Xantlin is happy to be in the warmth and comfort of the inn, but his mind is still racing. As if there wasn't enough already on his mind, now he has an entire cult of wheel-worshipping whackos in pursuit of a new party member. It is difficult for him to keep a single strain of thought for much more than a few seconds, his curiosity and hunger for knowledge beginning to drive him mad, but the wheel people have really bothered him. "Humans, as usual, imparting their own made up justice as they please, taking lives without a care." He feels an overwhelming urge to get vengeance for Alkibiades, or is it for himself? Either way, he is happy to cut down some human cultists if need be. And the prospect of a drink sounds lovely, maybe he will be able to slow the racing in his head.
This post has potentially manipulated dice roll results.
Alkibiades' answer puts some of Ryloos's worries to rest. As they approach the inn, Ryloos scans the town and its people noting any lingering eyes, departing-a-little-too-quickly citizens, or murmurs whispered loud enough to hear. As the rest of the party filters into the inn, Ryloos gestures for Alkibiades to go in ahead of her. She spins around slowly on her left heal and takes in the town. Something is odd here, maybe its the amount of time she has been away from a town square like this. Maybe it's the town and its people. Maybe it's something else. Regardless, she knows how to operate in a place like this: keep your head down, attract as little attention as possible, and steal as much as you can. The last being exactly what she's searching for on her final scan.
The man known as Clemency absolutely beams with glee at your question.
"Nope! Only vodka!" His smile is terribly pearlescent - it hurts your eyes. Curiously, you note that he seems to be homodont, a rare feature in humans. He stands expectantly as if awaiting your response. Alkibiades exchanges a look of skeptical bewilderment with you that Clemency seems - or perhaps chooses - not to notice.
RYLOOS
Lagging behind the group, you silently lapse into the shadowy alleys beside the tavern, scrutinizing the town with cautious, cynical eyes. At first, you are almost bored to tears by the mundanity of Tuberosos. Clean, simply-dressed people casually amble between vendors and storefronts, striking up banal conversations about the weather and local plagues and other mind-numbingly vapid topics. On more careful study, however, you notice some more disturbing patterns subtly hidden beneath the surface: a stereotyped handshake that the men share; hard lines etched into the corner of the townspeople's mouths from perpetually forced smiles; the nervous energy of the foreign vendors and tense stances of visiting adventurers. A couple walks close beside the tavern, prompting you to disappear further into the shadows.
Some of the foreign merchants seem to harbor fat sacks of gold, you perceive. You feel your heart and spirits fall - the vendors are so on edge that theft will be difficult. As you contemplate your next course of action, you attempt to lean against the wall. Instead of smooth planks of wood, however, your hand finds purchase in a small alcove from which you produce a small effigy. On closer inspection, it appears to be a potato with a strange symbol carved into its skin and an elaborate wreath of sticks sigils embedded into its pith. You have no idea what it might mean.
Ryloos studies the potato for a moment completely bewildered by it. Her suspicions were right but to what end, she has no clue. Should she inform the rest of her part of her discovery or should she begin her inquiry alone? Who in her party would have answers to this? Going at this alone may prove difficult being a complete outsider. She doubts her progress would be aided by the glaring mark on her forehead. Ryloos resolves to disclose her discovery to her friends.
She stuffs the effigy into her waistband and makes her way to the entrance of the inn. She takes one last glance over her shoulder for good measure before she pushes inside. Once inside, she finds her party sitting at the back of the inn enjoying food and drinks and makes her way to them. Pulling up a chair next to Lofty, she sits and signals to the nearest bartend for a drink. She waits for a lawl in conversation to introduce her discovery.
Clearing her throat, "Uhm, I found something outside. In a small crevice of the Inn's wall." She reaches into her waistband and holds the potato between her two hands so that only those at the table can see it. "I have no idea what it means, but I've had an odd feeling about this place since its mention. This does not help." She lets the effigy sit on the table between her hands for another moment until she senses Clemency approach with a drink and quickly clasps it and stuffs it back into hiding. She smiles and tips the man. Her eyes fall back to her party searching for an answer.
This post has potentially manipulated dice roll results.
While everyone else's attention shift towards the inn/tavern, HELIOS scans the horizon of the town. The temple to Pelor is the only thing he is concerned with at the moment. As Lofty walks away into the tavern followed slowly by the others his eye catches the only building he thinks it could be. Instead of following the rest of the party HELIOS heads off in another direction in an attempt to make his way to what he believes is thebtemple.
Once Clemency has again departed from the table, Xantlin asks Ryloos to examine the object.
"This appears to be a potato," he says with a mix of curiosity and sarcasm. "The vodka, the weird bartender, now a potato effigy? This place is certainly strange. Xantlin takes a look at the effigy, looking for any markings or signs that might point to its purpose or origin.
Lofty hadn't even taken off his boots yet. He wanted to take off his boots. "There's no war here because our corpses spent days drifting down river, our bartender is using something called alliteration to lighten the mood, and I very much doubt there's any potato based mischief going on." He normally wasn't so dismissive of their concerns, but this was an Inn dammit. Was nothing sacred? "I'm going to stuff my belly full of meat slurry and booze, totter up to a warm bath and sleep in a real bed for the first time in months. If some sort of potato monster kills me in my sleep, I'll die happy." He leans even further back in his chair to illustrate proper Inn decorum, and tries to relax. Then a thought hits him like a ton of polished steel.
Or, that's what your sentience algorithm has been programmed to believe, at any rate. You wander off into the town, once again opening yourself to Pelor's light. And once again, you can simultaneously feel and see it with your mind's eyes - locks of golden light blowing in the void. But the light is oddly anemic and sparse, as if projected through a filter or foliage. Your connection to Pelor is less robust here, and you feel that distance intensely. Nevertheless, the filaments of light seem to dance around a particular structure at the edge of town. You follow them instinctively.
The village is relatively uninhabited in this part. You pass by fewer and fewer townpeople, spending greater amounts of time by your lonesome as you walk down half-paved alleys and along narrow avenues. If you weren't a machine, you might feel somewhat intimidated by your isolation; you, however, are oblivious to the insularity of your current trek.
Finally, you stumble upon am imposing, if dilapidated, wooden structure. It stands alone; its majestic structure suggests a history of opulence and eminence long lost to neglect. This clearly is - was - the temple to Pelor. Its walls are covered in ivy and its roof has partially collapsed. The light is so dim here.
You follow the sun. But what do you do when its light is so dim?
You are unaware, but from a distance a figure watches you.
XANTLIN
You discern that the rune inscribed into the tuber is of some significance, but you have no recollection of the symbol or its purpose. You do feel an unnatural weight to the effigy, as if hewn from lead or iron; it is clearly imbued with nontrivial magics. It has the faint smell of brimstone and drying rain.
Buoyside finishes his vodka soaked breadballs, his speech is now heavily slurred. "****'n pota-toes? W'r all sloshed in an inn fearin' nightshades when we should be worry'n 'bout gett'n back to the fight! Where's yr spirit?" He stands, wobbles and grabs his blade. "--That machine-ical man out there makin' communes with the blasted sun! We're ****in' useless boys, I'm...I'm gona go do what's right, 'n I'm gona go slay something." He turns, his blade knocking against table legs, spilling drinks, and toppling chairs as he makes his exit.
You stumble out the front of the inn, knocking over several stools and an unlucky clerk. As you stumble outside, you appreciate that the sun has started to set. The townsfolk are casually retreating to their homes for the evening. A young couple doffs their hats in passing as they hurry away. The vodka hates their stupid, smug faces.
XANTLIN, RYLOOS, LOFTY
Clemency returns after several rounds of vodka. His features seem to run maddeningly into one another. With an infuriating bow, he inquires, "Will you all be needing some accomodation for the evening? We have the most comfortable beds upstairs. Genuine down feathers and no more than 30% straw!"
This post has potentially manipulated dice roll results.
Frustrated by her companions lack of interest, Ryloos slams down the last bit of vodka she has left and pushes past Clemency out the door of the inn. She resolves to investigate this on her own. Outside she looks at her surroundings once again; her anger is starting to froth inside of her. Ryloos swallows it down and slips into the nearest alley. She finds a pile of pallets stacked next to a low roof. Looking at the building next to the low roof, she eyes a few jut out bricks that she could used to find her way atop a higher vantage point. She begins her ascent.
"This is not what you deserve Pelor, but fear not, I will get this taken care of so that your light may reach these people once again!" HELIOS speaks out to no one in particular as he begins to clean up around the temple. Clearing I'll rubble from the collapsed roof and straightening out what remains of furniture and objects he finds strewn about. As the sun begins to set he turns his attention to the hole in the roof and to a beam of sunlight that has found it's way through, projecting a circle of brilliance on the center of the temple floor.
"I am sorry there is not more to offer but I think that with time the other will remember your glory as well!" He says while emptying the contents of his pack into the center of the sunlight circle. A handful of copper coins, some old and moldy bread that he had no need of eating, and random knock knacks he picked up along the way on the journey here. He turns to face the door of the temple and sits down right in front of his offering. "I will continue your temples resurgence when your light shines upon me again"
Although he does not sleep, he sits motionless watching at the entrance waiting for the next wise soul who finds their way in.
You climb the roof with ease; the wooden crenulations in its constructions make for fine hand- and footholds. You are now drunk and on a roof.
Below, the world blurs and spins boozily. You watch Buoyside, sword dragging in the dirt, stumble drunkenly in a major avenue. Townsfolk and other visitors give him a wide berth as they flee the setting sun to their warm beds and cozy hearths.
The night is virgin and full of possibility. You burp oily (oilily?) and loosen your dagger - you are about to wreak town on this havoc.
...wait.
LOFTY, XANTLIN
Clemency seems utterly unperturbed by the abrupt departures of half of your party. He turns to shine his doggedly radiant smile on both of you and Alkibiades. "How about you, gentrified gentlemen of gentle gentility? May I perchance interest you in a room?" He opens his hands in a warm, albeit weirdly perfunctory, gesture of welcoming. The vodka makes his face melt and reform in your eyes.
Alkibiades is beginning to look as drunk as you feel. He leans over to stroke Aspasia's golden mask but cants unsteadily, overcorrecting and spilling his glass of sky. Clemency stabilizes him with a single hand, gentle but surprisingly strong, before setting down a fresh glass of sky with a twist of lemon rind. Other drunken visitors around you are slowly departing for rooms elsewhere in the inn or, in more than one instance, have already succumbed to the booze and passed out where they sit.
HELIOS
The sun sets and the circle of sunlight fades. You sit alone in cold, lightless dereliction.
Then, suddenly, from somewhere deep below the floorboards, there comes a high pitched, keening wail that abruptly ends after several seconds.
This post has potentially manipulated dice roll results.
Hearing the mail from beneath the floor boards HELIOS slowly and quietly stands from his idle state. He scans the room making sure you keep his foot steps silent looking for any loose floorboards or hidden entrances that may lead to an underground space where the sound might be coming from using a ball of sunlight energy formed in his hand to guide his path.
"Clemency my convivial comfort connoisseur, I will be needing a bed, a book and a warm bath. Can you do anything about my clothes? They smell like a corpse was wearing them."
Lofty, nursing a pleasant buzz, lays a generous tip out on the table to make up for all the trouble.
Gently and with great patience, Clemency coaxes you two into a room with a bunked bed. You briefly wonder where Alkibiades will sleep before drifting into a warm, oily slumber.
During the night, you collectively dream that Aspasia's corpse crawls into your room to peer into your memories with its empty, golden sockets.
HELIOS
You are very quiet in getting to your feet, your stealthy movements made with the precision of a machine. There are several heavy doors present throughout the church - some seemingly leading to a vestry, others to a transept, and yet others to a chancel. Despite increasing the sensitivity of your acoustic rectifiers, you hear no further noises - the temple is silent.
The chancel seems the most likely culprit of the strange sound.
Buoyside staggers around, mumbling to his sword boyfriend. "It's 'kay Tony, we'll getchu som blood. We'll cut 'em n' dice 'em and punish..." He squints his eyes at townsfolk, trying to detect their intentions.
The townsfolk smile cheerfully and wave to you in spite of your obvious inebriation and rather putrid odor. Their numbers are dwindling rapidly; a few other drunken adventurers wander aimlessly, shouting at one another. You detect no undead, celestial, or fiend within 60 feet of yourself. You do, however, get a strangely mixed sensation. It has the warm odor of nutmeg underlain by a cloying, sickeningly sweet smell of decay and fetor. This sensation is faint and discerning its origin made doubly difficult by your obvious intoxication.
Nearby doors are latched shut and candles are extinguished. A halesome youth runs past you in the street, lighting lanterns with a long pole. He smiles and winks at you as he scurries past, performing his task with proficiency and speed.
Not far off, a large, swarthy warrior dressed in an elaborately feathered armor sways woozily as he urinates on the side of the building. He speaks in a heavily slurred voice to seemingly no one. "Naoowww, wherrr'n th'hell did Linnaeus getoffta?"
Buoyside is annoyed, he's turned further, he cares not for loyalty or courage, he is fueled only by the vodka bread mush in his guts and the need to spill blood. He hesitates for moment, wondering if he should give chase to the lantern boy though thinks better of it. His slouching bandaged face hangs menacingly as he approaches the other drunkard and taps the sidewalk next to him with his sheathed blade. The 9 foot length keeps him at a safe distance should the stinkin' bastard try anything funny.
"'EY, whass'it? The great Bootyside makes yr' aquainence! Surely you know'of somthin' needin' a slayin'!"
Xantlin is happy to be in the warmth and comfort of the inn, but his mind is still racing. As if there wasn't enough already on his mind, now he has an entire cult of wheel-worshipping whackos in pursuit of a new party member. It is difficult for him to keep a single strain of thought for much more than a few seconds, his curiosity and hunger for knowledge beginning to drive him mad, but the wheel people have really bothered him. "Humans, as usual, imparting their own made up justice as they please, taking lives without a care." He feels an overwhelming urge to get vengeance for Alkibiades, or is it for himself? Either way, he is happy to cut down some human cultists if need be. And the prospect of a drink sounds lovely, maybe he will be able to slow the racing in his head.
He looks up at Clemency, "Do you have any ales?"
Xantlin Pegason (imgur)
33/33 HP
4/4 level 1 spells, 3/3 level 2 spells, 2/2 level 3 spells
AC = 15, Spell attack bonus = 7, spell save DC = 15
Alkibiades' answer puts some of Ryloos's worries to rest. As they approach the inn, Ryloos scans the town and its people noting any lingering eyes, departing-a-little-too-quickly citizens, or murmurs whispered loud enough to hear. As the rest of the party filters into the inn, Ryloos gestures for Alkibiades to go in ahead of her. She spins around slowly on her left heal and takes in the town. Something is odd here, maybe its the amount of time she has been away from a town square like this. Maybe it's the town and its people. Maybe it's something else. Regardless, she knows how to operate in a place like this: keep your head down, attract as little attention as possible, and steal as much as you can. The last being exactly what she's searching for on her final scan.
Perception check: 18
XANTLIN
The man known as Clemency absolutely beams with glee at your question.
"Nope! Only vodka!" His smile is terribly pearlescent - it hurts your eyes. Curiously, you note that he seems to be homodont, a rare feature in humans. He stands expectantly as if awaiting your response. Alkibiades exchanges a look of skeptical bewilderment with you that Clemency seems - or perhaps chooses - not to notice.
RYLOOS
Lagging behind the group, you silently lapse into the shadowy alleys beside the tavern, scrutinizing the town with cautious, cynical eyes. At first, you are almost bored to tears by the mundanity of Tuberosos. Clean, simply-dressed people casually amble between vendors and storefronts, striking up banal conversations about the weather and local plagues and other mind-numbingly vapid topics. On more careful study, however, you notice some more disturbing patterns subtly hidden beneath the surface: a stereotyped handshake that the men share; hard lines etched into the corner of the townspeople's mouths from perpetually forced smiles; the nervous energy of the foreign vendors and tense stances of visiting adventurers. A couple walks close beside the tavern, prompting you to disappear further into the shadows.
Some of the foreign merchants seem to harbor fat sacks of gold, you perceive. You feel your heart and spirits fall - the vendors are so on edge that theft will be difficult. As you contemplate your next course of action, you attempt to lean against the wall. Instead of smooth planks of wood, however, your hand finds purchase in a small alcove from which you produce a small effigy. On closer inspection, it appears to be a potato with a strange symbol carved into its skin and an elaborate wreath of sticks sigils embedded into its pith. You have no idea what it might mean.
Ryloos studies the potato for a moment completely bewildered by it. Her suspicions were right but to what end, she has no clue. Should she inform the rest of her part of her discovery or should she begin her inquiry alone? Who in her party would have answers to this? Going at this alone may prove difficult being a complete outsider. She doubts her progress would be aided by the glaring mark on her forehead. Ryloos resolves to disclose her discovery to her friends.
She stuffs the effigy into her waistband and makes her way to the entrance of the inn. She takes one last glance over her shoulder for good measure before she pushes inside. Once inside, she finds her party sitting at the back of the inn enjoying food and drinks and makes her way to them. Pulling up a chair next to Lofty, she sits and signals to the nearest bartend for a drink. She waits for a lawl in conversation to introduce her discovery.
Clearing her throat, "Uhm, I found something outside. In a small crevice of the Inn's wall." She reaches into her waistband and holds the potato between her two hands so that only those at the table can see it. "I have no idea what it means, but I've had an odd feeling about this place since its mention. This does not help." She lets the effigy sit on the table between her hands for another moment until she senses Clemency approach with a drink and quickly clasps it and stuffs it back into hiding. She smiles and tips the man. Her eyes fall back to her party searching for an answer.
While everyone else's attention shift towards the inn/tavern, HELIOS scans the horizon of the town. The temple to Pelor is the only thing he is concerned with at the moment. As Lofty walks away into the tavern followed slowly by the others his eye catches the only building he thinks it could be. Instead of following the rest of the party HELIOS heads off in another direction in an attempt to make his way to what he believes is thebtemple.
Perception check to find the temple - 16
H.E.L.I.O.S - Warforged Sun Soul Monk
AC - 19
Once Clemency has again departed from the table, Xantlin asks Ryloos to examine the object.
"This appears to be a potato," he says with a mix of curiosity and sarcasm. "The vodka, the weird bartender, now a potato effigy? This place is certainly strange. Xantlin takes a look at the effigy, looking for any markings or signs that might point to its purpose or origin.
Religion check on the potato - 9
Xantlin Pegason (imgur)
33/33 HP
4/4 level 1 spells, 3/3 level 2 spells, 2/2 level 3 spells
AC = 15, Spell attack bonus = 7, spell save DC = 15
whoops, double posted somehow
Xantlin Pegason (imgur)
33/33 HP
4/4 level 1 spells, 3/3 level 2 spells, 2/2 level 3 spells
AC = 15, Spell attack bonus = 7, spell save DC = 15
Lofty hadn't even taken off his boots yet. He wanted to take off his boots. "There's no war here because our corpses spent days drifting down river, our bartender is using something called alliteration to lighten the mood, and I very much doubt there's any potato based mischief going on." He normally wasn't so dismissive of their concerns, but this was an Inn dammit. Was nothing sacred? "I'm going to stuff my belly full of meat slurry and booze, totter up to a warm bath and sleep in a real bed for the first time in months. If some sort of potato monster kills me in my sleep, I'll die happy." He leans even further back in his chair to illustrate proper Inn decorum, and tries to relax. Then a thought hits him like a ton of polished steel.
"Where's Helios?"
Character Sheets: Page1 Page2 Page3
HP: 35 AC: 20 Saves: Str+2 Dex+0 Con+4 Int+2 Wis+2 Cha+6
HELIOS
You follow the sun.
Or, that's what your sentience algorithm has been programmed to believe, at any rate. You wander off into the town, once again opening yourself to Pelor's light. And once again, you can simultaneously feel and see it with your mind's eyes - locks of golden light blowing in the void. But the light is oddly anemic and sparse, as if projected through a filter or foliage. Your connection to Pelor is less robust here, and you feel that distance intensely. Nevertheless, the filaments of light seem to dance around a particular structure at the edge of town. You follow them instinctively.
The village is relatively uninhabited in this part. You pass by fewer and fewer townpeople, spending greater amounts of time by your lonesome as you walk down half-paved alleys and along narrow avenues. If you weren't a machine, you might feel somewhat intimidated by your isolation; you, however, are oblivious to the insularity of your current trek.
Finally, you stumble upon am imposing, if dilapidated, wooden structure. It stands alone; its majestic structure suggests a history of opulence and eminence long lost to neglect. This clearly is - was - the temple to Pelor. Its walls are covered in ivy and its roof has partially collapsed. The light is so dim here.
You follow the sun. But what do you do when its light is so dim?
You are unaware, but from a distance a figure watches you.
XANTLIN
You discern that the rune inscribed into the tuber is of some significance, but you have no recollection of the symbol or its purpose. You do feel an unnatural weight to the effigy, as if hewn from lead or iron; it is clearly imbued with nontrivial magics. It has the faint smell of brimstone and drying rain.
Buoyside finishes his vodka soaked breadballs, his speech is now heavily slurred. "****'n pota-toes? W'r all sloshed in an inn fearin' nightshades when we should be worry'n 'bout gett'n back to the fight! Where's yr spirit?" He stands, wobbles and grabs his blade. "--That machine-ical man out there makin' communes with the blasted sun! We're ****in' useless boys, I'm...I'm gona go do what's right, 'n I'm gona go slay something." He turns, his blade knocking against table legs, spilling drinks, and toppling chairs as he makes his exit.
Character Sheet
AC: 16
BUOYSIDE
You stumble out the front of the inn, knocking over several stools and an unlucky clerk. As you stumble outside, you appreciate that the sun has started to set. The townsfolk are casually retreating to their homes for the evening. A young couple doffs their hats in passing as they hurry away. The vodka hates their stupid, smug faces.
XANTLIN, RYLOOS, LOFTY
Clemency returns after several rounds of vodka. His features seem to run maddeningly into one another. With an infuriating bow, he inquires, "Will you all be needing some accomodation for the evening? We have the most comfortable beds upstairs. Genuine down feathers and no more than 30% straw!"
Frustrated by her companions lack of interest, Ryloos slams down the last bit of vodka she has left and pushes past Clemency out the door of the inn. She resolves to investigate this on her own. Outside she looks at her surroundings once again; her anger is starting to froth inside of her. Ryloos swallows it down and slips into the nearest alley. She finds a pile of pallets stacked next to a low roof. Looking at the building next to the low roof, she eyes a few jut out bricks that she could used to find her way atop a higher vantage point. She begins her ascent.
Athletics check: 21
"This is not what you deserve Pelor, but fear not, I will get this taken care of so that your light may reach these people once again!" HELIOS speaks out to no one in particular as he begins to clean up around the temple. Clearing I'll rubble from the collapsed roof and straightening out what remains of furniture and objects he finds strewn about. As the sun begins to set he turns his attention to the hole in the roof and to a beam of sunlight that has found it's way through, projecting a circle of brilliance on the center of the temple floor.
"I am sorry there is not more to offer but I think that with time the other will remember your glory as well!" He says while emptying the contents of his pack into the center of the sunlight circle. A handful of copper coins, some old and moldy bread that he had no need of eating, and random knock knacks he picked up along the way on the journey here. He turns to face the door of the temple and sits down right in front of his offering. "I will continue your temples resurgence when your light shines upon me again"
Although he does not sleep, he sits motionless watching at the entrance waiting for the next wise soul who finds their way in.
H.E.L.I.O.S - Warforged Sun Soul Monk
AC - 19
RYLOOS
You climb the roof with ease; the wooden crenulations in its constructions make for fine hand- and footholds. You are now drunk and on a roof.
Below, the world blurs and spins boozily. You watch Buoyside, sword dragging in the dirt, stumble drunkenly in a major avenue. Townsfolk and other visitors give him a wide berth as they flee the setting sun to their warm beds and cozy hearths.
The night is virgin and full of possibility. You burp oily (oilily?) and loosen your dagger - you are about to wreak town on this havoc.
...wait.
LOFTY, XANTLIN
Clemency seems utterly unperturbed by the abrupt departures of half of your party. He turns to shine his doggedly radiant smile on both of you and Alkibiades. "How about you, gentrified gentlemen of gentle gentility? May I perchance interest you in a room?" He opens his hands in a warm, albeit weirdly perfunctory, gesture of welcoming. The vodka makes his face melt and reform in your eyes.
Alkibiades is beginning to look as drunk as you feel. He leans over to stroke Aspasia's golden mask but cants unsteadily, overcorrecting and spilling his glass of sky. Clemency stabilizes him with a single hand, gentle but surprisingly strong, before setting down a fresh glass of sky with a twist of lemon rind. Other drunken visitors around you are slowly departing for rooms elsewhere in the inn or, in more than one instance, have already succumbed to the booze and passed out where they sit.
HELIOS
The sun sets and the circle of sunlight fades. You sit alone in cold, lightless dereliction.
Then, suddenly, from somewhere deep below the floorboards, there comes a high pitched, keening wail that abruptly ends after several seconds.
Hearing the mail from beneath the floor boards HELIOS slowly and quietly stands from his idle state. He scans the room making sure you keep his foot steps silent looking for any loose floorboards or hidden entrances that may lead to an underground space where the sound might be coming from using a ball of sunlight energy formed in his hand to guide his path.
Stealth check - 18
Investigation check - 9
H.E.L.I.O.S - Warforged Sun Soul Monk
AC - 19
"Clemency my convivial comfort connoisseur, I will be needing a bed, a book and a warm bath. Can you do anything about my clothes? They smell like a corpse was wearing them."
Lofty, nursing a pleasant buzz, lays a generous tip out on the table to make up for all the trouble.
Character Sheets: Page1 Page2 Page3
HP: 35 AC: 20 Saves: Str+2 Dex+0 Con+4 Int+2 Wis+2 Cha+6
XANTLIN, LOFTY
Gently and with great patience, Clemency coaxes you two into a room with a bunked bed. You briefly wonder where Alkibiades will sleep before drifting into a warm, oily slumber.
During the night, you collectively dream that Aspasia's corpse crawls into your room to peer into your memories with its empty, golden sockets.
HELIOS
You are very quiet in getting to your feet, your stealthy movements made with the precision of a machine. There are several heavy doors present throughout the church - some seemingly leading to a vestry, others to a transept, and yet others to a chancel. Despite increasing the sensitivity of your acoustic rectifiers, you hear no further noises - the temple is silent.
The chancel seems the most likely culprit of the strange sound.
Buoyside staggers around, mumbling to his sword boyfriend. "It's 'kay Tony, we'll getchu som blood. We'll cut 'em n' dice 'em and punish..." He squints his eyes at townsfolk, trying to detect their intentions.
I use Divine Sense to search for Evil
Character Sheet
AC: 16
BUOYSIDE
The townsfolk smile cheerfully and wave to you in spite of your obvious inebriation and rather putrid odor. Their numbers are dwindling rapidly; a few other drunken adventurers wander aimlessly, shouting at one another. You detect no undead, celestial, or fiend within 60 feet of yourself. You do, however, get a strangely mixed sensation. It has the warm odor of nutmeg underlain by a cloying, sickeningly sweet smell of decay and fetor. This sensation is faint and discerning its origin made doubly difficult by your obvious intoxication.
Nearby doors are latched shut and candles are extinguished. A halesome youth runs past you in the street, lighting lanterns with a long pole. He smiles and winks at you as he scurries past, performing his task with proficiency and speed.
Not far off, a large, swarthy warrior dressed in an elaborately feathered armor sways woozily as he urinates on the side of the building. He speaks in a heavily slurred voice to seemingly no one. "Naoowww, wherrr'n th'hell did Linnaeus getoffta?"
Buoyside is annoyed, he's turned further, he cares not for loyalty or courage, he is fueled only by the vodka bread mush in his guts and the need to spill blood. He hesitates for moment, wondering if he should give chase to the lantern boy though thinks better of it. His slouching bandaged face hangs menacingly as he approaches the other drunkard and taps the sidewalk next to him with his sheathed blade. The 9 foot length keeps him at a safe distance should the stinkin' bastard try anything funny.
"'EY, whass'it? The great Bootyside makes yr' aquainence! Surely you know'of somthin' needin' a slayin'!"
Character Sheet
AC: 16