Re: Chapter Two

[Kellar]

Kellar! Take one of those torches and stick it into that barrel there, he points towards the black powder keg on the starboard side of deck.

...

I'm on it! Kellar shouted as he grabbed the cask and punched a hole in the lid with the handle of his axe. Orbaugh, grab a torch! Firestick! Be back! the pseudodragon said cheerfully as it bounced across the deck!

Orbaugh returned a moment later, dragging the torch with his tail. I bring! I bring! Fish? A little busy here! Yes fish real soon, I promise! He collected the torch from Orbaugh's tail and rimmed it into cask. He yelled to the dwarf, good to go!

With any luck, fish will land on the deck, he said out loud.

...

Ready? said the dwarf. Now!

Kellar hefted the cask from the deck up over his head... 1... he squatted low and pushed up through the air to hurl the cask over the side... 2... he turned from the deck and scooped up Orbaugh from under his belly and brought his shield up to protect himself and Orbaugh... BOOOMM!

Kellar's ears went ringing slightly from the blast as he and Orbaugh skidded across the deck, slamming against the rail on the other side. He looked down at Orbaugh, who was shaking his little head. Okay?I good. Kellar raised his shield again as debris fell from the sky.

He then rose to his feet and called out, a little close wasn't it?!? Hahahaha! Crazy dwarf!

[Osvald Hale]

The sloop bucked like an angry bull and Osvakd was nearly thrown from the crows nest. Shaking the hammering ringing out of his head, he looks back to see Cuss hanging precariously.

The ranger throws his bow over his shoulder and grabs the halflings with both hands, hoisting him roughly back over the rail.

"Gods... For a Druid that dwarf that sure knows how to throw one hell of a party." He says, grinning at Cuss.

Looking back to the Galleon drifting away from them, Osvald spies the Magic user--his body sundered by the concussive impact of the arrow, a gaping hole blown in his chest.

Shielding his eyes against the sun, remarking at the winds and roiling waves shifting the two ships he thinks to himself;

'My... Not a bad shot, Osvald. Not bad at all.'

Then, spying Artimus on board, he swears sharply--calling down to Dwan.

"Bring us alongside! Artimus is onboard the Galleon! Cuss, can we rig a line to swing us over? He won't be able to handle a ship that large himself, no matter how big his ego is."

[DiceMaster]

The member 'Osvald Hale' has done the following action : Dice Roller

'D4' : 2

[Shorjahl]

Shorjahl runs atop deck, as he hears Osvald shouting out, "Get a line secured between the two ships! Artimus, get us hooked up on the side least likely to break from extreme force! I'll slow us down!"

He turns, his bracer still glowing white and chiming an intense pitch from his previous spells, as he prepares to reverse the wind flow of the Trois Pistoles once the line is connected, both of his palms reaching out, ready to blast a massive gust of wind the opposite direction of which they came.

---------------------

Gust of Wind spell, as discussed, will wait for line to be connected.

[Kellar]

Kellar hears Osvald and replies, I'm on it! He stows his shield and looks for three lengths of rope. This should do nicely, he said as he grabbed three coils worth near mast.

He hurried to the side of the Pistol and spaced the coils apart equidistant on the deck. He tied the first one to the rail as tight as he could. Should hold... I hope. Hey Artimus! Catch! he shouted as he tossed the first coil of rope to the Galleon. Two more on the way! And with that, Kellar tied off two more coils to the rail of the Pistol and tossed those to Artimus as well.

Shorjahl, he's got three lines, is that enough, he asked the windy wizard.

Actions:
Kellar tosses coils of rope to Artimus to secure the Galleon to the Pistol

[Osvald Hale]

Seeing kellar throw the lines, Osvald eyeballs the distance to the Galleon...

"Shorjahl! If I jump, can you glide me over!?"

=====

Hoping if Osvald can leap from the crows nest, Shorjahl can mage-hand him down to the Galleons deck with his own momentum...

[Shorjahl]

Through gritted teeth and concentration, "Can't - do - both..." With a nearly imperceptible shake of the head.

[Kellar]

"Shorjahl! If I jump, can you glide me over!?"

...

Have a death wish there Lord Hale, questioned Kellar. I think I have what you need, you won't be flying! With that Kellar removed two javelins and all three lengths of chain and linked them to each other and then to each javelin. Catch this one! he said as he hurled a javelin toward Lord Hale in the crow's nest. He took the other javelin and hurled as hard as he could toward the Galleon.

Take up the slack and tie it off easy! You can zip across on that, he shouted to Osvald!

Up to you now Osvald!

Actions:
Two throws, one to Osvald and one to the Galleon, I'll make appropriate rolls one regular and one at disadvantage because the Galleon has a higher deck than the Pistol.

OMG yes! First roll Toss Roll to Osvald= 13; success? and Galleon toss= 21; Success!

[DiceMaster]

The member 'Kellar' has done the following action : Dice Roller

#1 'D20' : 10

--------------------------------

#2 'D20' : 19, 18

[Custer Thickett]

Custer thanks Osvald for the help getting back into the nest. He looks across the deck of the Galleon, hoping to see some of the crew still alive. He searches the water for any swimming for shore or struggling in the current. If any are close to Trios Pistoles, then Cuss will climb down the shroud and throw a rope out to them, calling, "Grab it, fool!"

[Ao]

The ship heels hard as Dwan maneuvers the boat in the wake of the explosion, his maniacal laughter echoing across the river as Trois Pistoles narrowly avoids a collision.

[Dwan, Dec results]

The sloop comes about, catching a wave and shooting past the groaning hull of the galleon!

The dwarf helmsman watches as Artimus kicks the anchor spool, dropping two heavy iron anchors into the water with a tremendous splash.

Still - with the galleon's present inertia it begins to pivot on the anchor point, reeling sideways towards the rocky shore...!

Orbaugh swipes at his face, wiping away a thorough soaking of river water, as Kellar launches a rope onto the galleon.

[Kellar, tossing rope]; success!

Artimus catches it easily, cleating off the towline on the port side as the galleon careens through the river...

Kellar eyes the crows nest, miraculously hefting the rope to Osvald, who ties it off and prepares to zip line----

[...]

A fierce wind begins to blow, Shorjahl standing erect on the deck, and grimacing as he summons the arcane gust into the sails of trois pistoles.

Osvald slides across the rope, looking down at the rapidly turning galleon churning a fierce body of Rapids beneath him. It's enough to make a lesser man wretch.

In a moment, he lands lithely on the deck of the galleon.

[...]

The rope begins to tighten, as Trois Pistoles jumps into motion. The crow's nest groans - with Custer on it - ... The weight of the galleon dragging at the sloop precariously...!

[being that Osvald zip lines from the crows nest, the rope would need to tie off there, meaning that the bulk of force and inertia would be strained on the mast and crows nest of Trois pistoles - dangerous!!!]

[results, rolling for strength of the mast vs galleon weight and inertia...]

Custer hears a sickening crack as the rope strains, threatening to topple his perch into the river below...

[...]

Osvald looks back at Trois Pistoles... The mast bends under the force of the rope, and the speed of its sail. It looks like a catapult, straining backward, ready to launch Custer to a bloody end...

Suddenly, the galleon groans as the anchor point catches, and the mast of the Trois pistoles buckles.

You hold your breaths for a moment - and the arcane wind dies down, both boats settling calmly in the river...


====================

Lol really nice guys. Really well executed. You've stopped the galleon in its tracks, and it is calmly anchored. Without shorjahls wind and Kellars line, it would have absolutely been dashed on the rocks.

Hope you don't see my call as unfair, about cleating the line of on the crows nest. In my estimation, that's the only way Osvald could have slid across into the galleon.

Anyhow, I rolled for the mast to hold with advantage, because of Kells heroic rolling / crafty idea, and it paid off.

Everybody was brilliant in this one. Dwan, loved the powder keg moment.

+300 each for defeating the encounter, +100 for Dwan's powder keg idea, +100 for custer and Artimus dressing him up weekend at Bernies style, +100 for Kellar and os working out the zip line, and +100 for shorjahls wind spell (which was brilliant, twice).

So, 700 xp each. Nice work guys.

Now, give me a loose idea of the plan. You can sail the galleon with 1 sail, though it'll go slow, and I need at least 3 of you to Crew the helm/sail.

Headed back to e-town?

Ao

[Artimus DeLonde]

The galleon crawled to a standstill, bobbing to and fro in the Little Finger's inlet. The river bloomed and bled with rich cinnabar, as it's clay floor was upturned by the Galleon's two anchors. The ships counter-weights dug two long even and increasingly deep gashes in the earthen riverbed. They were like a viper's fangs plunged into the arterial wall of unsuspecting prey.

Artimus was alone on the deck of the Esmelterian Galleon. Alone save for a dead helmsman, executed at a distance with lethal cunning. A blown apart mage and wreckage of  two of the ship's three masts. The hijackers that had fled abandoning their ill-gained ship now were bobbing downriver, fighting the current desperately. Hoping to make it to the river's bank. Those that tired would be swept into the undertow that lurked in deepest part of the river. The "Thalweg" and carried out to into the Bay of Lake Esmel.

Artimus hoped that the men found their purchase onto land. It was a dark thing to wish a man, even a foe to drown.It chills the soul, a man pulls with all he has to stay above unforgiving waters, only to surrender to it's tireless grip.

It was a fate that Artimus wish on no person. None, save one.  Verdi De Vicci.

The stench of the D'Vicci was on the wind. The movement of his vile will could be felt from Amn North to Luanar. From the South of Calimshan to Eastern rises of Thay. Verdi's control was not seen in the movement of an army , or decree or election. Rather in the subtle shifts in trading arrangements, the murder or kidnap of important figures. It was rumoured that Verdi Di Vicci smuggled plague rats into Calimport. Crippling the bustling trade hub in death and pustulance.

A maneuver that vastly increasing the profitability for his own trade network and earned him the title Merchant of Death.


It was enough to shift the trade balance in the region. Prominent figures that had survived the plague's wrath,one by one started disappearing each under a suspicious circumstance. A wharfmaster died in a supposed drunken drowning. A Councilman trampled by the run away carriage. The Chief Magistrate slit from naval to neck in an apparent botched robbery fifty feet from his opulent home. The positions of control were quickly filed with agents of Verdi, or the natural successors co-opted, co-erced or themselves disappeeared.  Verdi didn't wrestle for power, he infected it... so insidiously few even know it had happened.

Verdi was the man that had used Artimus as his instrument of death, with the promise of revenge for his Mother's murder and Command of  a Ship of the Line, Le Fin De Monde.

Artimus had suspected Verdi would never release him willingly. He had even anticipated it and the power of the Kraken's fist. When he held it in his hands deep in in the depth of the Halls of the Makers. He could feel it's radiant power, it's commanding and Eldritch reach.When the Mariner learned of the Fists true power  that terrible artifact, Artimus resolved to keep it from him... whatever the cost. If Verdi obtained it he could use it's influence to control the Seas and waterways. There would be no where he could sail to escape his grasp. Verdi's power went uncontested, until the day Artimus refused his willl.. [/b]


In Retribution Verdi used the Fist, calling forth the Wrath of the Kraken. Le Fin de Monde was Waylaid. His hard earned ship was sent to the bottom of the sea of stars with most of his crew. Artimus himself was broken, phsyically in the catacylsm that took his ship in way that would never heal.  The wound where the mast crushed his chest still seaped and scabbed. An affliction bound only survivable by arcane mystery and with the convent of Selune.

Artimus gripped the fractured half of the Kraken's fist that dangled from his neck, sustaining his life. He could feel it's gentle pulsation.

He would recover the other half and Verdi would give his last breath to the salty abyss.


Artimus Signaled over to the Trois Pistoles with a thumb extended skyward that all was well. He could see Lieutenant Savoy shaking his head with what seemed to be a mixture of disbelieve and displeasure at what had just happened. Artimus returned to Savoy a smug look of self satisfaction, like the cat who had just devoured the canary…., the dog and half a buffalo.  His wide smile, darkened slightly as his eyes darted to the blast marks in the hull of his ship and then over to Dawn.

He shifted his arms into a distinctly Wshape, the universal indication of "What in the nine hells!?"

He calmed quickly reasoning that the Trois Pistoles was still afloat and it was the scraggly Dwarf who was to be thanked for that.

Even if he did go about it like a madbomber.

How quickly they had overtaken the ship, sorted out its crew... Osvald, Custer, Kellar, and Dawn seemed to operate with an unexpected syncopathy. As if a tinker has thrown and heap of strangely sized gears and oddly colour sprockets into a bin, only to return to find they had coalesced into a well oiled machine. None of it should have worked and yet it did… and well. There was a lingering divinity to it...

For men that believe in such things.
Artimus bent down and examined the dismembered mage that had seen through his rouse looking for some hint at their larger aim.

As he sifted through the mangled mage, Osvald sailed in a tense zipline, clomping down onto the deck.

The Mariner spun round to meet the sound his hand shooting to his rapier. His surprise shifted to awe at the Ranger's impressive entrance.

Zhe zhip iz ourz Mon amie, and not a moment too zoon. I zhought I waz going to ride zhiz heap into zhe rockz. You're a devil wizh zhat bow mon foreztier.

I zhink I have you to zhank az well for zhe fact I’m not a gently burning Candelabra. Merci beaucoup.

I'll be zure to return zhe favour.

Maintenant,  I'm zhinking we clear zhe deckz of any ztowawayz and check zhe zhipz zeaworzhinezz. Bezt not to leave everyzhing up to luck, az I zhink we've puzhed ourz too far today.Non?I’d hate to pull zhe vezzel out to zea only to zee it zink into zhe depzhz, or find a dagger firmly planted between one of our zhoulderz in zhe handz of one of zheze zcoundrelz.

Artimus said picking the small bits of the Cloaked Shadow Thief-Mage from his clothing.

Perhapz next time we face an adverzary, I could walk away wizhout wearing piecez of zhem, non?

Artimus searches the ship for anyone left, and checks the ships integrity.

When finished Artimus returns to the deck and reports to the everyone his findings and consults with the group what’s next,  His thought is they limp the ship back to harbour.
=====================
Artimus Searches the Galleon and the mage.
1d20

Amazing round of posts guys,  I'm very much enjoying this story arc.

I'm want to tip my hat to shorjahl for the very creative spell casting, Kellar for most valuable team player and Dwan for Craziest Ivan. [/b][/font][/color][/size]

[DiceMaster]

The member 'Artimus DeLonde' has done the following action : Dice Roller

'D20' : 15

[Shorjahl]

Shorjahl's arms drop to his sides in utter exhaustion. He slowly sinks to his knees, and then thunks his forehead down onto the soggy, buckled deck of the Pistoles. Blood oozes from his eyes, ears, and nose, dripping down through his beard and rolling across his forehead onto the deck. He coughs and wheezes several times, urging himself to sit upright on his heels. The arcanist's hands are shaking, and as he looks down at them, he sees that his fingernails have split and bled once again, turning black from the internal bruise.

The mage takes a calming breath, blinking several times and letting a mixture of tears and blood roll away from his gray blue gaze. He speaks feebly, then coughs and clears his throat, spitting a lump of blood on the deck. "Is everyone alright?" He calls out, magically amplifying his voice to ripple across the water and the two ships. Once his comrades are all accounted for, he goes and sits on the nearest stable ledge, calming his breathing and doing his best to regain his composure.

After a time, he'll begin assisting with the preparations of the ships, and using his keen intellect to determine the most practical way to haul both ship's (and their cargo), despite their damaged sate, back to Esmelteran.

-----------------------------

If I can, I'd like to take a short rest, as I'm almost completely out of spells. If not, then ok.
Rolling Int for logic, efficiency, etc etc. I'll roll with Advantage assuming we're all kind of group brainstorming and I have some pretty capable seafarers with me.
If someone brings up the staff or demonstrates where it is located, he will investigate it, and say that nobody should touch it. At that (being trained as an Artificer) he would carefully wrap it in a cloak or something, and bring it into a more secure part of the TP until he can cast Identify on the thing.

21 Int.

[DiceMaster]

The member 'Shorjahl' has done the following action : Dice Roller

'D20' : 15, 16

[Kellar]

The two ships slowed to a halt and bobbed on the water. Kellar couldn't believe the luck the group had, in stopping both ships and preventing the total ruin of the Galleon.

"Is everyone alright?" he heard boom through the air. He looked in Shorjahl's direction and saw the wizard struggle to gain his footing to shambles toward a seat to rest.

I'm here, ears ringing a bit. Orbaugh is accounted for as well, he called out. Looks like Lord Hale made the gap no problem, he continued.

He looked up to the crow's nest and spoke, Little One, when you're done up there, if you don't mind undoing the chain and javelin I'd appreciate it.

Now for fish! Yay fish! Orbaugh replied. Kellar could feel the purr from the pseudodragon in his mind. Let's see here, he said as he approached the side of the Pistol near where the cask of powder went off, and looked over the edge.

Look Orbaugh, fish! An audible Eep! came from Orbaugh as he dove from Kellar's shoulder into the water below. He bit and chewed at a fish floating at the surface and then another. The pseudodragon bit one last fish and dragged it through the water back toward the ship.

Kellar took the reclaimed chain from the crow's nest and lowered down near Orbaugh so he could be pulled up. A moment passed and Orbaugh was back on deck with his catch, he skittered to the side and began eating again. Thank you, Master!

You're welcome!

Kellar looked around at the deck and asked, Now what do we do?

[Osvald Hale]

Osvald lands on the slick deck of the Galleon with a curtly whump and strides to where Artimus is kneeling over the mages dead body.

When the mariner whirls about hand on sword, Osvald raises an open palm in greeting and a familiar wry grin crawls across his face.

"Easy there, captain." he says, wiping sea-damp hair from his face and surveying the damage on board he ship. Up close, it was truly an impressive bit of destruction. Shorjahl seemed to be growing stronger by the day.

...

"First rounds' on you when we're back in Esmelteran, then De Londe... Tell me, can this heap still sail."

Osvald works around the ship with Artimus, letting the experienced sailor take the lead. When their assement is completed, Osvald will call back to the Trois Pistoles:

The ship is workable but we need another set of hands to get her underway! Any volunteers?" his voice echoes across the gulf between the two ships.

When preparations are finished, Osvald will help Artimus hoist anchor and sail back toward Esmelteran.

=====

Good stuff.

[Custer Thickett]

"Gots it!" Custer yells down to Kellar. He slings his father's crossbow across his back. Then, he unfastens the zip line, and hauls this end of it down to the deck. He looks for any surviving Shadows in the water. On the way down, "The deck of the Galleon looks clear of Shadows. Do ya see any in the water we can fish out? I't be like to ask em about all this, no?"

===========

OOC Sorry short one, busy day like Dwan.

[Ao]

A solemn silence settles over the perpendicular ships, as Shorjahls booming voice fades into the surf.

Several red-bellied carrion birds circle overhead, the bravest of them swooping down to rhythmically peck at the fresh remains of the Shadow Thieves.

[Shorjahl and Artimus INT results]

After composing himself, the Mage joins the rest of the crew, divvying up the fellowship into two groups to man both Trois Pistoles and the galleon. Artimus and Osvald survey the ship for damage, but despite the calamity and destruction of 3 sails, she is sailable.

Preparations take a half hour, but soon the great ship groans into motion under a single sail, fighting the current upstream towards the rivermouth and out into the bay...

[...]

On the horizon, you see a schooner sweeping swiftly across Lake Esmel. In short order, it alters course towards you.

Within minutes you can see captain Pelegar silhouetted against the sunset, a dozen militiamen levelling weapons at the galleon. They lower them as you pull close.

"Captain DeLonde! Custer Thickett! By the grace of Waukeen, how did you -"

He stares at the lot of you, and even from 100 feet away you can see the look of confusion on his face.

"No matter, heroes! Back to Esmeltaran!"

With that, the nimble schooner cuts back behind the Galleon and escorts you toward the port..

[...]

Esmeltaran port is as rough and unfortunate as when you left it - a sad reminder of the still fresh wound on the bleeding city.

Militiamen stand post around a wooden war wagon, though it seems that in the faint moonlight of this night, even they do not dare to stray too far from the comfort of their comrades.

The galleon drifts pitifully into its berth, another hour passing as the Trois Pistoles makes port, and assists the limping craft back into harbour.

[...]

As you descend the gangplank, captain Pelegar approaches you. His cadre of men follow, though they keep their eyes flitting about the shadowy docks, hands near the hilt of their swords.

Pelegar spits, and then locks hands with each of you.

"Gods be good, you're a special lot. Esmeltaran is frayed and burnt, but at the least her good people will survive after we get these supplies to the eastern quarter. Thanks to you."

The men behind him nod, appreciatively.

"Would that we could compensate you, but for now a heroes welcome, a warm meal and a room at the inn are all thy can be promised. This debt will go on the books though, you have my word."

He nods, and you can tell he is sincere.

===================

Lol cuss, didn't see your post til I had finished mine. Sadly, all the shadows have drowned

Ok guys, you're back in Esmeltaran. There's a wagon waiting to take you back eastern Esmeltaran and an inn to sleep in.

Take some liberties here guys, with where you're going. Describe whatever you like, and feel free to name the inn and give it some quirks if you like.

Now is the time to look at some of the threads. I'd start the dialogue asap - there's some decisionmaking on which way you'd like to proceed.

A refresher: current threads:

1) The forgery and robbing of the bank in Athkatla, which the harpers will pursue in Baldurs gate

2) the black book, which only shorjahls master barjerohn is familiar with the language of (shadowcant). And, barjerohn sent out a cryptic letter - an SOS from baldurs gate

3) the shadow thieves, who were rather organized and pillaging in the wake of the mysterious attackers. And are holed up in Fort Little Fingers

4) the mysterious attack, the blue dragon, and the ogre priest Sothis that rode it

Exp : +20 to those that posted

[Dwan Bolduum]

Is everyone alright?

Aye, I'm alright. An' you? Dwan looks over to see Shorjahl keeled over wiping blood from his face.  Dwan turns towards the nearest of Artimus's crew, Take the wheel for a bit, just get us back over to the captain.   Dwan rushes over towards the wizard and gives him a helping hand up and over to the ledge, scanning him quickly for any wounds that might be the source of this blood.  I had no idea the toll your magic takes on you, are you sure you're ok? After receiving a couple of curt nods and assurances Dwan makes his way back to the wheel and helps hold the ship steady as the Pistoles pulls up to the galleon.

-------------------------------

Losing the freedom of the sea and seeing the desolation of Esmeltaran, Dwan stays somber as he exits the ship and makes his way to the inn.

------------------------------

The silence of the town doesn't penetrate the Halfhand's Hideaway, a few men are congregated in front of a bard, joining along in a very off key rendition of "The Maid with the Coin Purse."  Dwan sees a tall man with several fingers missing from one of his hands wearing an apron. Hoping that this is the innkeeper, Dwan walks up and says A few ales for my friends and I. Dwan places the proper coinage on the bar. Dwan scans the bar and sees that most of the customers have probably had more than their fair share of ale, trying to keep their focus off of trying couple of days experienced.  A couple of children are playing a game of chase around a stuffed Owlbear in the corner.   As Dwan gets the drinks he hands them out to each of his comrades. Drink up! If I recall there are several rounds that we each owe each other tonight.

Dwan looks towards Shorjahl. Thank you, sir wizard, for lending us your power.  T'was you who saved the day today.   After taking a big swig in appreciation Dwan turns to the rest of the group.  Now that we have a moment, you'll have to bring me up to speed on what we're doing. You fellows are all respectable and would be welcome to my home any time you need, but from the destruction I assume that our worries are not just about getting provisions for those affected by the attack.  Do we know who did this? How can we get stop them from attacking Esmeltaran again, or any town for that matter?  

[Shorjahl]

Shorjahl is quiet, humbled, and reserved during the intervening hours of the day, and finally the night. He simply raises his flagon to those who praise him, but doesn't speak much, occasionally mumbling an apologetic thanks or diverting the attention to someone else. He seems drained, but happy. Stretched to a point far broader than the young arcanist would have ever thought possible - truly capable of creating great impacts upon his small corner of the world. It was daunting, and the whispers of the shadowy tome in his pack troubled him in the rare occasion he was able to notice it.

As was typical, he refrained from eating anything comprising of meat, and looked a bit green around the gills as some of the others ate beef stew and greasy chicken legs. He stuck to bread and vegetable stew, looking ever more thin and sinewy on his travels. He'd carefully transported the staff with him, and quickly stowed it in the room for the night, covering it with an unpleasant stench through liberal application of some arcane residue. He didn't want anyone to dig too far into the apparently soiled canvas wrapped around the item.

After some merriment had died down, and those around the inn had eaten and drunk their fill, Shorjahl broached the subject of their next move. "I say we head to Baldur's Gate. I think we know enough about this forgery - I think this coincidence between the Shadows, the forgery, and the attack is too great to ignore." He sips quietly on some tea. "Whoever is behind one is surely behind, or at least connected to, the others." For a moment, the mage's gray blue eyes take on an obsessive, haunted shine - the glint of terror and desperate need. It fades just as quickly as it came.

--------------------------------

Baldur's Gate. For quest and personal reasons.

[Custer Thickett]

Cuss spends the journey back to the city at the bow of Trois Pistoles, leaning forward on the railing of the gunwhale over the bowsprit.  He rest his head in an open palm, and ponders recent events through the rhythmic spray of Lake Esmel each time the shipt cut into her waves, and a mental fog of exhaustion.  He'd barley slept through the past few nights out on the road between Esmeltaran and Mountain's Root.  Rotating watches, the sounds of the wild night, the cold hard ground, and wicked dreams had kept him tossing and turning to catch a few hours here and there.  He had hoped arriving in the city would bring promise of a soft bed, maybe even his own bed, but that night was spent on the hard stone floor of a spider filled crypt below his house.  Below the bed he had thought of often since leaving the city behind in his quest for vengeance, one brought on by the death of his first love, Agata.

He wished to hear her voice in the brief moments of silent isolation he found alone at the front of the ship, but she was silent.  Mayhaps you're sleeping, He thought.  I should sleep.  Might be I can find a hammock down below.  Yet, Cuss didn't move.  His mind quickly wonders to other thoughts.  Thoughts of K'Tesh and Alfon, Just what did I catch you planning, K'Tesh?  Did you really forsake her for this laughing Halfling?  If that were true, then prehaps K'Tesh was actually acting on his own interest, and not on orders from below.  Or maybe, there was a split in the Underdark.  Who is this Cyric that found among his new followers powerful human sorcerers, Orc chieftains, and Drow royalty?  Then Cuss thought on his sister, Roslyn, and his father, Lincoln.  That human said he worked for you, dear old dad, but I didn't know him.  Was it a rouse, or are you mixed up in this?  No, no that can't be.  You left guards at the manor and your castle fell to rubble.  But, you did set sail rather quickly...  Too many questions.  That's all my life has been since you took her from me, father.  Questions...

...
The Docks

Pelegar, "This debt will go on the books though, you have my word."

Custer descends the gang plank and takes the Captain of the Guard's open hand.  "Nay, Pelegar.  I told ya before, it was my duty as a Citizen.  It would seem my family fared better than most in this, albeit the loss of the Royal Palace will be felt closer to our heart's than most.  I cannot abide you marking a debt to Thickett in the books.  Only write that we heeded the call of duty."

Custer steps aside as Artimus and the others demand on Pelegar's attention.  Only after it is settled that they were going to the Halfhand's Hideaway for the night, did Custer approach him again.  "Pelegar, excuse me, but I do have a favor to ask.  Two of the house guards fell while fighting to drop the portcullis.  I need help recovering them and seeing their remains to the crypt.  Can you lend me a man or two, and mayhaps a wagon for carrying them up the hill?  I'd rather not let their bodies rot in the streets a moment longer."

...
At the gate.

Erlen and Saavus did not lay where they had fallen.  Their bodies had been stripped, and thrown into a pile in the middle of the market square.  The scene was more grotesque than the battle that had caused it.  What was once a bustling hub of trade just inside the gate of his proud city, was now a blackened ruin of charred wood and rubble.  Not a single building stood intact within a quarter league of the tall flesh pyramid that now marked the center of the square.  Orcs, Humans, Halflings, and all other kind of foe, Militia, or fellow Citizen fallen in battle now the foundation of some makeshift monument, or so it seems.  

The guards had explained that there were too many dead to bury or separate for proper rights.  It would take a week to deal with the task of burning them in large piles as is, and no city can survive rotting death for long.  And so, it ends like this... Cuss thought as he sat in the back of the open militia wagon, staring at the faces in the pile.  The guards Pelegar were questioning him, asking what they should do, but Custer Thickett didn't hear them.  He only stared, wondering where Erlen and Saavus may be in the pile.  

When Cuss does gather his wondering thoughts back to some sanity, he says, "Take me up the hill to Thickett Manor."

Back at the house, Cuss leaves the guards behind outside the gate, and makes one more pass through his father's office, looking for any clues into his possible involvement in shadow conspiracies.  

[Rolling investigate]

He then uses the quill and ink on his father's desk to write a note to leave for his sister in her room.  It reads:

Roz,

Sorry I haven't been able to see you while in town.  Things have been crazy since I got back.  I'm ok.  I hope you are as well.  Your sketch is in the crypt.  Keep your head down, and I'll come to find you soon.

Cuss

Custer then locks up the house best he can, and heads to the Halfhand's Hideaway to join the others.  

...
Halfhand's Hideaway.

Cuss leans back in his seat, raising the ale Dwan handed him high in salute.  

After taking a long swig and wiping his mouth, he snorts a laugh in response to Dwan's comment that Shorjahl saved the day, "Ha!  Shorjy, I think ya have a new pet!"  Cuss stares at Dwan, "An what's this 'we' business, yeah?"  Cuss then looks around at the others, "I saw his fancy tricks on the boat as clear as any, but are we just gona to let this dog nose his way into a cut?  Where are those Har... uh, Where are Geld and Andrianna?"

Custer snorts another laugh in response to Kellar wanting to hunt the Dragon.  "You're the only person I've ever met that wants to chase something like that.  I agree, though.  We need to know what else Kesian is planning and stop him, and his Dragon riding Ogre friend.  Before we go hunting Cyricist, though.  I'd like to know that me sister's safe."

==============

Trying to investigate more at Thickett Manor.  Wants to know his sister is safe before leaving.  Getting a little drunk, a full belly, a bath, and some sleep in a bed.

[Kellar]

Kellar and the group finally arrived as Esmeltaran. He sees the wagon ready and waiting to take him and the heroes to the Inn for some rest, food and drink.

I need more than what I have right now, something with range, collapsible. He spots Captain Pelegar and asks, Captain, are there any armaments left that I could browse perhaps? He gave a slight nod to Kellar and replied, What are you looking for exactly? It occurred to me after the blue dragon came through here, and while I was working with the others to save the ships, that the current ranged weapons I have aren't sufficient, he said. My aim is true enough, but I feel that I need something extra that can be launched and slung on my back while riding, he continued.

Hmm, y'know those thieves that we caught while you were away had some weapons that you can rummage through, he said. Kellar turned to the group and said, Go on ahead, Orbaugh and I will catch up. What Inn will they be staying at Captain? Pelegar thought for a moment and said, The Halfhand's Hideaway. It's not very far away by any means, it'll be the only building brightly lit. >ahem< You two, Pelagar pointed at two guards, Escort our blue friend here to browse the collected weapons. Yes, sir! With that Kellar left the group to depart on the wagon and he headed for left over weapons...

...

Here they are sir, the guard said to Kellar, while looking at him a bit too long. Something the matter, Kellar questioned. Well no sir, it's just that, he trailed off. It's just that you're different than most humans we've seen, are you cursed? The only curse I have is that people around me die terrible deaths, he said with a smirk as the nervous guard adjusted his helmet. Forgive me, I meant no offense, please, I don't want trouble, please look at the wares, he pleaded. Very well, Kellar replied.

Kellar looked at the bent bows, cracked swords, all variety of daggers and contraptions that hid blades, cracked shields and piles of leather armor. He moved the shields and shuffled some of the equipment around and commented, No thought to organizing this stuff, yeah? He didn't wait for a reply and kept moving things around until he saw the end of a somewhat large weapon. Kellar pushed aside the weapons and shields that covered it, and he discovered a somewhat battered, but largely intact military grade crossbow. It clearly wasn't used by just any thief or marauder, this weapon was most likely stolen and summarily dropped. He checked the wood along the spine of the crossbow, it was intact, no cracks, but the inlays were gone, it used to be an ornate weapon. The wood underneath where the inlays used to be were smooth and unaffected by the elements. Ah, they took the metal from it only... Kellar thought.

Kellar took the weapon by the top handle and walked toward the guards and said, We need to find Ansley and Cousin Avey. One guard looked upward in thought and rubbed his chin, Ansley... YES! Ansley, that dwarf woman! Her shop still stands. I'm afraid that Cousin Avey no longer has a shop, being it was sacked and all his materials taken. The two guards took Kellar to Ansley's shop where he was met with, I don't believe it, you're still alive after all this? I didn't think you'd be back after I made your equipment for you! Kellar extended a hand to Ansley which was slapped away and she pulled him in for a hug. She looked up at him and said, By the gods we were meant to do business! I'm the premier shop now because of your exploits! Well that, and the other smithies are out of business on account of having no shop standing, she chuckled.

Ansley noticed the weapon in Kellar's possession and looked at him. You need more range don't you, she surmised. Yes, and this was found in the weapon stock that was collected by the city guard, he replied. I recognize this weapon, this is an old weapon Kellar, and it's missing the ratchet and stirrup, she said. Yes I know it's in pretty rough shape, but is there anything you can do to make it workable while out in the field, he questioned. C'mon, you know I do better than serviceable work, she said. Ansley looked over it again and started making markings with a grease pen and started pulling ingots from her storage bin and laid them out.

Alright, here's what I can do. I'll fabricate a new stirrup for the front end here, she said as she pointed at the front of the weapon. Then I will make a new ratchet to draw the cable back, she continued. This here, the butt of the crossbow will have a hollowed out section to accommodate a new anchor point for your caribiner system. That way you can link it onto your should while riding or whatever so you can have your hands free, she said. I'll talk to Cousin Avey when he gets back to find a way to make the limbs collapsible as well, keep that profile nice and tight while you're in transit, she continued. I also have several bodkin blanks in a bin, they're a bit older, but they'll do the job for bolts, she concluded.

I'll be back in the morning to collect it, let me know how much I owe you for the work. If Avey wants to add some flair to the crossbow with new inlays I would be fine with that, he said.

Kellar left and headed toward the Halfhand's Hideaway with the two guards in tow. He arrived just as Dwan was handing out drinks to his comrades. Drink up! And so Kellar raised his ale in salute to his comrades. As the drinks went down, Dwan asked, How can we get stop them from attacking Esmeltaran again, or any town for that matter? Kellar thought for a moment and responded, If we're to stop any attacks from happening again, we need to kill the Orc and that blue dragon. Esmeltaran will not be the only city that is attacked if they continue to exist, he said. I'm open to suggestions, is there another course of action we should take? My vote in this mess is to kill the dragon and it's rider, that's the immediate threat, Kellar concluded, and he listened to the others while he drank a bit more.

Orbaugh, there's some mutton here, it looks delicious. Sheep! Yummy!

[Ao]

The soft hearth of Halfhand’s Hideaway casts a dim glow about the common area, where men sit and drink the troubles of their aching city away. The smell of roast mutton has come and gone, as the fires died down and the kitchen closed away. Now, only the faint tincture of fat and grease leaves a savoury film in your noses.

Aside you, a table of labourers bemoan their lot.

“…leavin’ for Purskul tomorrow. Heard a wagon o’ merchants rolled into town this mornin, hirin’ with work out that way. They ain’t paying next to nothin, but its better than livin’ in a ghost town with no work to speak of…”

Another slams a flagon down on the table.

“..yep, headed back to my family farm. Won’t be much smithwork to be had. Militia can barely clothe themselves, nevermind afford arms.”

And indeed, in different shades the denizens of this modest inn speak of the failure and downfall of Esmeltaran. Her walls may still stand, but her spirit is broken.

[…]

The night dwindles on, a candle burning down to the bottom wax. The cold wind has stopped blowing in through the doorway as the ebb and flow of patrons dies down to a trickle, and only those that drank too fast and furious to yet stand still make berth in their wide wooden chairs.

Pipesmoke drifts over from the bard in the corner, who stopped playing early, after his lute case remained allergic of coin for a dozen or more tunes.

================

Ok guys, just a tiny post today. I see Shorjahl has mentioned he wants you guys to head to Baldurs gate. Im going to give another cycle of conversation for you guys to decide where you’re going in the morning, and to formulate a plan.

The Harpers, by the way, are not staying in this Inn. Should you decide to link up with them, they would be over at Waukeen’s Reliquary, as they are assisting with the wounded.

Let’s try and drive to a definite path tomorrow - or, if you guys have questions to ask of others in town, for sure thats available also.

EXP: +20 to posters.

[Osvald Hale]

The galleon trundles into harbour like a fat drunk, her masts abolished and hull stained black with soot from the reckless explosion, dragging some bits of flotsam tangled in the drifting rigging behind her.

Looking ahead as Artimus calls out instructions to put in into port, Osvald sees that Esmelteran doesn't look much better.

Most of the fires are out, but the once sprawling trade hub is a desiccated shell of her former self.

Osvald sighs wearily. They'd done so much... but, was it enough? He hums a quiet prayer to the old gods for the lives lost and his heart begins to sink again.

A distant whooping call snaps his attention back to the dock--Ara is there, running wilding, whooping and calling out to them. Osvald lashes down the line he was working and strides to the bow, raising a hand to the elated boy, who does the same back briefly before jumping again in excitement.

His self-doubt quelled, Osvald throws his head back and laughs.

...

The Galleon has been safely docked but a moment before City guard and some remaining dock workers scurry up and begin unloading the supplies. In the chaos, Osvald scoops up a keen looking short bow from the ships deck, abandoned by one of the thieves when they jumped overboard.

Boots firmly back on dry land, he sees a familiar scrawny face worm his way through the crowd. Ara's returned, cloak and bag in tow.

"I knew ye'd come back! I knew it!"

Osvald laughs again, "Well I'm glad one of us was so sure about it."

The boy is so excited he's stammering; "Didja have a sea battle! It looks like you right trounced em! Didja kill lots?! Five? Ten!? Twenty!?"

Osvald takes a knee and grins wryly at Ara, "Oh, more than that. I see you've completed your quest as well." He says as he takes back his gear. "Here, a reward for services rendered nobly in the face of adversity." The ranger remarks with great pomp as he presents Ara with the short bow.

As the boys face lights up, Osvald stands and spies his friends docking the Trois Pistoles. With the sun setting, The ranger says; "Come on, I've had enough of the sailors life for once day."

...

The smoky din in the halfhands hideout stands in stark contrast to the quiet city beyond. Osvald can easy see that the jubilant conversation  dosent extend beyond the table he shares with his companions however. Faces are dour, and the citizens of the city look wrung out and defeated. As the group discusses plans for their next move, Osvald walks to the bard and drops 10 gold pieces into his case, each landing with a ringing chime upon each other.

"These people have been to hell and back, sing us some songs to make the devils' jealous, yeah?"

The tune starts off slow but quickly picks up, and soon familiar chords echo through the hall. As spirits begin to lift, Osvald returns to his seat at the long bench to imbibe some spirits of his own.

Cuss returns from an errand elsewhere in the city and Osvald shares a drink with him. "To marksmanship, eh Cuss? ...You'll have to show me a thing or two about those crossbows--never had much luck with 'em myself. I'd only ever handled them big army ones like Kellars' gotten 'imself--I could never give up my longbow, too many years in the mountains with 'em--but those little numbers you've been slinging about sure do look slick."

Dwan rises and toasts to Shorjahl, Osvald raises his cup merrily. When Shorjahl abashedly raises his own for only a moment before loosing himself in thought again, Osvald waves it off;

"Bah, wizards. Always worriedly watching the big terrible picture, never able to enjoy the fleeting moment. You done more than well by all of us Shorjahl, and gods know, no way we could've done it without you. All of you. All of us. No way we could've done it otherwise. From saving a horse at Goalers Bend to saving a City. No small task for a tiny band of intrepid Adventurers." He laughs, draining his cup.

'...Is that how you see yourself now, Osvald? Adventurer?' He stared into the fire. Was it fate? A calling that brought him back to the south? He couldn't be sure. He'd only left his quiet life in the northern wilderness after a drunken brawl maimed a city guard. Fled to escape a year in the stockade. That was no noble act. He couldn't fathom the drunken rage of loathsome woodsman to be divinely inspired, that some greater power had ushered him south.

...And yet, When he looked around the table, when he thought back on the deeds they'd accomplished together, the grizzled ranger couldn't help but it was destiny that had brought them together.

Nor could he shake the ineffable feeling that there was much, much work yet to be done.

...

Unsure how long he was lost in thought, Osvald snaps back into the conversation. The others cast their votes on where to head next. Osvald thinks on each point quietly as they speak.

"Perhaps we should consult with Geld and Andrianna in the morning--But I doubt they're withholding anything more from us. I don't think we've the strength to assault the Shadow Thieves in their fort, nor can we feasibly expect to track down that dragon by rumour alone. The time we spend cracking orc skulls for information on the Cryricists may well be wasted if we can't find them in time--and if we do stumble upon the dragons lair, or it's plans, without recruiting a few dozen more men I'd expect our guts to look like the city palace in short order." He takes a sip of mead.
"All we have are rumours and hints. More than a few lead to Baulders Gate, and we just happen to have a ship that is sailing that way. I'm sick of chasing ghosts and playing catch-up with evil schemes as the rest of you are, but I think our best chance lies north. Besides, we know a few things even Geld and Andrianna don't."
He takes another sip.
"So, I suppose... I vote we sail to Baulders Gate as well."

...

Later, and quite drunk, Osvald returns from a piss in the outbuilding. Teetering as he walks, he sits not with his friends but pulls up a stool beside the pipe smoking bard and takes up a lyre. He plays along, sloppily but soulfully until only a few patrons remain and the candles have all but guttered out.

Dropping another 10 gold into the bards case, he claps the man on the shoulder without a word and retires to his sleeping quarters.

Asleep before his scars hit the pillow, Osvald dreams of Selai, singing the old song about Ausen.

But now, at the end, she sings another verse--A new verse about him.

[Custer Thickett]

[Roll I didn't get in before Ao yesterday, Investigate Back at the house, Cuss leaves the guards behind outside the gate, and makes one more pass through his father's office, looking for any clues into his possible involvement in shadow conspiracies. ]

14

[For my post I edited the conversation thus far into a narrative format.  I started it just to make it easier for me to read and build on today, and thought, what the hell...]

Osvald shares a drink with Custer. "To marksmanship, eh Cuss?"  Cuss taps Osvald's tankard with his own, "To marksmanship, yeah!"  

Osvald continues, "You'll have to show me a thing or two about those crossbows--never had much luck with 'em myself. I'd only ever handled them big army ones like Kellars' gotten 'imself--I could never give up my longbow, too many years in the mountains with 'em--but those little numbers you've been slinging about sure do look slick."  

Cuss smiles and pulls his left hip bow free of it's holster, laying it on the table, "Aye, grew up watching a many using one of these.  Great thing to have in a city like this.  Me father carried the bigger two hander that I have upstairs.  Claimed he was the best shot around the Lake.  I started playing with a little one like this when I was ten and one.  Lost it in a river on my third job outside the city, though.  Damn shame. Truth be told, though. As good as I am with them, I've never touched one of those biguns like yall talking about."

As Dwan gets more drinks he hands them out to each of his comrades. "Drink up! If I recall there are several rounds that we each owe each other tonight."  Kellar raised his ale in salute to his comrades.  Cuss leans back in his seat while raising the ale as well.

Dwan looks towards Shorjahl. "Thank you, sir wizard, for lending us your power.  T'was you who saved the day today."

Those that hold ale take long pulls from their tankards, and a couple quietly compete to make sure they are the last to stop chugging or the first to set down an empty tankard.  Cuss was neither.  He wipes his mouth and snorts a laugh in response to Dwan's comment, "Ha!  Shorjy, I think ya have a new pet!"

When Shorjahl abashedly raises his own for only a moment before loosing himself in thought again, Osvald waves it off;

"Bah, wizards. Always worriedly watching the big terrible picture, never able to enjoy the fleeting moment. You done more than well by all of us Shorjahl, and gods know, no way we could've done it without you. All of you. All of us. No way we could've done it otherwise. From saving a horse at Goalers Bend to saving a City. No small task for a tiny band of intrepid Adventurers." He laughs, draining his cup.

Cuss stares into the bottom of his cup, thinking on the mistakes.  Could have saved the whole city.  Barely saved half.

After Dwan finishes his ale and lowers his tankard, he turns to the rest of the group.  "Now that we have a moment, you'll have to bring me up to speed on what we're doing. You fellows are all respectable and would be welcome to my home any time you need, but from the destruction I assume that our worries are not just about getting provisions for those affected by the attack.  Do we know who did this? How can we get stop them from attacking Esmeltaran again, or any town for that matter?"

Cuss stares at Dwan, "An what's this 'we' business, yeah?"  Cuss then looks around at the others, "I saw his fancy tricks on the boat as clear as any, but are we just gona to let this dog nose his way into a cut?  Where are those Har... uh, Where are Geld and Andrianna?"

Someone explains that the Harpers are not staying in the Inn.  They are over at Waukeen’s Reliquary assisting with the wounded.

Kellar thinks for a moment and responds to Dwan, "If we're to stop any attacks from happening again, we need to kill the Orc and that blue dragon. Esmeltaran will not be the only city that is attacked if they continue to exist, he said. I'm open to suggestions, is there another course of action we should take? My vote in this mess is to kill the dragon and it's rider, that's the immediate threat," Kellar concluded, and he listened to the others while he drank a bit more.

Custer snorts a laugh in response.  "Ya the only person I've ever met that wants to chase something like that.  I agree, though.  We need to know what else Kesian is planning and stop him, and his Dragon riding Ogre friend, yeah?"  Cuss shifts his weight in his seat,  "Before we go hunting Cyricist, though.  I'd like to know that me sister's safe."

The night dwindles on, a candle burning down to the bottom wax. The cold wind has stopped blowing in through the doorway as the ebb and flow of patrons dies down to a trickle, and only those that drank too fast and furious to yet stand still make berth in their wide wooden chairs.

Pipesmoke drifts over from the bard in the corner, who stopped playing early, after his lute case remained allergic of coin for a dozen or more tunes.

Only after the merriment has died down does Shorjahl broach the subject. "I say we head to Baldur's Gate. I think we know enough about this forgery - I think this coincidence between the Shadows, the forgery, and the attack is too great to ignore." He sips quietly on some tea. "Whoever is behind one is surely behind, or at least connected to, the others." For a moment, the mage's gray blue eyes take on an obsessive, haunted shine - the glint of terror and desperate need. It fades just as quickly as it came.

Unsure how long he was lost in his own thoughts, Osvald snaps back into the conversation.

"Perhaps we should consult with Geld and Andrianna in the morning--But I doubt they're withholding anything more from us. I don't think we've the strength to assault the Shadow Thieves in their fort, nor can we feasibly expect to track down that dragon by rumour alone. The time we spend cracking orc skulls for information on the Cryricists may well be wasted if we can't find them in time--and if we do stumble upon the dragons lair, or it's plans, without recruiting a few dozen more men I'd expect our guts to look like the city palace in short order." He takes a sip of mead.

"All we have are rumours and hints. More than a few lead to Baulders Gate, and we just happen to have a ship that is sailing that way. I'm sick of chasing ghosts and playing catch-up with evil schemes as the rest of you are, but I think our best chance lies north. Besides, we know a few things even Geld and Andrianna don't."
He takes another sip.
"So, I suppose... I vote we sail to Baulders Gate as well."

Cuss slings one of his legs across the arm of the chair he is lounging in.  He rolls his sagging head to look at Lord Hale through one eye, and mumbles an exhausted slur, "Gotta go there ta get paid, yeah?  Gotta fine ta Urn o' ta Flamelord.  Gotta fine me sister, yeah?"

[DiceMaster]

The member 'Custer Thickett' has done the following action : Dice Roller

'D20' : 14

[Dwan Bolduum]

"An what's this 'we' business, yeah?" "I saw his fancy tricks on the boat as clear as any, but are we just gona to let this dog nose his way into a cut?

I think I proved myself more than capable of fancy tricks. Cut? I'm not in this for any cut. I didn't jump to Ara's aid because I was low on cash, I didn't help take Artimus's ship back because I wanted a cut of his wares. I went after the galleon because it had supplies for this city, not for some need for revenge or reward.

Dwan sits back as he realizes that his raised voice was making a scene. He closes his eyes, takes a deep breath, and exhales. We are not all motivated by such petty things as greed and bloodshed. I am here because I need to be. I was guided here because I was meant to help you all tackle whatever force is working against you. Like it or not, master halfling, I am not going anywhere. Dwan sits back and listens as the others resume talk about how the group shall proceed.

"So, I suppose... I vote we sail to Baulders Gate as well."

I know it don't count for much, but I would have us go after this dragon. That being said it looks as if we've all but decided that Baldurs Gate is where we are going. I'm on board.

Dwan grabs his mug, and walks over to the stuffed Owlbear. He is lost in his own thoughts for quite some time and if no one approaches him or nothing of interest happens in the inn, he will finish his ale and exit the inn to turn into wolf form and roam the outskirts of town for a few hours and return to the Hideaway for some rest..

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