorboards.
Mirabelle, a kindly gnomish woman, welcomed her guests into her workshop. "Hello dears," She said. "What can I do for you?"
Yaudara & Ichep
Upon entering Rothgar Ironguts' shop, the atmosphere from outside changed dramatically. The air was heavy with the scent of molten metal and the walls felt close in. Claustrophobic almost. Dwarves weren't terribly fond of wide open spaces, and even the ones that made their lives topside often lived in cramped quarters. The shop felt as much a den or a warren as anything else. The walls in this place were lined with racks of gleaming armor and weapons, each piece forged with skill and precision.
The blacksmith, a stout dwarf with a beard as fiery as the forge he worked, stood at the heart of the workshop. Hammer in hand, working a glowing red ingot at the anvil, he paused his work and glanced at the newcomers.
"Good day to ye." He said simply, then added. "I'd be guessin' yer the ones what mouthed off to Lord Stormshield at his breakfast table?"
"Actually, good sir," Yaudara responded, smiling, "we're the two who didn't mouth off to the baron. We're simply here to sell or trade something that has little value to us, but may be of use to you."
He produced the chain from his pack and offered it to the smith. "This stout chain kept a devil at bay, right below this town, so it must be made of quality metal. We don't have a use for it, and are looking to sell it to get money for healing potions and other adventuring equipment, so we can venture forth and serve the people of this land further by ridding it of more evil. Would you be able to assist in this transaction?"
The heat of the forge woke memories in Ichep of the hot sun that stared down mercilessly on anyone daring to surface at daytime in the desert plains of his home lands. Neither heat bothered him, there was little advantages in being a ‚hell spawn‘, resistance against the fiery heat was one of them.
It was not comforting though since Ichep was still in a bad mood. The safety coming with being hired by the baron crumpled to dust, the future uncertain.
„Honestly I‘d rather be known for slaying that Death Hound. That was a team effort at least. But I suppose it does not matter. New day, new chances to die. I would like to sell this mace. It has never seen battle since it was gifted to me. Beyond that I would be interested in the purchase of a dagger.“
I suppose Toadstool bumps his head as he is entering a business of a gnome.
"Greetings ma'am" Toadstool bows and sits down in the middle of the shop to look less intimidating.
"I, I've come across these rubies, blood coloured rubies. We were told that you might be interested, yes interested in these."
Toadstool looks nervously at Rinn and goes "We can trade, we can sell"
Up until this point, Rinn had only heard the large orc speak simple phrases, and while his Elvish cultural upbringing may have left a slight underlying hesitation about the "barbarous" Orcs and their kind, he had seen a wisdom in his eyes that those few simple phrases failed to express. Hearing him talk to the kindly Gnome makes him smile a bit, and he nods in approval to Toadstool, trying to give the "gentle giant" a bit of reassurance.
Eradin (Rinn) nods and says, "As my friend said, we would like to sell these gemstones. In my experience, such things can be very useful in the arcane arts, and we would like to use the gold to buy components for his alchemy; we are adventurers, and so ensuring that we have healing draughts is critical for our success." (OOC - Eradin is essentially helping Toadstool with the negotiation, hoping to give them any advantage they can get in the negotiation).
The elf hopes that the friendly Gnomish shop keep continues to remain friendly, and that the mention of being adventurers doesn't bring any sort of negative attention. After all, Havenford is a small town, and their confrontation with Baron Stormshield could prove mighty disastrous for their reputations.
Rinn continues to a separate subject, "Further, I would like to inquire about purchasing a diamond? I am a wizard, and I'm interesting to acquiring a modest diamond for use among my material components."
He doesn't mention yet that he doesn't have the gold yet, instead just feeling out what the shop has. After all, shopping around gives him an idea of what it is he will have to save up.
Toadstool & Rinn
Rachael is simply rubbing against Rinn's leg for a moment, but notices how the large orc is nervous about the situation. As the orc is bowed, the tressym nuzzles against Toadstool affectionately, trying to give him a bit of reassurance.
It's clear that he's nervous, and Rinn needs him to relax a bit for the sake of bartering...plus, he can tell that everything that's occurred over the last day hasn't helped the nerves of his new companions.
Yaudara and Ichep
Rothgar listened to the heroes as they told him about their adventures (and misadventures).
"Well, I would have paid good money to see it with my own eyes." He said with a chuckle. "Me wife said that the baron was fit to be tied."
The blacksmith took the chain and hefted it in one meaty hand. He took a moment to inspect the links, and, liking what he found proceeded to help the adventurers out.
"The going rate in Havenford is ten percent commission." He began. He gestured to the chain in question. "You have 100gp worth of silver here ... I can go 90gp."
The dwarf then took the mace from Ichep and inspected its craftsmanship for a moment. "Seems like a fair trade to me." He said, replacing the mace with a finely crafted dagger.
OOC — For planning purposes, any non-cash treasure that needs to be exchanged into cash will be worth about 10% less. So 100gp worth of non-cash treasure became 90gp in coins. Also, when selling gear back, any used gear will be purchased at 50% of book price. So a mace with a cost of 5gp was worth 2.5gp (which rounded down to 2gp, exactly the cost of a dagger).