Re: Chapter Four

[DiceMaster]

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

#1 'D20' : 18

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

#2 'D20' : 15

[Ao]

The sound of steel upon steel, and the last breaths of dying orcs, fill the brass chamber. The heat has intensified, as the hot exhalations and perspirations of warriors cast the stink of battle into your nostrils.

Kellar’s axe slumps to his side, as the split corpse of Nerguhll the Poisoner lands with a wet thud upon the ground.

Bloodgut stumbles, slack-jawed, as blood spills from the arcane gashes across his body. He draws his axe up, ready to strike, but his footwork falters.

Emelious sees an opening. The sickening sound of disembowelment fills your ears, as the orc’s innards decorate the stone floor…

[…]

With one swift move, the mariner sets down the orc that lays cradled, lifeless, in his arms. The brute’s neck is inclined at an impossible angle, his connection to the arcane severed with the deadly twisting of his vertebrae.

Similarly, his fellow acolytes lay charring and sprawled beneath the form of the enormous bear, fire blistering their corpses as the druid brings his spell to a close.

On the other end of the chamber, the last acolytes fall to the combined firepower of Osvald and Custer, arrow shafts jutting from vital appendages like saplings from an old tree. Blood weeps from those wounds, painting the floor in a lake-like serenity.

The jailers are the only orcs that remain standing, and they have dropped their weapons, and retreated into a cage.

[…]

It takes a moment, for the adrenaline from the combat to subside. The sounds of battle seem to linger in the air for too long, as you gradually come to your senses. And then, it becomes confronting -

There are others in this room, other than yourselves, that you did not know ten minutes ago. And now, you share a history.

The tall ranger, his hair drawn back into a greasy ponytail, revealing the shaved sides of his head, strides towards the center of the room. He looks to Pimli and Emelious, his hands still firmly attached to his bow. The man is large in stature, but he steps with the gait of a halfling - swiftly, quietly.

There is a moment of tension, now, amidst the corpses of so many orcs. The Poisoner looks up at the ranger with a frozen face, eyes receding into the back of his disgusting head. The man pays him a moment of attention, and then shouts clearly to the recently jailbroken prisoners.

“Well fought friends. I hope you won’t be continuing your assault in our direction?”

The fellowship is silhouetted behind him - imposing Kellar, and a somber Artimus. Osvald, staggering towards them under the weight of his injuries, and Custer slipping quietly through the shadows.

A bear roars, turning back into the stalwart, mussy dwarven form of Dwan.

“I am Olufsen, friends. Pray that we find common ground. We might yet live long enough to escape this hell.” he shouts to Pimli and Emelious, lowering his weapon.

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

Ok guys -

I wrapped that up rather quickly. But it was clear that you had won, and I view this weekend as a wonderful opportunity for us to be slightly more active posting, to get the roleplaying moving and to indoctrinate the new members of our party.

Olufsen will tie up any questions you guys have at the end of the weekend, but I encourage the fellowship to role-play a bit, and tell the newcomers about what your mission is here. (Pursuing Keisan, and the compass they exhumed, which you believe will lead you to the rod, etc.)

Also, there are the two jailers who have surrendered. So you’ll need to decide what you’re going to do with them. These are prisoners guys, so unless you can give me a really compelling reason why it would be ok to assassinate them, Im going to say that putting them to the sword will likely be a dishonourable, exp-penalizing act. Neither of them are armed.

Hope you’re all cool with the combat wrap-up. Really, really great writing guys. This group is going to kick ass.

Ao

EXP: +25 for posting, +550 each for the combat, +200 each for amazing roleplaying and descriptive writing.

Spoils are up from the combat, too!

[Emelious Storm]

The guard, desperate and on its last legs, charges forward, his axe aloft. He was going to split Emelious in two. The rage on his face was like nothing Emelious had seen before. A tusky mouth enveloped in a contorted sneer, the eyes burning like fire under a furrowed brow. The orc let out a furious battle cry.

RAAGGHHHH!

Emelious breathed deep, his heart pumping like the crashing of waves on the shore. This was it. One of these men would die this day. And in that split second Emelious said a silent prayer to Valkur.

Not today.

The orc reached his prey.  His axe, already glistening with Half-Elf blood, swung downward with a grim promise of death. While, Emelious, guided by instinct or perhaps something more, dove forward into a desperate tumble.

----

CRACK.

The sound of an axe breaking bone.

The orc looked down to see the smashed remains of a rotting rib-cage. Confused, he slowly turned to find the Half-Elf a ways behind him. A sickening feeling of dread washed over the orc, turning his blood cold. Something wasn’t right. And then with slow horrifying comprehension, the Orc’s visage or rage melted into one of weakness and fear. Of frailty. The orc had realized what was wrong.

The Half-Elf was holding its rapier... and it was drenched in the dark hue of orc blood.

Bloodgut apprehensively looked down at his abdomen to what he already knew was there. A long slash the length of his belly. It had carved into him just under his armor. Bloodgut realized that he wasn’t cold from dread, he was cold because of this terrible wound, and the blood pouring from it.

Bloodgut collapsed to his knees, looking up at his battered opponent.

I wasn’t fast enough. I wasn’t strong enough.

Bloodgut’s axe clattered to the ground.

Well fought, my opponent.

Bloodgut collapsed to the cold stone floor, the sounds of battle around him slowing to a calm.

And as he lay there, drifting towards oblivion, an unexpected final thought drifted into his mind, and his mouth resultantly curled into a smile…

My parents chose my name well.

----

Emelious looked on as the remaining orcs fell; taken down by arrows, bolts, and swirling swords. The Axe-Maniac, ever committed to earning his name, was slamming his axe into the fallen Nerguhll. Emelious was reminded of a lumberjack chopping firewood.

“Morgla’s going to be pissed…”

Emelious looked around for Pimli, and quickly found him among the cages, he was okay. In fact the tricky gnome didn’t seem to have a scratch on him. Emelious gave a pained smile and appreciative nod to the wizard.

“Well fought friends. I hope you won’t be continuing your assault in our direction?”

Emelious turned, his opportune allies, bedraggled from the battle, approached.

“I am Olufsen, friends. Pray that we find common ground. We might yet live long enough to escape this hell.”

And that’s when Emelious saw it. Saw them. Familiar pendants around their necks. And all tension melted from his body.

“Well, met Olufsen, and may I say, a profound way to introduce one’s self. Then again, I would expect no less from a fellow member. Allow me to introduce myself. My name is Emelious Storm. Cleric of Valkur. Agent of the Kraken’s Fist.”

[Pimli Prixus]

With the battle complete, exhaustion begins to set in, seeping into Pimlis bones. Pffffewwww that was harder then it appeared, I'll have to remember that. He begins surveying the area, looking for the armored man with the axe, that streak of light that assisted with his and Emelious' escape. His eyes land on the sweaty Rangers, bow clinched in his fist, and he see the man with the axe there, as well as several others. Where did they come from? Did they help too?

“Well fought friends. I hope you won’t be continuing your assault in our direction? I am Olufsen, friends. Pray that we find common ground. We might yet live long enough to escape this hell." Lowering his bow as he finishes his speech.

Pimli looks around again, for the first time noticing the corpses pin cushoned with arrows, and querrels, burned flesh with singed clothing. I guess they did help as well.

Pimli takes a step towards the group, and stops midstep. An all to familiar tingle scratching the back of his mind, "Skurr?" he whispers, head cocked with smile stretching across his child like face. The frantic beat of wings flapping echo within the chamber, Come rest Skurr, I've missed you my friend.

Master I come the thought blooms in the back of his mind. The Raven flies into the chamber and lands deftly upon Pimli's shoulder.

CAW!

"Well, met Olufsen, and may I say, a profound way to introduce one’s self. Then again, I would expect no less from a fellow member. Allow me to introduce myself. My name is Emelious Storm. Agent of the Kraken’s Fist."

Emelious seems to know them, so they must be safe if they're friends

Feeling whole again with the return of his familiar, that spirit of the Fey disguised as a raven, he continues his walk towards the Ranger, leaning against his staff as he walks.

"Olufsen? If you're companions of the Warrior of the Light over there", pointing towards the armored man who killed Nerguhll, "And my friend Emelious here seems to know you", pointing towards the cleric, "Then I shall consider you all friends of mine, I am Pimli Prixus, and Warrior I am in your debt." making an awkward bow that could only be considered regal by Gnomish standards.

"Ummm what's the Kraken’s Fist?"

[Custer Thickett]

The Orc Acolyte snarled as it pulled out one of Cuss's quarrels.  It's eyes immediately showed pain, and blood spewed from the wound in an instant.  

Me thinks that was a mistake, yeah?

The Orc dropped the quarrel and stared down at the wound.  It covered it with a hand, trying to stem the flow, but blood burst forth between the beasts fingers.  In that last moment, it looked up at Cuss and stretched an arm forward. The fingers tried to draw the arcane forth, but the light flickered dark in its eyes.  The words of the spell lost in it's last breath of life as it collapsed forward on the stone.

Cuss laughed at the sight, and with an elated spirit thought, Thank ya, me Golden Lady of Luck.  Thank ya.  

Then he turned to the room and the others in it.  It was a mess, which was a shame.  When he had seen the temple from the ledge in the cavern outside, he thought it beautiful.  Inside it was anything but.

Defiled.

Cuss eyed the Orcs cowering in a cage.  Considering how hard the others fought, this display was an odd contrast.  

Olfusen's voice turned his attention to the injured half-elf and gnome.  At first he opted to start checking the Acolytes for clues or valuables while his friends handled the others, but when he heard 'My name is Emelious Storm. Cleric of Valkur. Agent of the Kraken’s Fist,' his head snapped up to look.

[Rolling insight +1.  10+ Cuss believes Storm, 9- he doesn't]

Continued...

[DiceMaster]

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

'D20' : 6

[Custer Thickett]

Cuss spit on the Acolyte's body, though he was not aiming for it as much as it were unfortunate that it happened to be under his chin when he heard the words.  He had a lot of respect for Osvald Hale.  In truth, some might call it love lacking affection, but he'd never admit such a thing.

His uncle, however, rubbed the hin the wrong way.  Since they had become acquainted, the old man seemed to find his comfort in giving orders and taking the lead among the fellows.  Perhaps it was the man's drive to show leadership to his nephew, but Cuss didn't see it that way.

Now the fool seemed it fit to invite Cyric's latest tricks into their company.  Cuss wouldn't have it.

He marched pass his friends, loading K'Tesh's black crossbow, Olc, as he approached the 'Cleric of Valkur' and his gnomish servant.  

He cast a sideways glance at the Raven before he spoke.  Probably one of the mad god's minions, yeah?

As he lay a bolt in the flight groove, Cuss spoke, "Might be ya a friend, more like ya one of the Mask's little tricks, no?  Tell me, half-human, what do ya know about the Fist, and where'd ya learn Dwarf magic?"

Cuss bounced the crossbow across an open palm as he waited for an answer.

[Emelious Storm]

"Might be ya a friend, more like ya one of the Mask's little tricks, no?”

Said a Halfling as he loaded a sinister black crossbow, his tone calm and even. This man didn’t need to raise his voice or snarl to sound intimidating. They way he carried himself told you everything you needed to know.

“Tell me, half-human, what do ya know about the Fist, and where'd ya learn Dwarf magic?" The crossbow bounced lightly in the Halfling’s palm

Better choose my words wisely.

“Easy, friend. My magic is granted to me from Valkur. Some of you may recognize his emblem upon my shield. If you may recall two ships under the command of my church recently joined the Fist, and additional clerics were offered to be stationed on the other ships in the fleet. I was traveling south to the coast of Tethyr, to see if I might recruit more of Valkur’s followers to the cause. The fact that I recognize your pendants for what they are should offer some semblance of good faith, but if you still don’t believe me, check that pack over there next to the leather armor; they stuffed my pendant in one of the side pouches when they stripped me of my possessions.”

[Persuasion: 19 + 6 = 25]

[DiceMaster]

The member 'Emelious Storm' has done the following action : Dice Roller

'D20' : 19

[Custer Thickett]

[Will save verse persuasion +1, seems appropriate.]

The man's words were lost on him, being that Artimus kept details about the Fist close to heart and was not eager to share details about the group or its operations with the fellows unless those details were essential to their task at hand.  

It was often frustrating being a member of something he knew so little about, but the ability to communicate with Pelegar back in Esmeltaran kept his frustrations at bay.  With his time dedicated to the quest of saving Toril from Cyric, the Fist was Custer's only way to find his sister.  He'd never be able forgive himself for leaving her to whatever fate Trader's Glory sailed into until he found out what that fate was.  

Cuss smiled, feigning familiarity with a nod, and then took the bolt out of the crossbows groove.  He stuck it to a clip on his black leather bracer, then carefully released the string on the hand crossbow.  The silver runes set into the black wood seemed to faintly dull in their glow as he did so.

He turned away from the man and gnome, winked at Artimus, and then glared up at Olfusen as he walked past him in the direction of the Orcs in the cage...

[DiceMaster]

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

'D20' : 3

[Kellar]

Kellar watched the rest of the battle unfold before him. In quick retaliation, his companions dispatched the other orcs and the two guards move to the cage and locked themselves in. Smart move, orcs. He saw two new people that were not with them before. A gnome and the half-elf who made all that noise. Kellar looked to his companions. "Are you all okay?" He waited for their responses before turning his attention to the gnome and half-elf.

.......

...and may I say, a profound way to introduce one’s self. Then again, I would expect no less from a fellow member. Allow me to introduce myself. My name is Emelious Storm. Cleric of Valkur. Agent of the Kraken’s Fist.”

Kellar looked to his Greataxe and began to freeze it with his hands. "Emelious. You handled yourself well, all things considered. We could use another cleric, we lost our other cleric a while back." Kellar tapped the Greataxe on the floor with a T-CHANK! and the viscera from Nerghull and his Scorpion fell to the floor.

Kraken's Fist?

Kellar reflected on the battle and asked, "Was it your intent to scare the orcs with thunder?"

........

"Then I shall consider you all friends of mine, I am Pimli Prixus, and Warrior I am in your debt." making an awkward bow that could only be considered regal by Gnomish standards.

Kellar turned to Pimli after Emelious explained the thunder. "Master Gnome, there is no debt to be paid." He stowed the Greataxe and checked his armor and gear. Orbaugh popped out from under Kellar's shield and saw the bird. Master! Bird! I eat? Kellar chuckled and said, "No, you can't eat his bird. That would not be pleasant to our new friend here." He removed a ration and fed Orbaugh. "I'm sorry, Orbaugh gets hungry. Combat and travel is hard on pseudo-dragons. He has killed at least two orcs in our travels so far," he said proudly. He scratched under Orbaugh's chin while he ate. A purr could be heard by all nearby.

"I am Kellar the Quick. A dragoon, the last of my clan."

[Custer Thickett]

Cuss stopped before the cage, smiling at the Orcs inside it as he finished collapsing his bows to stow them in the black leather holsters on his hip.  He whistled low as his head turned to look at the other cages, most containing piles of bone and tattered rags.  The smell of rotten flesh permeated the air, accented only by the caustic mist as if it were the spice of a holiday dessert .  Custer wondered if the smell would stick to him as if he'd rolled in the filth as his little dog used to anytime it found a dead thing on the streets of home.  Grol would smell him a league away, and he'd hate having to burn his old worn and faded gray traveling cloak over an unfortunate stench that is no fault of its own.

With the bows stowed, Cuss reached for the cage and rattled the door, checking that it was indeed locked shut.  It was, Foolish cowards.  Mayhaps they are women.  Not sure I've seen a girl Orc.  Oh, uh, Anna.  She was only half, though.  

Cuss held the bars high as he let his weight hang on his hands, stretching his shoulders and twisting his neck to pop.  He winced at the pain throbbing from his injured arm.

One of the Orcs moved forward, so Cuss lunged at the cage, pulling hard at the bars and shouting, "Bah!"  The Orc cowered back into the cage against its comrade.  

Cuss relaxed on the bars, and asked, "Ya speak common, bastards?"

They didn't respond.  One blinked.  The other shivered.  Cuss sighed.  

He stepped back and unraveled his neck scarf, then took his time wrapping it tight around his arm where the blood soaked stain on his sleeve and the pain started.  He involuntarily groaned as he cinched it.  

After taking three or four relaxing breaths, he reached into a belt pouch and pulled free a vial of a faint emerald liquid.  He used his other hand to pull his dagger from his leather bracer.  He used it to lightly tap the glass of the vial, Tink, tink.

"This be some o that water pouring out of here, follow?  Me thinks ya'll be telling me about it, or ya'll be getting a belly full of it so's I can be finding out meself, yeah?  Well?"

Cuss tapped the vial again, Tink

[Custer Thickett]

[Adding a provisional insight roll +1 to determine if the Orc response is truthful.]

[If response is common and i get no assist, the score is: 8 ]

[If response is in Orc and I require an assist for translation and get it, or otherwise have an assist, the advantage roll score is: 20 ]

[DiceMaster]

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

'D20' : 7, 19

[Emelious Storm]

"Emelious. You handled yourself well, all things considered. We could use another cleric, we lost our other cleric a while back.” It was Axe-Maniac. Who, to Emelious’ surprise, was quite eloquent when he wasn’t swinging an axe about. More of an Axe-Gentleman, really.

T-CHANK!

The Axe-Gentleman tapped his ice coated greataxe on the ground and the now-frozen gore it had collected chipped off and fell to the ground.

Axe-Mage.

“Was it your intent to scare the orcs with thunder?"

Emelious was caught off guard as he was still thinking of names for his new friend, Maniaxe? No… that sounds like there’s more than one of them-  Emelious noticed that the Axe-Whatever was waiting for an answer.

“Huh? Oh, yah, that was part of it. Let them know I was out and had brought the wrath of the storm with me. Uh, pun not intended,” Emelious looked at the fallen orcs, the empty cages, and the remains of his fellow captives, “But, really? I just wanted to send their asses flying.”

----

The Axe-Man turned his attention to Pimli.

"Master Gnome, there is no debt to be paid.”

A psuedodragon peered out from behind his shield, staring intently at Pimli’s raven. “Skurr” if Emelious recalled correctly; the Half-Elf and the Gnome had a lot of time to get acquainted the past few days. "No, you can't eat his bird. That would not be pleasant to our new friend here,” the man fed the pseudodragon a few morsels of dried meat, “I’m sorry, Orbaugh gets hungry. Combat and travel is hard on pseudo-dragons. He has killed at least two orcs in our travels so far," the man scratched under the pseudodragon’s chin, and a gentle purr began to emanate from it.

I want a psuedodragon.

"I am Kellar the Quick. A dragoon, the last of my clan."

Kellaxe the Quaxe.

“Well met, Kellar.”

Emelious looked about at the others, many of them having sustained serious injury in the scuffle, “I see many of you, like myself-” Emelious glanced down at his own ruined shoulder, “-have received a few cuts and scrapes. If you’ll allow me I’ll take care of what I can. The prayer will take a few minutes, but we can still converse during it’s duration.”

The bleeding and battered men didn't seem to have any objections to this, and he took their silence as consent. Emelious sank to his knees, propping his shield comfortably on the ground, and began reciting a divine prayer.

[Custer Thickett]

An Orc started to open its mouth, but stopped when Cuss quickly shot up and opened his dagger hand to silence it.  The scrape of metal on stone caught his attention, and the word he thought he heard.  Prayer?

He turned his head to look behind him at the half-human humbling himself in a ritual upon his knees.  Well, that's interesting, no?

He turned back to the Orc, and brought the open hand to his mouth to place a single finger in front of his lips, careful not to cut himself with the dagger.  A gesture.  

"Wait for em to finish, yeah?"  Cuss tilted his head to motion behind him.

[Pimli Prixus]

"Master Gnome, there is no debt to be paid." He stowed the Greataxe and checked his armor and gear. Orbaugh popped out from under Kellar's shield and saw the bird. Master! Bird! I eat? Kellar chuckled and said, "No, you can't eat his bird. That would not be pleasant to our new friend here." He removed a ration and fed Orbaugh. "I'm sorry, Orbaugh gets hungry. Combat and travel is hard on pseudo-dragons. He has killed at least two orcs in our travels so far," he said proudly. He scratched under Orbaugh's chin while he ate. A purr could be heard by all nearby.

"I am Kellar the Quick. A dragoon, the last of my clan."

"Well meet Kellar, and Orbaugh. A familiar is he? Like Skurr here?' Pimli raises his hand slightly, the gem on his staff pulsing blue once, as an ethereal hand appears in front of Pimli, The hand raises up and scratches Orbaugh gently behind the ear. "He's a good little guy, I have met pseudo-dragons before they're always a joy to have around" with that the hand disappears.

"I foresaw a rescue at your hands, but I must admit what was shown to me wasn't quiet as spectacular as what just occurred here." Pimli points over to the Scorpion corpse with this staff. "It will make quiet the story for my experience notes!"

Pimli turns and walks away towards the caged Orcs and the Halfling, thinking about how to best word what he's seen so far today for when he writes it into his journal.

Cuss relaxed on the bars, and asked, "Ya speak common, bastards? This be some o that water pouring out of here, follow?  Me thinks ya'll be telling me about it, or ya'll be getting a belly full of it so's I can be finding out meself, yeah?  Well?"

"That one is Duhrz, he speaks extremely broken common. He was guarding this cage for the last three days when myself and Emelious were trapped. He speaks it grudgingly but he will speak"

Pimli looks over the two Orcs, once proud guards now cowering in a heap. They can now see what it's like to be the guest.

Fate Master Skurr was talking in the back of his mind again. And he was right, fate has brought these Orcs here, fate placed them in this cage, fate put the Halfling and myself in front of them, and fate will determine what will happen to them.  But I of course can help that along.

"Duhrz, the path ahead has been chosen but you can change your fate. This Halfling here is injured and angry, he will not hesitate to end your life, unless you tell him what he wishes to know. Do yourself a favor, choose wisely."

Pimli moved back a few steps and sat on the ground ready to see how the future will unfold.  Scratching Skurr in that place he likes below his beak he thinks to himself What is about to occur will be interesting either way.

======================
Cast Mage Hand to pet Orbaugh.
Persuasion on Duhrz D20+0= 15

[Pimli Prixus]

Persuasion on Duhrz D20+0=

Die roller screwed up again

[DiceMaster]

The member 'Pimli Prixus' has done the following action : Dice Roller

'D20' : 15

[Custer Thickett]

Cuss sheathes his dagger back under his bracer as the gnome talks to the Orc named Duhrz. From behind Pimli, Cuss swirls the vial over his head, and tilts it in a mocking motion to drink it, then winks at the Orc.

Only after Emelious has finished his prayer does he proceed to interrogate.

[List of questions from Cuss:]

Was something being put in the water? What? Why?

What was in the temple before it was turned into this foul prison?

Where did it go?

Why did you take prisoners? Why did you take these two prisoner?

How far is the camp? Where are the guards between here and there?

Where is Grol? Where is Kesian?

Is there gold in the village? (j/k)

[Artimus DeLonde]

Artimus dropped the limp Zealot who fell with a slump to the ground his ears still ringing. Rising from one knee with some effort he lurched forward just catching himself by driving his blade into the ground to make way for his back foot catch him .

His chest sang with pain. He felt like he'd been riddled with arrows, or shiv'd repeatedly. It seemed that while craning the neck of that filthy black robed orc he had pushed bone through his chest at least 5 places.

•••• ••••••••  •••••••••••  ••••••••  •••••  •••••••  •••••

The muted words of Olufsen coming from black mound that loomed in his vision.
The wounds felt like hot pokers slipping through his flesh,
A sharp pain that knew to be an unexpected blessing.
‘I can walk-‘ he assessed
He could walk. He Knew,He could-- he's had worse.

A lesson learned slipping from the rigging of a mighty Galleon –  breaking nearly each and every one of his ribs on the rungs of a vessel called Obarskyr III.

An Imperial Ship.

The Obarskyr was one of the twelve major warships that constituted the pinnacles of the Cormyrian Imperial Navy.

The Blue Dragoons.

A ship boarded during ‘An Adventure' away from home had somehow tumbled into a high offence...
An act seeming bold and triumphant at the time had earned him the promise of a hanging. Half the pay of the lowest crewman and ultimately an engagement with Lord High Admiral Lord Ayesunder Truesilver

... And the knowledge that ribs broken in multiple places did not feel like searing pokers.

It felt like crunchy gravel and attention from the ship's Chaplin, a high elf Leueyan Orlathaon Lunemast- was needed for days to save him.

“•••I am Olufsen, friends. Pray that we find common ground. We might yet live long enough to escape this hell•••”

The Mariner edged around the fell’d bug till he met the massive back of Kellar, He pressed by him feebly.

He could hear the voice of Custer decrying something with bile and derision.

Artimus was glad to know the ruthless guttersnipe was well and himself.

The captain lumuxed on passing Keller on the right, attempting a remark about – Taking on the scorpion himself.

All that came out of his mouth was a measure of black blood.

He spat out the remainder of bile in his mouth, his ears caught with the voice of a stranger.

'My name is Emelious Storm. Cleric of Valkur. Agent of the Kraken’s Fist,'

A half elf he didn’t recognize by face, but did shield.

"Emelious Storm"– Artimus tested -- pushing Custer's objections aside with reassuring glance. -- Artimus knew in that moment  he would have to bring the Custer, and the others a step closer into the order.  They would all need to learn more of the Fist's ways if they were to even hope to contain even slow the growing influence a dark god .

"Emelious Storm '– Artimus tested again.

He had heard the name, Lorylia Captain of the the Tempest Rider, a Valkurian Carrack, new to the organization. Lorylia was a formadible woman and spoke highly of Emelious. Despite a affection for matters of luck a chance he was 'effective'.

Tempest rider was sister to another ship, another recent addition.

The Cutlass captained a stern man Malvek, a well known privateer , maverick and man of Valkur , a recently privateer. Both were sporting an endorsement from the Cormyrian government as a free sailor ships. A lucrative classification that allowed widely unencumbered travel as an extension of the Cormyrian interest.

Artimus looked Emelious in the face, taking him in.

“Bonjour Emelious” Artimus opened sheathing his blade with some struggle and offering an open hand

“I am Captain Artimus Delonde of zhe Trios Pistoles.”  He said looking back at Emelious. With no real emphasis of import of the words

*assuming Emelious shakes.

Artimus took the half elf hands and waited, smiling as the felt the pressure of two fingers on the inside of his wrist, pressing on the veins. The Kraken’s claw, Artimus moved his grip to match noting the steadying beat of Emelious heartbeat.

“Brozher Emelious, we have not met, and thiz iz ztrange circumztance.”  

Artimus said with a smile. , just now seeing a strange gnome, feeding a crow on his shoulder looking up periodically at the group and things in the room, saying something to himself too quiet to hear.

Artimus looked back at Emelious his concern refocusing.

“How do you find yourzelf in the zmall teeth?


===================================================
Ok Guys, sorry about the late post, I lost a 2hr one because I ‘m dumb.
Emelious I’m throwing you a hook!  I hope you dig. feel free to go in any direction or conjure any back-story.  
Expect a big krakens fist post to come tomorrow.  
Insight role to determine ruth of Emelious' response W advantage 1d20 +2 with advantage.
Emelious also gets insight advantage as Emelious knows the Kraken's claw grip

[DiceMaster]

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

'D20' : 12, 7

[Kellar]

“But, really? I just wanted to send their asses flying.”

Kellar looked at the area Emelious had been fighting in. Strange, I don't see anything that looks like it went flying, but it was loud. "If you say so, I'll take your word for it," he said with a grin.

“I see many of you, like myself-” Emelious glanced down at his own ruined shoulder, “-have received a few cuts and scrapes. If you’ll allow me I’ll take care of what I can. The prayer will take a few minutes, but we can still converse during it’s duration.”

Kellar felt the blue blood seep through his armor. I didn't even notice the gash left by that scorpion. He looked at his arms and hands and noticed the golden shimmer remained, but now had a green tint. "Still hot to the touch, skin aches," he said. He looked at Emelious. "I'm not sure what your prayer will provide me, but I'll accept it. Although I'm not entirely sure what it will do to me," he glanced at Osvald.

.....

"Well meet Kellar, and Orbaugh. A familiar is he? Like Skurr here?' Pimli raises his hand slightly, the gem on his staff pulsing blue once, as an ethereal hand appears in front of Pimli, The hand raises up and scratches Orbaugh gently behind the ear. "He's a good little guy, I have met pseudo-dragons before they're always a joy to have around" with that the hand disappears.

Kellar replied, "Not so much a familiar, more of a companion. He's been with me since I found him a while ago. Kobolds were at him something fierce, and crippled his wings. He's helped me, and I've helped him." Kellar watched the blue hand appear and move toward Orbaugh. The pseudo-dragon glanced at the hand and kept eating. Funny hand from small person.

"I foresaw a rescue at your hands, but I must admit what was shown to me wasn't quiet as spectacular as what just occurred here." Pimli points over to the Scorpion corpse with this staff. "It will make quiet the story for my experience notes!"

"To be fair, I was expecting... what were they Dwan? Dark Elves? But we found you in a cage, surrounded by Orcs," he said. "I was also expecting to use a different weapon. But close quarters, you have to use the right tool. I normally use this," he said as he drew his Lance. "Here, check the weight and balance," he said to Pimli.

[Osvald Hale]

The din of battle subsided suddenly, long before the fire in his heart submitted. Warily, Osvald rose from his position behind the crates. The dead and dying littered the room. And yet... His hatred...boiled. A grin crept across his face as the ranger surveyed the broken bodies of the dying green skins...

The brass walls seemed to still ring softly. Only the ever-present hum of the earth (that passed for silence in the under-dark) eventually superseded the baleful howl as the servants of evil choked their last through arrow-barbed throats and crushed chests. Something... Some dark thought... yet remained. Osvald spit on the chamber floor.

Olufsen made his introductions.

Haunted, The ranger stalked the periphery of the room. The fight had finished without a tenth of the heart with which it began. A measure of unspent rage unsettled his heart. The moment the orcs broke, it was over in a flash. Soft foes with weak hearts sent to a callous doom... He'd lived the first nearly  twenty years of his life under threat from the green skins. Starving against starved, every clash to the death. His kin had come so close to extinction. Every winter was war enough to sunder the hearts of lesser men.

The mountains froze and melted, but never wept.

Die he miss those dark and violent days? Even the sense of purpose that filled his soul shied away from such questions... To witness a greenskin... run? Flee? What virtue could a just man derive from the slaughter of the weak? Was the fear burning in orcish eyes the same that had, in dark moments, consumed him? For the first time, his brutally practical nature conflicted with itself...

Osvald paused, staring into the settling pools of orc blood. The surface congealed and tightened--and so did he.

...Was he too far gone? His past danced, hooting and cajoling him. So much death, so early in life. ...To balk now? Cowardice...

Osvald looks to his arm as it weeps hot blood.

All life in the mountains abhorred cowardice. The mountain men bred only mountain sons. But, as the years took his kin, did they also take him--if piece by piece? Osvald fled Amn as a hated man,. Did he return only to walk back into that same loathsome form? Was his departure his damnation, or his salvation? What remained of his honour to be saved?

He glanced to Cuss, Artimus. Thought of the tears  they'd shed for the loves they'd lost. Osvald had shed no tears since setting out those months ago with only a hangover and strangers as companions. The silence of the chamber rose to insufferable heights. The Ranger bent visibly under such weight.

Introductions were made, harsh at first, with an understandable measure of venom. The pair seemed harmless enough. A slight man, almost pretty--'Half Blood' he'd been called. Elvish no doubt... And the gnome, Curious and inquisitive--but radiating an energy Osvalds senses screamed to give a wide berth. The unknowable chasm of the arcane lurked, massive and deadly, just below his diminutive surface.

Through clenched jaw, Osvald nodded and made the appropriate greetings--but could not shake the charmed sense of battle-lust that was upon him. Was he relishing such times for the justice dealt, or the deaths so coldly dispensed? Osvald moves away from the mingling parties, and assists Cuss with the interrogation.

(rolling with adv. from Pref. enemy.)

Osvald grunts and growls his way through the questioning--Peppering threats and re-assurances where necessary.

Orcish flows from his tongue as easily as arrows stream from his bow.

...

...The Small Teeth were among the last bastions of the wild--no law dwelt in the long shadows of these jagged hills but those laid long ago by Osvalds forebears, whose names even time has forgotten.

There was savagery, yes. And bloodshed a plenty. But weakness?

Weakness?

Osvald trembled with a silent, incalculable rage.

There was no weakness here.

The burning, frozen stones of the Teeth churned, howling in their silence, all around him... Was he cursed forever to be so much a part of this forsaken, blasted earth? Was he? Could he be? If so, he thought, grinning--these ragged hills were cursed with him as well.

[DiceMaster]

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

'D20' : 10, 10

[Dwan Bolduum]

The rest of the fight was a faint red blur. Before he knew it, there were only two frightened prisoners, and two others who fought along side. Blood-- He thought as his comrades lined up opposite of the group. Just as he was about to charge the gnome Olufsen spoke up. The haze broke over Dwan's mind, What am I doing? He thought as he shifts back into his Dwarf form.

--------

Greetings and well fought. I am Dwan Bolduum. He says to both Emelious and Pimli as he extends a hand out. Bloo--
NO! He thinks as he quickly pulls away his hand from grip of the half-elf. Dwan looks up to see if anyone else seemed to take note of the exchange.

Looking somber Dwan separates himself from the group to investigate the remains of the room. He notes the Dwarven runes, stories of this long lost clan defiled and destroyed by orc filth. He knew these thoughts were only a distraction to what was really affecting him. It's getting worse, and my wounds only seem to accelerate the process. I need to try and stay healthy.

Dwan sits on an old bench and gathers some poultices from his pack and starts to apply it to his wounds.

Emelious looked about at the others, many of them having sustained serious injury in the scuffle, “I see many of you, like myself-” Emelious glanced down at his own ruined shoulder, “-have received a few cuts and scrapes. If you’ll allow me I’ll take care of what I can. The prayer will take a few minutes, but we can still converse during it’s duration.”

Dwan waves him away, yet the cleric keeps insisting. Come on you old Dwarf this should help. Emelious says at last as he places a hand over a cut on Dwan's shoulder.

Dwan's shoulder starts to feel warm, and at first glance the flesh around the cut starts to return to it's normal color. Cold engulfs the shoulder and shoots down his arm and chest. Emelious's hand moves yet the wound remains, unchanged.

A quick look of confusion paints the half-elf's face for a moment before Dwan snarles at him. This snarl sounds gutteral, those that have been with Dwan for some time recognize that this is not normal, it seems almost a cross between his normal cries of pain and the cries of the creatures that took Shorjahl.

Dwan comes to his senses and clears his throat. I'm sorry, I know you're only trying to help. I will take care of myself.

Speaking louder to the group. We should make camp here. This room is well lit, well equipped, and there is only one way in and out. I would prefer we take the camp without any hindrance from our bumps and bruises.

Dwan looks on to see how the group decides to proceed.

[Custer Thickett]

Osvald needed a drink, it would seem. His demeanor matched Cuss's mood, but the fury smoldering beneath his threats paled the Halfling's anger. Cuss could feel it radiating from the tall man. He could see it in the trembling face of the Orcs in the cage.

Oiy, I wished I knew Orc to know what he's saying.

Whatever it might be, it was effective. If he could understand it, he would remember it and use it as his own as he had unabashedly done in the past.

If only there were time, might be i'd learn it.

A soft, mocking whisper floated in his head, 'Don't fool yourself, Leannán.

His attention was turned away from the cage and his thoughts by a sound behind him. A growl. Instinctively, he reached for his bow as he pivoted on his feet.

But there was nothing. It was Dwan.

Dwan, oiy, Dwan.

Cuss shook his head. The dwarfs deterioration was becoming more apparent. He may soon become a threat. Cuss hoped to his Golden Lady that it didn't happen while he was sleeping on a watch. When that time comes, the only cure for the dwarf would be the medicine cold steel provides. The dreams of the others would be tormented for the rest of their lives if it came to that. Cuss knew he'd have to be the one to do it.

We should make camp here. This room is well lit, well equipped, and there is only one way in and out. I would prefer we take the camp without any hindrance from our bumps and bruises.

Cuss responded, raising his voice for it to carry in the large room. "Ya right, Dwan, but might be that one way out serves us the wrong side of a siege, no? I'd feel better about it if we cleared the bodies up outside and found another way out iffen we spot something coming, yeah? Whose temple this use to be, eh?"

[Pimli Prixus]

"To be fair, I was expecting... what were they Dwan? Dark Elves? But we found you in a cage, surrounded by Orcs," he said

Dark Elves?, this close to the surface? Pimli thinks to himself "I've heard of Dark Elf raiding parties this close to the surface but never a set camp such as this. Have you run into many Dark Elves?, that could make another interesting study"

"I was also expecting to use a different weapon. But close quarters, you have to use the right tool. I normally use this," he said as he drew his Lance. "Here, check the weight and balance," he said to Pimli.

Reluctantly he reaches up with both hands to feel the weight and heft of Kellars lance, struggling to hold it up, the lance ways far more the he was expecting. But he's careful forcing every ounce of strength out of his body, but not to drop the weapon and look silly in front of Kellar, but also in fear of drawing the warriors ire if he was to drop the weapon.

He says in a strained voice "That's.......that's quiet something. Heavier then I thought it would be." he carefully hands the lance back to Kellar, "Thank you for sharing! I've never had my hands on a weapon such as this before, my staff here is typically all I need"

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

Pimli sits watching the strange Halfling continue his taunting of the Orcish jailers, in mixed interest at both how the Orcs are reacting to there change in position, and how the Halfling flawlessly intimidates them. I need to remember not to upset that one.

Out of the corner of his eye he notices one of the Human Rangers walk forward to join the halfling.

He can barely over hear the Ranger questioning the Orcs using there native tongue. He can't understand a word of the guttual growl but he's heard enough of it over the last 3 days to know what it is he's hearing. Perhaps the human could teach me Orcish? he would be a much better teacher then Nerghull would've been.

He can feel the divine energies building behind him where Emelious is praying to his God for the good health of us all, divine energies have always felt weird to Pimli, almost profane, nothing like the clean crisp energy of the Arcane powers he wields.

Snarls of a crazed beast, injured sounding erupt behind him. Pimli is on his feet in a flash, wheeled around staff at the ready, ready to face whatever beast is in front of them now, and seeing the Dwarf snarling at Emelious.

The Dwarf clears his throat. "I'm sorry, I know you're only trying to help. I will take care of myself."

Curious, not all is as it seems with this Dwarvish gentleman, I'm sure he wont mind if I delve a little

Pimli spreads his legs evenly and plants the butt of his staff into the ground between his feet, he reaches into his belt pouch and pulls out a large pearl. Raising the pearl to be even with the gem at the top of his staff, Pimli's eyes locked on the Dwarf, he begins chanting quietly.

He's far to caught up in his ritual casting to even notice the Dwarfs suggestion of camping the night here.

===================================================
Pimli casts Detect Magic as a ritual 10 min cast time.

[Emelious Storm]

"Emelious Storm. Emelious Storm,” A human, the build of a sailor, repeated the cleric's name as if he had heard it before. The man sheathed his blade and offered an outstretched hand,  “Bonjour Emelious. I am Captain Artimus Delonde of zhe Trios Pistoles.”  

DeLonde? Emelious had heard this man's name before as well. The cleric breathed deeply as he took Artimus’ hand. Captain Artimus DeLonde…  This man wasn’t just a member. Emelious pressed two outstretched fingers to the veins on the inside of the captain’s wrist. The captain followed suit with a smile.

“Brozher Emelious, we have not met, and thiz iz ztrange circumztance,” Captain DeLonde gave a wayward glance to Pimli who was feeding Skurr, before turning back to Emelious, “How do you find yourzelf in the zmall teeth?”

“I was heading south to Tethyr to recruit more of Valkur’s followers to the cause. Traveling by land through The Trade Way promised to cut the travel time from Imnescar to Zazesspur in half. I signed on with a caravan; 30 wagons strong. We thought with our numbers there was little chance of being attacked, but we were wrong. When we reached Lion’s Pass there was an army of Ogre’s waiting for us. One-hundred, two-hundred, I don’t know. It was over so fast. They caged the survivors up and brought us here to be experimented on. Followers of Cyric I think. They've been testing poisons they derived from the scorpion's venom. Pimli and I are the last of the captives, and we would have likely joined the dead if it wasn't for you showing up when you did. You have my thanks," Emelious thought for a second, "Uh... what are you doing here anyway?"

----

As Emelious prayed, the others quietly went about their business. Some sat and checked their gear, while others investigated the room; the Dwarf, however, seemed to not want any part in the matter and sombered off to a far corner. As the minutes passed, Emelious had begun glowing brighter and brighter with divine energy, his prayer becoming more and more fervent. And then… silence. The prayer had come to its conclusion. The radiant light enveloping Emelious snaked outward to those around him. Dancing over the bodies of Kellar, Artimus, the other two humans, and the Halfling and then fading to reveal closing wounds, fading bruises, and renewed flesh.

----

Having finished his prayer of healing, Emelious wandered over to Dwan, a mystery of a man. He was clearly injured, yet refused Emelious’ help.

As if knowing what Emelious was going to say, the Dwarf began waving the Cleric away.

“Come on you old Dwarf, this should help,” Emelious placed a hand over Dwan’s shoulder and began casting a divine spell.

The wound appeared to react at first, but then… nothing. Emelious’ spell seemingly had no affect on the Dwarf.

RAAGH.

Emelious jumped back as the dwarf snarled at him. A fury in the Dwarf's eyes, that quickly faded and was replaced with… embarrassment? Shame?

The dwarf clears his throat, “I'm sorry, I know you're only trying to help. I will take care of myself.”

Dwan stands and directs his attention to the rest of the group, “We should make camp here. This room is well lit…”

But Emelious wasn’t paying attention, he was playing over his failed attempt to heal the dwarf in his mind...

[Roll Medicine (D20 + 3) to determine if Emelious has any idea what is wrong. Result: 16 + 3 = 19.]

----

[Prayer of Healing: Kellar, Artimus, Osvald, Custer, Dwan Olufsen, and Emelious regain: 2 + 6 + 3 = 11 hitpoints.]

----

Edit: In my face. That's where my foot is. All up in my mouth.

[Artimus DeLonde]

Artimus listened intently to Emelious' response.
A zhorter route you zay... zhat could certainly be of uze. We heard of zhiz ambuzh az we pazzed zhrough Imnezcar. All were zhought to have perizhed. I'm glad to know zhey were incorrect.

It seems even zhe largest caravan's are not safe in zhese parts, It demonstrates zhe eternal illusion of control, non? All one can be is prepared, at peace and ready for deazh and in so zhankful for life...

I digress...

I do not believe it happenstance zhat we meet today. We delve into zhese mountains in an attempt to stem a rising darkness zhat plague in zhis land.

***some of my facts may be incorrect***
Ezmelteran waz raized a zhort time ago by a force of orcz, ogrez and a man, Zozhiz, atop a elder dragon, and it zeemz Imnezcar iz to fall to a zimilar force.

We hear zhat cyric haz a hand in zhiz, and bindz zhiz dragon riding zorcerer Zozhiz to zhe Clan Maul and hiz acolytez.

Zhe rezt we know iz conjecture.

We pazzed circumvented zhe main force in an effort to infiltrate zhe center of zhe zuzpected operation. We have heard zhat zhe Cyrciztz have been zearching zheze hillz for zometime and whatever zhey were looking for, zhey have found. A compazz in zhe chezt of a Orc.


I feel zhiz iz a ztring zhat will lead zhem to zomezhing more terrible...zomezhing zhat iz difficult to fazhom...

Have you ever heard zhe legend of zhe Holicondath?

===
===
Aside

Artimus studied the gnome, growing more and more curious. as the gnome craddled the lance in his hand. He seemed to exhude the wonderment of a child while appearing to be taking in the world like a man watching a play take form on the stage.

The Mariner had met only a few gnomes and knew them to be ... different.
He was rebuked once for asking a particularly grumpy Gnomish shipbuilder for asking ‘who he was’.
"How do you know I'm a who!?" he protested.
"Bonjour, and what might you be mousiour... Pimli was it?
Carefully directing the question to the gnome before him.

[Pimli Prixus]

"Bonjour, and what might you be mousiour... Pimli was it?"
Carefully directing the question to the gnome before him.

The question raised, by the sailor, I think he's a sailor he sure seems to hold himself like a man of the sea, seeming to rock with every step as if his body isn't used to the steadiness of land after much time at sea. "What might I be? Why I believed you've already answered that question" He says with a large smile splitting his face, "I'm a Pimli, Pimli Prixus that would be, of the Wizardly of the school of Divination located in Imnescar. And what might  you be friend?

Pimli reaches to shake the Sailors hand as he responses.

[Ao]

The orcs snarl in their cage, the picture of an animal cornered and threatened. Duhrz stands before his fellow jailer, staring cold-eyed into the face of Custer, Pimli and Osvald.

The brute spits at first, but as the three interrogators make their case, you can see the brute’s resolve loosening.

“Ack aljar rughan…” he mutters, and Osvald begins his translation…

[…Duhrz…]

“…The water is polluted with poison.” says the jailor, not looking particularly remiss at parting with the information. “Nerguhll the poisoner has held his workshop here for months. They dump everything unworthy of weapon or torture into the waterfall. The wolves drink it, sometimes. They die quickly.”

He looks grimly at Custer as the halfling presses the interrogation, eyes flitting between he and the gnome.

“We found the temple a year ago, when we came to this pass. Clan Maul owns these caves, and the brass temple was empty when we found it. Nerguhll is chief poisoner and shaman, and this is his place. Clan Maul used to fight with much strength. But now, we use poison. It is faster. Easier.”

The orc licks his lips nervously.

“We do not know who built the temple, but…we have defended it for months from “they”.” The jailor looks past you, towards the north end of the chamber. You can see from here, an iron gate leading north out of the temple.

“There is a gate, that leads deep into the mountains. Since we captured the scorpion, they found us in the tunnels. Hunted us. We have not seen them, but they have killed many of our number, and we have not killed any. Always the same - orc found with a hole, two fingers wide, in the head.”

Duhrz looks nervously again to the gate, shrugging.

“They do not come into the temple though, so we are safe, I think.”

“We took prisoners to poison. Nerguhll, always testing poisons. Sothis and his army march, and find many prisoners. Or from the halfling city, when they burned it. They bring the prisoners here, and Nerguhll…plays.”

The jailor tenses up when you ask about the details of Clan Maul’s camp. But, upon deeper intimidation, relents.

“Out the temple doors, to the east, is Clan Maul camp. Many orcs, many ogres. They crush you like flies. Hours ago, lone orc from the war band come back, warning of rangers in the foothills. They already looking for you. Someone will come to the temple, and then you will be crushed.”

His lips quiver with the threat, but he does not smile.

When you ask of Grol, he proclaims proudly.

“Grol is chief knife, guardian of Keisan. He no more live in Clan Maul camp. Great honour, Keisan call him to the towers, where they stay . Now, his brother Kurn watch the camp, while Grol fetch glory for our Clan.”

This is as far as you get questioning the orc. It seems he knows nothing further [Insight.]

[…]

Pimli’s spell clears the fog from his mind, and his intuition for magic begins to hum over his flesh. He senses the signature of the arcane upon the rod fallen at an acolyte's side, and the shiv strapped to Nerguhll.

The gnome inspects the general perimeter of the temple, and senses little magic. If this was once a shrine to the arcane, it could not have been significant.

[…]

Emelious approaches the bedraggled old dwarf, looking at the enormous red wound upon his neck.

[Medicine check;]

It is clear that this is no bacterial, nor viral infection. This is not the kind of illness one contracts from a plant, or pestilence. Indeed, there is something abundantly arcane about it.

Pimli sidles up beside Emelious, his Detect Magic spell screaming around Dwan’s aura.

Indeed, it looks like a magical infection. One that your knowledge of medicine tells you little about…

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

Ok guys - answered as many questions as possible from the caged orcs.

The jailor is referring to the path outside the front of the temple, the one you did not pursue when you instead decided to enter the temple. If you go east, it allegedly will take you to Clan Maul’s camp.

There is also the northern pass out of the temple, through the iron portcullis. If you approach it, you can see a lever on this side of the wall that will lead you out.

Feel free to keep the introductions coming. Please also tell me what you intend on doing with the orcs in the cage, and where you plan on going.

Also, if you intend on taking a short rest (or long rest?) here in the temple

EXP: +200 to all of you, for an AMAZING round of posts guys. Well done

Ao

[Emelious Storm]

As Artimus finished conveying the groups recent history his stance and tone shifted. He had one more question for the Half-Elf.

“Have you ever heard zhe legend of zhe Halichondath?”

[History: 18 + 0 = 18 = Success... ]

...

Baldur’s Gate - 15 Months Prior

“Fetch me that book, will ya, lad?”

“Uh, which one…” Emelious looked at the numerous shelves of religious and historical texts that lined the abbey’s library.

“You know very well the one,” Thurmas retorted, an elderly human, his vision all but lost to him, “How do you expect to be a man of divine faith, if you don’t trust yourself to know which book?”

“You’re right. I’m rubbish. I should go. I clearly don’t belong here.”

“The mark on your arm says otherwise.”

Emelious turned his left wrist upward to glance at the emblem branded into it. A shield emblazoned with a stormy sky; three lightning bolts forking from the heavens. The symbol of Valkur.

...A souvenir from the day everything changed. The day that-

Emelious shook the memory from his thoughts and strode down the shelves, stopping at a selection concerning the history of the gods, the planes, and creation. The Half-Elf thumbed through the shelf until he located a thick tome that Thurmas used in a lesson the previous afternoon; stating that, “Every ship’s hull needs a keel.” Whatever that meant.

The fledgling cleric returned to the old man and deposited the book on his desk.

“Ah, ‘Creation of the Planes’,” Emelious was always curious how the man did that, not because his vision was poor, but because he didn’t even bother to look, “Excellent choice,” Thurmas commended, eliciting a proud smirk from Emelious, “Wrong book though.”

“Huh?”

“We’re finished with this one, there’s not much more to be learned from it.”

“Oh,” Emelious reached for the book so he could put it back.

“There is one more thing though.”

“Oh?”

“Not so much a lesson, but a story from my youth.”

“Oh, great, another story…” Emelious droned. He actually didn’t mind. In fact he quite preferred the old man’s stories to his lessons.

“Don’t give me that tone, I know you prefer them to my lessons.”

Uncanny.

Emelious took a seat.

“I was a young thing. Not too different from you. Well, I was smarter, and less arrogant, and more polite, and more-”

“Modest?”

Thurmas let out a hearty chuckle, “Shut up, boy,” Emelious smirked, “Now, back to the story. I was a strapping bloke, young and malleable; as those things often go hand in hand. I found myself a member of a following, a cult really. I was an impressionable one. Anyway, they revered the Hidden One. Ao, the Overgod. Who better to seek divine guidance from than the Lord of all the Divines? That was a rhetorical question.”

“I didn’t even-”

“Right, right. As I was saying, this Ao, powerful son of a… well, nothing really, was a being of extreme power ruling the deities and the cosmos, his influence was so great that it is said that he crafted an artifact infused with the gift of creation itself. Allowing its wielder to birth whole new planes of existence, or even snuff them out if they so desired.”

“That sounds like a bad idea.”

“Oh, I’m sure it was. The Rod of Halichondath. Some say the fallout from its creation is the reason Ao earned the title of ‘The Hidden One’. Withdrawing from existence.”

“Why did you stop worshipping him?”

“The man couldn’t hold a conversation. We tried to get his attention for ten long years, not a word.”

“Well, on the bright side, now you’ve got me.”

“Yes, I went from the god who wouldn’t speak, to the boy who wouldn’t shut up. Lucky me.”

...

The Small Teeth - Present Day

“The Rod of Halichondath? It’s… real?” Emelious turned and muttered under his breath, “I thought that old man was just spinning tales,” Emelious turned back to Artimus, “An artifact capable of creating and destroying entire worlds? Entire planes of existence? Are you serious? That’s your mission? Stop the Prince of Lies from getting his hands on a reality altering super weapon?”

----

Hmm, this affliction isn’t of any mundane circumstance I've encountered, Emelious thought as he studded the wound on Dwan's neck.

Sure enough, Pimli approached, busy casting a ritual of detect magic, and indicated that there was indeed something magical about this wound and the lasting effect it imposed on the Dwarf.

“Dwan, what gave you this wound? I may be able to help. I can think of three spells off the top of my head that I’m familiar with. Two of which I prayed for this morning. Please, let me help, even if just to try.”

[DiceMaster]

The member 'Emelious Storm' has done the following action : Dice Roller

'D20' : 18

[Pimli Prixus]

With the ritual complete, Pimli can feel the pearl humming in his palm, as the aura spring forth around everything of a magic nature. He scans the room, noticing a few auras that weren't around the living. The light blue aura of an enchantment, Pimli goes to look, he picks up the shiv, still sheathed off Nerguhlls corpse.

Wont' be needing this anymore! But I think the Halfling might enjoy it

He walks to the second light blue aura and finds a wand on the body of one of the Orcish acolytes. He places both items into his belt pouch and does yet another quick scan of the area, when he see's yet another light blue aura. Walking towards the disemboweled corpse of the Orcish guard he picks up the battle axe and ties it to his belt.

With another look around his eyes come across the pulsating light blue aura located on Nerguhlls work table. Smiling as wide as his little face could manage he walks over and picks of the cracked black leather bound book. Nerguhlls Spell Book interesting, perhaps I can learn something from the Shaman yet

Dull auras appear throughout the room, the resonance of once used magic, this place was used in ceremony once but not for many years.

He turns his inspection over to he new, friends? co-workers? companions. Yes companions is the right word.

Eyes crossing paths with the Rangers he sees the Forrest green aura that welders of Nature magics always seem to have around them. In his youth he had see it often, most of his brethren were adept with natural magics, but it had been quiet some time since he's seen it first hand. Perhaps they could show me some of there craft? Natural magic is very interesting, almost pure feeling.

His eyes land on Keller, seeing the dark blue aura of and Arcane caster, almost unnoticeable. The aura was barely there, perhaps he doesn't even know he has a knack for the Arcane. The aura is new, I'll have to pose the question with him gently, humans always tend to get angry when you ask them about the Arcane arts.

He sees the Sailor, no aura appearing around him, but the pendent around his neck that all these people share glows with an intensity, much more intense the the pendents worn by the others. His visage appears foggy, almost incorporeal as if the Sailor isn't truly there, the only exception is a blinding slash of white light burning across his chest. Interesting, almost like he's being held in this plane by a Divine source.

He slowly makes his way towards where Emelious and the Dwarf are talking. The blinding white aura of the Divine shimmering around Emelious, just as Pimli expected. When he lays his eyes on the Dwarf he sees something strange. The aura is the swirling green white of the Druidic, but the outer third was deepest black, sucking in the healthy Druidic aura, almost growing in front of his eyes.  This Dwarf is infected with a dark curse, one I have never seen before, I don't know what I can do, but I must do something before it's to late.

Pimli steps forward and gently places his hand on the Dwarfs arm.

He speaks to the Dwarf in fluent Dwarven  (I don't believe we've been introduced Master Dwarf, I am Pimli Prixus. I hope you pardon the intrusion but I was inspecting our surroundings, when I noticed an Aura around you, most times this is common place but you're Aura is unwell. When did the curse first fall upon you? and how did it happen. I understand if you don't wish to share, but I wan't to see if I can help)

[If Dwan answers Pimli Arcana (d20+6=9 ) and Investigation (d20+6=19) to see If I've every heard of anything like this before]

As everyone gathers together once again, Pimli pulls the Shiv and the Wand that he found and places them on the ground, along with the Battle axe he tied to his belt.

"I found this dagger on the Shamans corpse, this Wand on one of the Acolytes, and this Battle axe on one of the guards. All three have enchantments attached to them, what they are I do not know yet. But I can find out, I just wanted to show everyone what I have found. If you will allow me I will perform a ritual to read the magics that are sewn into the essence of the objects, so we can know what they do."

[If people are interested Pimli will cast Identify as a ritual to understand all three  items 11 min cast time per item]

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

(After casting Identify on all three items)

Pimli raises the Shiv "This dagger I found on Nerguhll's corpse is what's known as the Shiv of The Poisoner. It has an unusual enchantment placed upon it, this particular dagger will drink up three coats of poison, when one layer of poison gets used on a target the dagger is still coated with another of the three coats of poison" He places the dagger back on the ground.

Pimli raises the Wand "This wand I found on one of the Acolytes is what's known as the Rod of The Twin Acolytes, The enchantment one this one allows the barer to cast Magic Missle two times a day. The red cloaks were throwing it about during the battle, I know Emelious was hit but I'm not sure..." He looks around and sees the coin sized holes burned into the armor of a few of his companions, "No it appears a few of us felt the sting of a wand like this today" He places the wand back on the ground.

Pimli picks up the Battle Axe "It appears the Orc who carried this was a champion of his Clan, this axe has been through many hands and they've left there mark upon it. All were powerful in there own right, it appears if you kill the previous champion, you become the new one and this axe is your symbol of station." He places the Battle Axe back in the pile of found weaponry.

He takes a step back and listens to what his companions have to say.

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

Arcana total: 9
Investigation total: 19

Rolls to see if I've heard of this kind of infection before, and to look into it.

[DiceMaster]

The member 'Pimli Prixus' has done the following action : Dice Roller

'D20' : 3, 13

[Artimus DeLonde]

"Hmmm, the mariner droned, stroking his chin. So it seems you have heard something of this Artifact, Allow me to fill in the blanks as they were related to me mon amie."

“It is said that there exists a being superior even to the gods of Toril. That the deities worshipped across Faerun and beyond answer to a supreme being. His name, they say, is Ao.”

Artimus breath deeply his heart staring to slow as the throll of battle left his viens.

“Throughout the long history of the realms, there have existed small cults of Ao. They last no longer than a dozen years, and rarely do their orders hold any consistency from one instance to the other. You see, Ao bestows no powers nor favours upon his clerics. And those predisposed to the fervour and piety of religion find no…feeling, in worshipping him. It is as if they had put their faith in a rock. And so, their numbers rarely last, existing more out of curiosity of his existence than conviction of his purpose.”

He paces, looking at the ground kicking some of the debris an ill symbols around the room.

“ Who created the realms? Some believe the gods did. Some believe Ao. And what’s more, there are tellings of an even greater being, who entrusted Ao with the care of our multiverse. But that’s not the interesting part…”

Now he pauses, looking up, taking in the myriad of hanging cages.

“Each of these cults find themselves united around a very specific set of historical recounts, from tomes scribed from tomes scribed from tomes long lost in the depths of candlekeep. They tell of a time - a time when Ao walked Faerun himself. It is ascribed, that in the early days of our world, Ao fell beloved with a creature of our plane. A woman - her name was Loleith.”

Artimus stops, looking about his equipment, making sure it was all accounted for an secured.

“It is written that she was so perfect, so beautiful, that even the overgod could not resist her charm. And so, as Ao walked our realm in a cloak of gold and light, he took her as his bride and shed the skin of his divinity, becoming human for a time.”

He lowers his voice.

“And he found the happiness and joy that the races of our world find in the comfort and love of another. But Loleith was of humble origins, and she hungered for prosperity. And he, in the spell of love, wanted nothing more than to gift it to her. So, he returned to the stars and forged her an artifact of greatness. A rod of shimmering starlight, forged in the burning core of the plane Limbo. He studded it with fat rubies that wept the milk of creation, the raw power of godhood. And then, he gifted it to her, bestowing upon Loleith not only the power of godliness, but the power of creation. He called the rod - the Halichondath.”

Artime takes a moment settling his clothing straightening his bloody shirt. taking his gloves off his runs a hand through his whispy white blonde hair.

“And at first, Loleith delighted in her power. She created good things from nothing. Building her home into a palace, and her village into a thriving city. She bestowed prosperity upon her nation, and mended warring lords with bounties of material. Soon, she tired of the mundane affairs of lordship, and elevated herself to godhood. For years, she sailed the stars with Ao, discovering new wonders and delights and pleasures.”

The red wizard absently flicks his finger, leaning forward.

“But you know as well as I how this story ends. Only Ao was blind to her lust for power. So powerful is the tonic of love, that he could not see the dark creature she had become. She began to dominate the cosmos, subjecting entire planes to her will. And she began creating…creating vast landscapes of power and lust and sound and excess to satiate her growing need for ascendancy. Finally, she began to destroy and undo the work of the gods themselves - driving them into hiding. Our multiverse fell into madness.”

Artimus clears his throat, the darkness of his words reverberating in the chamber

“It took Ao many decades to see that the woman he had loved, had become a monster. And so, he returned to the ether, vowing to undo the disaster he had wrought. With a great reckoning, he cast Loleith out of the stars and into the plane she had created - what we now know as the demonweb pits. And without the power of the Halichondath, she was demented and warped into the horror-goddess we call Lolth. The queen of spiders.”

“Ao returned to the stars, and it is said that he swore an oath never to meddle in the affairs of our world again. And so, the overgod fell into obscurity, and Faerun came to know only those that had survived the cataclysm of his lover Loleith.”

He takes a pause, clasping his hand in front of him.

“The story is tragic, but why do I share this,  what does this rod have to do with us..."

Artimus paused wondering how to continue.

"A book came into our possesion, a book scrawled in dark speak, shadowcant. a language so twisted to read it is to walk the hard edge of paranoid and insanity."

"It was not for out eyes, it was beyond our ken and our ability."

"A former colege, lost to us now, connected us with the Red Wizard, Mazoleth. He undertook the task of delving into it's maddening pages."

"For days he deciphered the pages, alone and in secret. When Mazoleth. emerged, he was clearly weatherd from the experience and related to the following with a cold sweat upon his brow."

"this is the book of lies"  a fact he feared and yet hoped against. a grimoire whispered about only in the darkest of circles, and it is said to be penned by the laughing god himself. The book was neither about Ao nor Lolth. Cyric, it is said in this tome, seeks the Halichondath - an artifact that he prizes above all else. And, Ao - in his infinite wisdom, hid it not among the planes, or the stars, but amidst our fair world, where gods cannot walk. And so, the god of murder entrusts his followers to searching for it, in the hopes that one day he may destroy all who oppose him, and build a new multiverse in his image.”

Artimuis looks Emelious squarely, a look of grave sincerity in his eyes.

“This is the stuff of legend. And yet here was this book. A beseeching of the dark god, for his followers to uncover the secrets of the Halichondath, and deliver it to him. His power already amasses, Esmelteran nearly have raized tot he ground and Imnescar likely under a terrible siege as we stand here now. A sign that the men of Cyric have begun to unravel the mystery.  Fellows…this is a mystery that our world cannot afford to see unravelled.”...

"We have reason to believe that he seeks something in this mountain that will aid him to the location of the Holichondath. Something that he had recently found. We must find it before it leaves this place. This compass within an Orc,  and destroy it."


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

ok guys, I related what I could from Mazoleth, ommiting some of the corymrian accent we all know and love for clarity sake.
hope I did it justace with some copying and pasting/ choping and screwing

[Emelious Storm]

"So... that's a, 'Yes'?"

Emelious took a deep breath.

"Alright, I'm in."

[Artimus DeLonde]

Artimus stepped toward where Osvald and Custer stood, overlooking the jailors, recently broken by a combination of threats and mercy. He noticed as paced toward the men, free and captive, that his chest no longer quaked with pain.

The sharp stabing replaced with a dull ache.

A vast improvement. He would have to thank this Emelious when he had the chance.

Artimus let his left hand unclutch his side, relaxing at his hip. His whole form resumed a more causal gate, his sinew no longer holding up a broken frame.

*nnhmmmmmmmmmmmm* he let out a sigh of relief.

As he approached he could see what was going on all from the expression that dripped from the Orcs face. It was the look of a man who had broken, said all he knew and now with nothing left was counting on the mercy of his captours.

"Let me guess?" Artimus quipped to Custer who loomed over the jailors new cage.

"Custer, you promised him fresh milk, cookies and world reknown halfling snuggle you had fierce Pimli frighten him with his gnomish ire?

He teased, continueing to jest with Pimili.

"Eh Pimili - You told him to spill his guys or you'd spill his?"

A creeping smile, betrayed his intent to inject some levity into a room filled with death, poision and gore.

Looking over to osvald, Artimus intended to continue to his jest, but stopped. noticing a darkness over him. Instead of a verbal jab, the mariner slinked beside the ranger. Taking a swig of hidden store of sambian wine before passing it to Osvald.

"Come back to uz lord Hale" he said softly placing a hand on his shoulder."

"Zo What do we know mon amie-"

Artimus Listened to the valuable information.

-The water is polluted with poison
-We found the temple a year ago,
-Out the temple doors, to the east, is Clan Maul camp
-To the North Deeper into the mountains
- Something hunting the orcs.. two inch hole in a dead orcs head.


"Hmmmmmmm. "he droned again.

"Zo what do we think everyone? "

" Do we rezt here, rizking an ambuzh, or do we puzh eazt deeper into the camp.?"

"I don't like the tactical layout here, although we could zetup up zome advantagez?"

"Perhapz the Halez and Cuzter could rig up zomething nefariouz for anyone interloping here ... perhapz a falling cage or two. "

Artimus said pointing at the cages overhead.

"That would be a nice prezent if we ztay or not for any inveztigating party."

"To the queztion at hand, do we move eazt toward the Clan directly, do we believe they have when we zeek.

Perhapz there iz a move zecret route into their camp. Which bringz up my other thought iz doez thiz northern pazzage go deeper underground or emerge outzide.

Perhapz it would uz to infiltrate the camp from another meanz - such as this northern pasasge.

Dwan, would you be able to uze zome kind of Dwarven knack to tell uz where that northern tunnel goez. Doez it delve deeper under the mountain. I have heard the stone speaks to your kind Dwan.

Ozvald, Olufzen would you be able to zcout eazt or north zo we can better underztand our next move?

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

[Kellar]

Kellar felt the divine light pass over his body. He looked at the green scales fade and fall away. They drifted to the floor and slowly faded. His skin had returned to their original color for a moment. The light blue color returned and a dull ring of golden scales moved over his body. The golden scales settled on his shoulder that had been damaged by the scorpion. "Not entirely healed, but thank you," he said. Kellar listened to Pimli identify the different weapons...

"It appears the Orc who carried this was a champion of his Clan, this axe has been through many hands and they've left there mark upon it. All were powerful in there own right, it appears if you kill the previous champion, you become the new one and this axe is your symbol of station."

"That would be Emelious. I think you could honor that tradition and leave your mark upon it and take it with you?"
If Emelious responds and accepts: "It would be something to have as a trophy. There's a lot of history on that axe."
If Emelious repsonds and declines: "It's understandable, it is an Orc weapon after all. Perhaps I could take it and use it if you don't mind?"

Kellar then listened to Artimus recall the story of AO and Lolth. Not quite as I remember it, but very close and true.

He unstrapped his harness and set his pack down, with the shield faced down to make a "bowl" for Orbaugh to sit in while he ate. Kellar removed another ration and split it with Orbaugh. "Need to eat up, Orbaugh. Keep our energy and recover." Kellar rolled his injured shoulder and then looked to the door they came in through. "I'll bar the door we came in from and moved the dead into a pile over there," he said. Kellar noticed the swinging latch and crude bar leaning against the wall. Simple enough.

Kellar moved to the bodies and moved them two at a time and laid them to rest five feet away from the case where the orcs were being held. They watched him work and hissed at him every now and again. He left the streaks of blood on the floor as he dragged the bodies to their resting spot. He saved Nerghull for last (he was the messiest one). After they were piled, he looked at the captive orcs and nodded. "You're the lucky ones." He joined the others and sat down next to Orbaugh and his equipment. "I'm for resting a long while and recuperating. We've been running a bit thin lately. What do you think," he asked his companions.

[Pimli Prixus]

Curiosity getting the better of him, Pimli walks over to the Sailor. He waits while the Rangers and the Halfling recount what information they managed to get out of Duhrz, It was a lot to think on, but not now, now he has a question that needs answering.

"Ahhh, Captain? A word in private if you please?"

The Sailor gives Pimli a nod and that walk a short ways away from the others.

"What iz it wizh mon petite corneille?"

"You've gather quiet a fine group of companions Captain. You are a Captain correct? Fine in deed. None are truly as they appear and all are exceptional in there own way. As they're your traveling companions I'm sure you already know all about it so I won't bore you with the details. There is something I wish to know though, and I will reiterate my question from earlier. What are you? and more specifically" Pimli raises his staff and traces it across the Sailors armored chest where he saw the blinding slash of white, "What is this slashed across your chest?"

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

"I'm for resting a long while and recuperating. We've been running a bit thin lately. What do you think," he asked his companions.

"I could assist with fortification, if it's decided to rest for the night. I could use some rest myself, I have seen some things on this day that I wish reflect on."

He looks around at those assembled, the Captain, the armored Dragoon with his Pseudo-Dragon, the two Rangers who are related to each other in some way, the Halfling, the Half-Elf he befriended in captivity, and the Spiritually ill Dwarf.

"Say the word and I will begin my preparation."

[Emelious Storm]

Pimli, seeing that Emelious’ words were holding little sway stepped forward and began to speak, but not in common, in fluent Dwarvish,

“I don't believe we've been introduced Master Dwarf, I am Pimli Prixus...”

This is seriously the best Gnome.

“...I hope you pardon the intrusion but I was inspecting our surroundings, when I noticed an Aura around you, most times this is commonplace but you're Aura is unwell. When did the curse first fall upon you? and how did it happen. I understand if you don't wish to share, but I want to see if I can help.”

“Curse?” Emelious blurted out in common, “Uh, sorry,” he continued in dwarvish, “You pick up a lot on a ship. But if it’s a curse then I can definitely help. It will have to wait until morning though; my connection to the divine is waning, and I must pray for the correct guidance from Valkur. You lot saved mine and Pimli’s lives. Let us repay the favor.”

----

Pimli had located and identified three magical weapons amongst the fallen orcs and was describing their power to the party. A dagger, a wand, and a battleaxe….

"It appears the Orc who carried this was a champion of his Clan, this axe has been through many hands and they've left their mark upon it. All were powerful in their own right, it appears if you kill the previous champion, you become the new one and this axe is your symbol of station."

That’s me! I’m the champion! Uh… what the Hells would I do with a battleaxe?

"That would be Emelious. I think you could honor that tradition and leave your mark upon it and take it with you?" It was Kellar. His words implored Emelious to take it, but his eyes… his eyes danced over the axe with a sense of hunger. No doubt he was imagining all the orc and scorpion chopping he could do with it.

“I don’t know… it’s not really my style,” Emelious droned.

"It's understandable, it is an Orc weapon after all. Perhaps I could take it and use it if you don't mind?"

I knew it!

“Good idea! I’ll let you have it. You don’t even have to kill me. Actually that’s part of the deal. ‘No killing Emelious’.”

----

"I'm for resting a long while and recuperating,” Kellar annouced, “We've been running a bit thin lately. What do you think?"

Pimli piped up, ever willing to help, "I could assist with fortification, if it's decided to rest for the night. I could use some rest myself, I have seen some things on this day that I wish to reflect on,” He looked around at the motley crew of battle weary adventurers, "Say the word and I will begin my preparation."

“I agree, I’ve called on the divine quite a bit today, and it has taxed me a great deal," Emelious commented, "If we’re going to go seek trouble, best to do it at after a good rest. If you need any help preparing the area, I’ll be glad to offer my assistance.”


----

Emelious gathers his supplies. First things first, Emelious wiped himself down with a soapy rag. It wasn't a bath, but ten days without any sort of hygiene had made Emelious less picky. Finishing his rag-bath, Emelious changed into a clean set of clothes and then donned his studded armor.

You never can be too careful when you are camping in an Orcish, scorpion-venom factory dedicated the the Mad God.

Finally, the Half-Elf retrieved his amulet of Valkur and Kraken's Fist pendant and draped them around his neck.

Emelious stood there for a moment, moving his limbs to test the armor's placement. Perfect. Emelious let out a sigh of comfort. For the first time in ten days, Emelious felt... right. Felt himself. He was free.

[AC updated from 16 (unarmored with shield) to 18 (armored with shield).]

[Dwan Bolduum]

I don't believe we've been introduced Master Dwarf, I am Pimli Prixus. I hope you pardon the intrusion but I was inspecting our surroundings, when I noticed an Aura around you, most times this is common place but you're Aura is unwell. When did the curse first fall upon you? and how did it happen. I understand if you don't wish to share, but I wan't to see if I can help

In Dwarven: Well met master Prixus. Your skills this combat were very impressive, and this after being held prisoner for all that time.  I have a feeling that there is much more where that came from. He smiles weakly.

“Dwan, what gave you this wound? I may be able to help. I can think of three spells off the top of my head that I’m familiar with. Two of which I prayed for this morning. Please, let me help, even if just to try.”

Dwarven: It seems that we may be following the same path for some time so I will let you both know.

Common: You're more than welcome to try, but this is a curse... something dark.  It's a death sentence, apparently only a miracle can save me.

A little over a month ago we were investigating the whereabouts of a suspected powerful magical object.  What we thought would be a simple extraction turned out to be complete horror.  

We happened across a man who had died in my arms as I tried to save him. As we turned to go he rose up and attacked me, leaving a little scratch on my neck. Dwan points to the wound that Emelious had been investigating.

What attacked me was no longer man, he had an unquenchable rage, the wounds that marked his body had been filled by this sickly rotten red fungus.  I have never seen fungi like this, yet there have been legends and rumors of these being seen around towns where all of the members have mysteriously disappeared.  

This cut burned and would not properly heal over.  We ran into many more creatures like this man... one of our own sacrificed himself so that we could escape.

When we got back to Baulder's gate I had the Red Wizard and a healer investigate the wound, both stated that it is dark and outside of their capabilities to remove. The wizard at least provided me with these. Dwan pulls out a vial of liquid, uncorks it, and swallows the contents. This is slowing my disease, my... transformation? But this will only buy me about another month or two.  This is what is stopping your healing, Emelious.

The only lead we have on curing this, is on some old children's tale of a desert healer who was old when I was young.

Anger passes over Dwan's face and he smashes the empty vial against the wall. This anger is more controlled than his last outburst, less primal.

For the next two months I will do my best to fight off the evils of Cyric,  I believe this was my calling after all. One day though it may be me that the rest of the group must fight off.

Once Emelious has finished investigating Dwan's wound, Dwan steps over to the pool in the center of the room and stares at the water.  With the scorpion gone, Dwan looks to see what damage has been caused to the pool.  

Nature check 6

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

Dwan tells the newbs about his wound and his plight.

Dwan investigates the pool to see if there might be a way to remove the poison.

[Dwan Bolduum]

nature check

[DiceMaster]

The member 'Dwan Bolduum' has done the following action : Dice Roller

'D20' : 3

[Artimus DeLonde]

Artimus felt a pulse of fear to the question.... Hiding his reaction behind and a look of fiened confision... what could he be asking about..? What did this man -slight of stature, full of mystery-, see?

After all the question was fair, Artimus had asked him the same. But what was he refering to?

"Hmmm, I'm zorry mon amie, I'm not zure what you mean.  Yearz ago I zuffered a bad wound here. I can feel it still on cold nights."

Pointing to the center of his white shirt spotted with blood and chain link peeking out here and there. (halftruth)

"Or perhaps you mean the fist, a zymbol of my order, zimply a trade federation" (lie)

===========================
ok so artimus is sidestepping the question.  He doens't know a ton about the arcane.
He only knows the strange ways it acts in his world shaping an manipulating it.
Pimili is probing around some well kept secrets,
Artimus doens't know what Pimili knows and is trying to deflect (some serious sidestepping)

[DiceMaster]

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

'D20' : 6

[Emelious Storm]

Emelious joins Dwan by the poisoned pool. The dwarf frowns as he inspects it.

"You know, I had an idea about that. I believe I could purify it, maybe not all at once, it could take the better part of an hour. In my studies I was taught a spell that could cleanse food and drink of poison and disease. Well, it's not in a goblet, but it is water. I'm sure the spell would extend to it. Then again, with the scorpion gone, perhaps it will correct itself in time. Whatever the case, like my attempts to cure you, it will have to wait until morning. You should get some rest too, friend."

Emelious goes back to his own business in preparing for the night.

[Pimli Prixus]

Pimli listens to Dwans recounting of how he was inflected, mind not wandering for a second taking in every detail.

"Dwan, you have already consulted a healer and a wizard, I'm not sure there is much in the way of help that can offer. But I will do all that is in my power, and search all my acquired knowledge, to help bend this fate to the lighter side." Pimli smiles up at the Dwarf feebly,

I have no idea what I can do to help him.

He feels almost hopeless, but he will try with all his might to assist this man.

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

"Hmmm, I'm zorry mon amie, I'm not zure what you mean.  Yearz ago I zuffered a bad wound here. I can feel it still on cold nights."

Pointing to the center of his white shirt spotted with blood and chain link peeking out here and there.

"Or perhaps you mean the fist, a zymbol of my order, zimply a trade federation"

Pimli looks at the Sailor with a look of patient exasperation, that look parents get when there children don't believe they know as much as they do. He reaches into his belt pouch and pulls out the pearl. "This pearl is a spell focus, it allows me to detect magical auras around people and items, all I have to do is concentrate on the pearl for a while and POOF, everything springs to life.", he puts the pearl back in his pouch, "That's how I found the items around this room. When I looked at you", he pokes the Sailor with the tip of his staff not hard but not trying to be gentle, "I saw a Ghost image as if you weren't really here, this is a thing that I've never seen before."

"As for this", he uses the staff to point to the amulet, "It may be a symbol of your trade organization, but they're enchanted, and yours has a stronger enchantment then the ones worn by the others, that is how I assumed you were the Captain."

"And this, he once again traces the line across the Sailors chest, "This appeared as a blinding white slash, briliant auras such as that are a sign of Divinity. I believe you're ancored here, what I don't know is how? or Why?

Pimli crosses his arms and listens patiently

Why do humans always have to hide there nature?

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