Vydar still looks extremely unimpressed by Niccodemus. His hopes for figuring out how to remove lira’s medallion are quickly fading. This guy better be able to at least help them with what they came here for. If this guy can modify spells like tiny hut, and drive off a litch then hopefully he at least has enough wits about him to manage that much.
Arms crossed, Vydar steps through the boundary barely sparing the bread and spoons a glare. The fact that he has all those tied up in here is probably enough to keep normal seagulls pecking at his door. He also notes the wizard’s obvious illness as well as the vials in the floor.
Does he recognize the name on the vials? History: 9
Zarbyn deftly steps past the boundary and into the wizard's abode while glancing around and turning his nose up at the dead seagulls pinned to the wall.
"Indeed you did Nicodemus and we saw you also, I am Zarbyn and this is..." Zarbyn then motions briefly giving each a chance to make their salutations before continuing, "...and most of us were charged with finding you in hope of possibly gaining your aid."
Rollback Post to RevisionRollBack
"A rightful place awaits you in the Realms Above, in the Land of the Great Light. Come in peace, and live beneath the sun again, where trees and flowers grow."
— The message of Eilistraee to all decent drow.
"Run thy sword across my chains, Silver Lady, that I may join your dance.”
As Vydar takes in the scene—the spoons, the bread, the paranoid wards—it clicks.
He has heard of this before, but thought it a joke to scare careless young wizards.
Among wizards, there were stories of a strange coastal illness… not spread by birds, but by bad timing. When a bird flies through the air at the exact moment a spell is cast—especially illusion or transmutation magic—the creature can become entangled in the arcane energy. The magic rebounds, warps, and sometimes infects the caster.
The result is a kind of magical avian flu.
It brings fever, red eyes, and, most notably, the unshakable conviction that everyone is a bird in disguise.
They called it Seabird Fever.
The symptoms match Niccodemus perfectly.
the bottles are some sort of potion of lessor restoration.
The confused wizard looks at Zarbyn, “hum, you are not a bird.” (Each wisdom save he makes he sees your not a bird. He looks at Halbert, “I don’t trust you.” To Amdaeng, “Chang Mai province, interesting”, Lira, “”don’t steal my spoon thief.” Jharek, “good looking lad”, Lev: “Cursed!”
”so strange, and you need my aid you say.” He shakes a spoon at Halbert, “shush!!!” “I am not feeling well.”
There may be enough in one vial for two more doses. Vydar definitely detects magic on the wizard. (Extremely powerful aura)
Lev’s perpetual frown deepens when he is pronounced “cursed” by the old man. It’s not exactly a shocking statement all things considered, but it does make him wish a bit that Iolinder was still around. His eyes harden a bit as the wizard says he’s not feeling well, wondering if this is the result of someone else tampering with the old man’s magic. It really wouldn’t surprise him if their enemy had done something to him, but he immediately dismisses that thought considering that… well if it was their enemy’s actions then the old man wouldn’t still be alive.
“Yes,” he says when the wizard remarks on them needing his help. “We were sent here to find you.” (He briefly runs through what’s been going on in the village they’d teleported from. The attacks, people being frozen in ice… everything his player has forgotten lol.) But then he trails off, shaking his head before switching subjects, “But that doesn’t matter, clearly you are unwell. Is there anything we can do for you first?”
Vydar sighs as everything clicks in his head. “Of course it’s a real sickness.” He grumbles to himself before speaking up so the group could hear, “He has Seabird Fever. Hence all this” he waves a hand at the dead birds, bread, and spoons.
He glances down at the two potions again, wondering if they actually are helping the old man or if the one who sold these to him was just trying to make money off him. Regardless he hopes this sickness doesn’t cloud his mind to the point that any information they get from him ends up useless. Otherwise they may end up having to try and cure him somehow.
He tries to recall reading or hearing of any way to cure Seabird Fever or if it’s something that would just fade away after running its course.
Arcana: 20
(I’m assuming he does not recognize the name on the bottles)
(There are two doses left in one bottle. It is minor restoration. He does not seem to comprehend what Lev is saying)
likely need major restoration to cure or cure disease spell )
on giving the man the prescribed medicine, he gains back some temporary lucidity.
As the potion takes hold, the wild look in Niccodemus’s eyes fades. His shoulders relax, and he blinks several times, as though seeing the room clearly for the first time in weeks.
He takes a slow deep breath.
His gaze drifts around the shack—the hanging spoons, and the bread. His expression tightens with deep embarrassment.
“…Oh. Oh dear.”
He hurriedly cleans up.
“I am… terribly sorry if I accused any of you of being seabirds. Or agents of seabirds.”
He straightens his robes, trying to reclaim some dignity.
“I am Niccodemus. Wizard, alchemist, and—apparently—recent victim of extremely poor judgment and worse hygiene.”
He clears his throat.
“How may I be of help to you?” (He does not seem to recognize that he was speaking to you earlier)
"How serious is Seabird Fever. Is there a cure, it's not contagious is it?"
Once Zarbyn gets an answer to any of his questions about Seabird Fever he continues, "We were sent to try and gain your aid for a village in desperate need but it now appears you may be in need of some aid yourself."
Rollback Post to RevisionRollBack
"A rightful place awaits you in the Realms Above, in the Land of the Great Light. Come in peace, and live beneath the sun again, where trees and flowers grow."
— The message of Eilistraee to all decent drow.
"Run thy sword across my chains, Silver Lady, that I may join your dance.”
“Seabird fever is a rare but not unheard of affliction wizards get.”
He gestures vaguely, as if trying to smooth the explanation into something respectable.
“It isn’t spread by flocks or filth, like a common illness. It comes from… bad timing. If a bird happens to fly through the air at the exact moment a spell is cast—particularly illusion or transmutation magic—the creature can become entangled in the arcane energies.”
He winces.
“The spell twists, rebounds, and instead of affecting the intended target, it infects the caster’s senses and mind.”
Niccodemus folds his hands, looking sheepish.
“The result is… well… a sort of magical avian flu. Fever, confusion, and the unshakable belief that everyone is a bird in disguise.”
“The cure is a major potion of restoration or cure disease spell. I have these lessor restoration potions but looks like I’m almost out, but it wears off in a day.”
Zarbyn relates the details and names of their quest to find him saving the name of who is behind it all until he is almost finished speaking, "...and her name is Shareella!" not for any dramatic effect it may have but to avoid being interrupted.
"If this... seabird flu runs it's course over a day or so then you may want to wait until you are feeling better."
Zarbyn considers for a moment when hearing about the idea to gather ingredients and mix up the cure, "Are the ingredients expensive? How much more would it cost just to buy the cure outright, if that's possible?"
Rollback Post to RevisionRollBack
"A rightful place awaits you in the Realms Above, in the Land of the Great Light. Come in peace, and live beneath the sun again, where trees and flowers grow."
— The message of Eilistraee to all decent drow.
"Run thy sword across my chains, Silver Lady, that I may join your dance.”
Niccodemus listens with rapt attention. (Dietrich, the alchemist that sold you perfume has potions)
“I would think a cure would be around 300 gold at Dietriches” He pulls out a small bag of gold and hands it to you. It is a coincidence that Niccodemus has been sick while Things of great import have been occurring)
Niccodemus’ voice softens, distant and worn.
“She wasn’t always the Snow Witch…”
He leans on his staff, eyes fixed as if he saw her.
“Once… she was a woman. A lover. A mother.”
His jaw tightens.
“Trapped in that hall of heads… and the sultan left her there to die.”
He swallows.
“But the body did not rot. It healed. She rose again and got her revenge.”
His voice drops to a whisper.
“She made a pact with something ancient and cruel…a greater ice demon, and winter followed her anger.”
He grips his staff, knuckles pale.
“And now the frost returns. The mayor of Silverton, Owen, was wise to send you, although I suspect your group was wrapped up in this before that.”
"If we are splitting up, even for a short while, I have a way to see and hear what someone else does. I would like to see and hear what you do Halbert if you would allow it?"
Zarbyn isn't sure if splitting up is such a good idea for what he's heard of about Blacksand.
"Don't worry, it's completely harmless and doesn't last all that long but it would alert me if you ran into any sort of trouble and the rest of us could come to your aid if needed."
"A rightful place awaits you in the Realms Above, in the Land of the Great Light. Come in peace, and live beneath the sun again, where trees and flowers grow."
— The message of Eilistraee to all decent drow.
"Run thy sword across my chains, Silver Lady, that I may join your dance.”
"It is a strange thing indeed to try and explain and as I said you would not be harmed, I would simply see and hear the same things you do."
Zarbyn hastily adds, "But it will only work if you are willing to share with me what you see and hear."
Rollback Post to RevisionRollBack
"A rightful place awaits you in the Realms Above, in the Land of the Great Light. Come in peace, and live beneath the sun again, where trees and flowers grow."
— The message of Eilistraee to all decent drow.
"Run thy sword across my chains, Silver Lady, that I may join your dance.”
— A basic prayer.
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Vydar still looks extremely unimpressed by Niccodemus. His hopes for figuring out how to remove lira’s medallion are quickly fading. This guy better be able to at least help them with what they came here for. If this guy can modify spells like tiny hut, and drive off a litch then hopefully he at least has enough wits about him to manage that much.
Arms crossed, Vydar steps through the boundary barely sparing the bread and spoons a glare. The fact that he has all those tied up in here is probably enough to keep normal seagulls pecking at his door. He also notes the wizard’s obvious illness as well as the vials in the floor.
Does he recognize the name on the vials?
History: 9
Arcana: 24
(Also is he detecting any magic on Niccodemus himself?)
Zarbyn deftly steps past the boundary and into the wizard's abode while glancing around and turning his nose up at the dead seagulls pinned to the wall.
"Indeed you did Nicodemus and we saw you also, I am Zarbyn and this is..." Zarbyn then motions briefly giving each a chance to make their salutations before continuing, "...and most of us were charged with finding you in hope of possibly gaining your aid."
As Vydar takes in the scene—the spoons, the bread, the paranoid wards—it clicks.
He has heard of this before, but thought it a joke to scare careless young wizards.
Among wizards, there were stories of a strange coastal illness… not spread by birds, but by bad timing. When a bird flies through the air at the exact moment a spell is cast—especially illusion or transmutation magic—the creature can become entangled in the arcane energy. The magic rebounds, warps, and sometimes infects the caster.
The result is a kind of magical avian flu.
It brings fever, red eyes, and, most notably, the unshakable conviction that everyone is a bird in disguise.
They called it Seabird Fever.
The symptoms match Niccodemus perfectly.
the bottles are some sort of potion of lessor restoration.
The confused wizard looks at Zarbyn, “hum, you are not a bird.” (Each wisdom save he makes he sees your not a bird. He looks at Halbert, “I don’t trust you.” To Amdaeng, “Chang Mai province, interesting”, Lira, “”don’t steal my spoon thief.” Jharek, “good looking lad”, Lev: “Cursed!”
”so strange, and you need my aid you say.” He shakes a spoon at Halbert, “shush!!!”
“I am not feeling well.”
There may be enough in one vial for two more doses.
Vydar definitely detects magic on the wizard. (Extremely powerful aura)
Amdaeng isn't really sure what's going on, but hides a grin as Lira is chastised.
Lira simply mumbles, " As you wish."
Lev’s perpetual frown deepens when he is pronounced “cursed” by the old man. It’s not exactly a shocking statement all things considered, but it does make him wish a bit that Iolinder was still around. His eyes harden a bit as the wizard says he’s not feeling well, wondering if this is the result of someone else tampering with the old man’s magic. It really wouldn’t surprise him if their enemy had done something to him, but he immediately dismisses that thought considering that… well if it was their enemy’s actions then the old man wouldn’t still be alive.
“Yes,” he says when the wizard remarks on them needing his help. “We were sent here to find you.” (He briefly runs through what’s been going on in the village they’d teleported from. The attacks, people being frozen in ice… everything his player has forgotten lol.) But then he trails off, shaking his head before switching subjects, “But that doesn’t matter, clearly you are unwell. Is there anything we can do for you first?”
Vydar sighs as everything clicks in his head. “Of course it’s a real sickness.” He grumbles to himself before speaking up so the group could hear, “He has Seabird Fever. Hence all this” he waves a hand at the dead birds, bread, and spoons.
He glances down at the two potions again, wondering if they actually are helping the old man or if the one who sold these to him was just trying to make money off him. Regardless he hopes this sickness doesn’t cloud his mind to the point that any information they get from him ends up useless. Otherwise they may end up having to try and cure him somehow.
He tries to recall reading or hearing of any way to cure Seabird Fever or if it’s something that would just fade away after running its course.
Arcana: 20
(I’m assuming he does not recognize the name on the bottles)
(There are two doses left in one bottle. It is minor restoration. He does not seem to comprehend what Lev is saying)
likely need major restoration to cure or cure disease spell )
on giving the man the prescribed medicine, he gains back some temporary lucidity.
As the potion takes hold, the wild look in Niccodemus’s eyes fades. His shoulders relax, and he blinks several times, as though seeing the room clearly for the first time in weeks.
He takes a slow deep breath.
His gaze drifts around the shack—the hanging spoons, and the bread. His expression tightens with deep embarrassment.
“…Oh. Oh dear.”
He hurriedly cleans up.
“I am… terribly sorry if I accused any of you of being seabirds. Or agents of seabirds.”
He straightens his robes, trying to reclaim some dignity.
“I am Niccodemus. Wizard, alchemist, and—apparently—recent victim of extremely poor judgment and worse hygiene.”
He clears his throat.
“How may I be of help to you?” (He does not seem to recognize that he was speaking to you earlier)
”And, who are you again?”
" I am Amdaeng."
" And I am Lira."
" We need your help urgently."
"How serious is Seabird Fever. Is there a cure, it's not contagious is it?"
Once Zarbyn gets an answer to any of his questions about Seabird Fever he continues, "We were sent to try and gain your aid for a village in desperate need but it now appears you may be in need of some aid yourself."
“Seabird fever is a rare but not unheard of affliction wizards get.”
He gestures vaguely, as if trying to smooth the explanation into something respectable.
“It isn’t spread by flocks or filth, like a common illness. It comes from… bad timing. If a bird happens to fly through the air at the exact moment a spell is cast—particularly illusion or transmutation magic—the creature can become entangled in the arcane energies.”
He winces.
“The spell twists, rebounds, and instead of affecting the intended target, it infects the caster’s senses and mind.”
Niccodemus folds his hands, looking sheepish.
“The result is… well… a sort of magical avian flu. Fever, confusion, and the unshakable belief that everyone is a bird in disguise.”
“The cure is a major potion of restoration or cure disease spell. I have these lessor restoration potions but looks like I’m almost out, but it wears off in a day.”
“Tell me of the village that sent you and why you are here. The more I know, the better I can help you.”
At least for today, I should be capable of assisting you.”
“Could we obtain the ingredients to mix up a cure for him in town? Halbert and I can get them.”
Zarbyn relates the details and names of their quest to find him saving the name of who is behind it all until he is almost finished speaking, "...and her name is Shareella!" not for any dramatic effect it may have but to avoid being interrupted.
"If this... seabird flu runs it's course over a day or so then you may want to wait until you are feeling better."
Zarbyn considers for a moment when hearing about the idea to gather ingredients and mix up the cure, "Are the ingredients expensive? How much more would it cost just to buy the cure outright, if that's possible?"
Niccodemus listens with rapt attention.
(Dietrich, the alchemist that sold you perfume has potions)
“I would think a cure would be around 300 gold at Dietriches” He pulls out a small bag of gold and hands it to you. It is a coincidence that Niccodemus has been sick while Things of great import have been occurring)
Niccodemus’ voice softens, distant and worn.
“She wasn’t always the Snow Witch…”
He leans on his staff, eyes fixed as if he saw her.
“Once… she was a woman. A lover. A mother.”
His jaw tightens.
“Trapped in that hall of heads… and the sultan left her there to die.”
He swallows.
“But the body did not rot. It healed. She rose again and got her revenge.”
His voice drops to a whisper.
“She made a pact with something ancient and cruel…a greater ice demon, and winter followed her anger.”
He grips his staff, knuckles pale.
“And now the frost returns. The mayor of Silverton, Owen, was wise to send you, although I suspect your group was wrapped up in this before that.”
To Halbert, “You ready? Let’s go get this old bird his cure.”
"If we are splitting up, even for a short while, I have a way to see and hear what someone else does. I would like to see and hear what you do Halbert if you would allow it?"
Zarbyn isn't sure if splitting up is such a good idea for what he's heard of about Blacksand.
"Don't worry, it's completely harmless and doesn't last all that long but it would alert me if you ran into any sort of trouble and the rest of us could come to your aid if needed."
"I am ready to go and collect these ingredients, sure but ...What do you mean, Zarbyn? You want to see through my eyes?!"
"It is a strange thing indeed to try and explain and as I said you would not be harmed, I would simply see and hear the same things you do."
Zarbyn hastily adds, "But it will only work if you are willing to share with me what you see and hear."