Gentleman ?  Aarnr seems somewhat surprised that Eilieen would resort to such language, though it is so much at odds with the welcome change in her demeanour that he assumes he must have misheard.

Her healing touch is ... different to the makeshift and make-do healing that Bowbe grants ... gentler somehow.  But for all of that it seems no less efficatious and the priest finds his breathing much easier thereafter.

He smiles and nods, figuring some acknowledgment of the priestesses gratitude over the bucket of water and his own thanks for the healing is in order.

But it is the sudden recovery of Fergus that cheers Aarnr most. "Thou live !" he informs his friend.  "A good fight, was it not ?!!  Are thou feeling up to springing yon trapdoor that the minstrel found for us and seeing what horn-swaggling beasts lurk beneath ?  Mayhap thy lich-mage set them to ward his treasures," he suggests to Corian, thinking to cheer the puttock up, though the priest cannot conceal that he is more intent on finding monsters to slay than what they might be guarding.  Talking of the halfling ... "an' thou would be fobbin' keen to put thy new metal skin to the test, eh ?"
This message was last edited by the player at 14:13, Wed 10 Apr 2013.

Watching with eyes sadder than a sad puppy with sad eyes, Bilfro regards Elieen's attempt to help.

"I am most beholden to you, fair maiden, for your compassionate attempt to restore that which was lost, but I fear it cannot be, as the very nature of it is such that is cannot be mended.  There is naught to do but to persevere and once more undertake the journey of how to put one foot in front of another without losing ones equilibrium.  It is merely a loss I need to grieve, but given time I shall recover, and eventually surpass this most unfortunate and personal departure of something far more worthful to me than its mere monetary value.  Even if that too was substantial."

He sighs and wipes his eyes, straightens his beard out, adjusts it slightly and then stands to tuck the book away into his pack.

"What is found will always be lost, but it is the time there between that matters," says he solemnly and bows his head.

The next moment he abruptly and unceremoniously tosses the pack into the corner and grabs his staff and stomps out through the door.
This message was last edited by the player at 11:43, Fri 12 Apr 2013.

"Very nice, Ozzy.  What does formidbull mean?"

To Eileen, Fergus adds, "Thank you, Miss.  I'm glad you're all okay."  He waits in polite silence while Eileen prays before bursting out, "Wow, Miss, thanks!  I feel much better."  Fergus doesn't follow most of the rest of what Eileen says.  What was Aarnr's altruism and how did one avail oneself of something?  And why did it have to be in private?

Fortunately, Aarne interrupts that (rather derailed) train of thought.  Fergus finds his remarks just as bewildering, though for a different reason.  Fergus couldn't see how nearly dying was good, unless one compared it to actually dying, he supposed.  But Fergus is beginning to become accustomed to such things from Aarnr.

"I guess so, Aarnr.  I'm feeling about as good as I did yesterday, so I guess I'll manage.  If there's another ogre, though, I think I'll let Ozzy face it, seeing as how he's formid'ble." Fergus grinned up at the halfling, or nearly level anyway since he was sitting down.

"It's the fobbin' onions," Aarnr reassures Fergus, nodding at Ozzy, blithely adding to the general air of misunderstanding, misaprehensions and just plain no-idea-either-but-I'm-too-damn-proud/manly/heroic-to-admit-it-fullness. "After breakfast then. Don't know about thou, but I'm gleepin' well not going to die on an empty stomach !"

While Eilieen continues calling on the generosity of Zadastha to heal both her companions and some of their possessions, with varying degrees of success (or otherwise), Colwyn decides to examine the trap door.

Bilfro, meanwhile heads out of the tower, declaring Eilieen's attempt to repair his book a failure.

After but a few moments, Colwyn looks up, his face a mask of bitter disappointment, almost as intense as Bilfro's.

"Gah!" he exclaims dejectedly, as soon as there is a break in the etymological discussion which appears to have erupted while he was distracted, "It's lookin' bloody 'eavy an' solid, but it's 'avin' no bleedin' lock or anythin', far as I's seein'."

Corian sighs, and refrains from pointing out that, if recent performance is anything to go by, then Colwyn probably still won't be able open it anyway...

OOC: People are looking better.

Characters' Apparent Health

Aarnr Foultongue: Good
Aramil:           Good
Bilfro Gabbins:   Good
Colwyn Akbar:     Good
Corian Barade:    Good
Eilieen:          Hurt
Erista:           Good
Fergus Andarson:  Hurt
Oswald Osbourne:  Good

The opportunity to smash something serves to prise the priest away from the thought of food.  Taking up the axe that he recovered from the rubble, he approaches the trapdoor.  "Out of the fobbin' way !" Aarnr instructs Colwyn, resting the axe head on the ground for a moment as he spits on his hands before taking the weapon up and having at the recalcitrant portal with much enthusiasm.

The axe swings down, splitting the trap door in twain, and ripping the pieces out of the opening as Aarnr raises the weapon to strike again.

Colwyn nods, clearly impressed, before commenting, "Not bad... I were jus' goin' ter slide that there bolt over an' pull on' the 'andle so as ter be liftin' the 'atch.  But your way was workin' as well."  He smiles encouragingly at the priest, while brushing some errant splinters from the front of his jerkin.

The rogue peers into the 'ole hole, "'s bein' bleedin' dark down there, so some lights's 'andy.  An' we'll be needin' a bit of rope.  There ain't bein' no ladder nor nothin'.  Still, I's not 'earin' any of them bloody great big spiders lollygaggin' 'round down there.  So that's bein' a good sign, I reckons."

"Aye... bloody good sign."  Somehow his "bloody good sign" does not seem to fill his voice with confidence.

Ozzy is quick to retrieve his pack as Colwyn lists off a few necessary items. He stops by Colwyn and pulls out a coil of hemp rope. Then he pulls out his bullseye lantern, checks the oil and lights the wick. He stands quietly smiling, holding up the lantern for a better view into the dark hole where the trap door used to be. " Rope, light, ...anything else Colwyn?" he asks with a quiet whisper so as not to disturb whatever waited for them below.

"Goodness," Eilieen murmurs as Bilfro storms out.  "I quite understand...poor man."  But she brightens as Fergus appears considerably more lively.  "The smile on your face is a reward, Fergus!  Glad am I that you feel the better today - we had grave concerns over your health."  Pleased, she sweeps up the bucket of water with great zest and strides up into the only place where she can find some privacy, with only a small pause for a curious glance at Aarnr (going on about 'onions').  "Don't go too far, anyone - I'll just be a moment!"

Lies, of course.

Once in the ogre's nasty, smelly abode, Eilieen picks out a relatively clean section of floor and, using the bucket of clean water, does as much work as she possibly can to cleanse herself.  Finished that task, she turns to her clothing.  A simple prayer to Zadastha follows, and what was old and torn is made...well, less-so.

Pleased with her progress, Eilieen navigates the stairs back down to where the others attend.  There had been sundry loud noises that floated up the staircase, and now she sees why.  "Ah...you've affected an entrance?" she inquires, studying the demolished door with eyebrows raised.

OOC - Mending Spell on clothing.  :)
This message was last edited by the player at 14:49, Mon 15 Apr 2013.

Aarnr glares at Colwyn but the rogue is saved the myriad curses known to the priest by the return of Eilieen.  "Effected it froggin' good n' proper !" he assures her proudly, as he slips the axe through the belt at his waist.

"No elfin' rats either," he adds, with a tinge of disappointment, "least not unless they've learned to hold their festerin' tongues."

"Should we lower one of the rancid hedge-pigs down there and see what froggin' bites ?" Aarnr suggests, nodding towards one of the orc corpses.

"Not before breakfast!" the half-elf's voice floats out. He had been busy getting some food ready using the fire from last night. It took a while to get the fire back to anything usable and so had only half an ear on the going on around him. Now that they were ready to start the day again, well to Aarnr's descriptions, he felt the need for sustenance was required. Not many of them would cope without, especially those hurt from yesterday.

" YEAH! WHAT HE SAID..." Ozzy chimes in as Aramil mentions breakfast, Ozzy then leans in close enough to add to Aramil, " So, uh... what're we having?"

Colwyn takes the lantern from the distracted halfling, and lets the light shine down into the basement.  It's about ten feet deep, and seems to be strewn with broken wood, torn and shredded cloth, chunks of stone, and other refuse of indeterminate origin.

The light plays about the chamber as the rogue sticks his head down the hole.  A moment later he pulls it back out.  "Cellar's lookin' 'bout like this."  He gestures to indicate the room they're in, "Round, an' 'bout the same size.  Weren't seein' no doors though.  There's bein' tons of rubbish down there, but the floor straight under the 'ole is clear, an there's bein' another trapdoor, see?"

The lantern's beam picks out the wooden trapdoor, sitting in the centre of a cleared area in the middle of the basement floor.  Two planks have been laid across the door, and where they, cross in the centre, a symbol has been burned into the wood.

"The same as last night" Aramil replies to the halfings comment. Getting ready to serve up the half-elf serves the ladies first, against the usual convention, then Fergus and the rest whoever comes over.

"If there's any plague rats down there they must've been froggin' frisky," Aarnr suggests as he notes the reinforcement ? wards ? upon the second trapdoor.

It's a close call between breakfast and being fast to break open the newly uncovered barrier with his trusty axe ... but the priest's stomach prevails.  "Got to keep our fobbin' strength up !"

"Goddess," Eilieen murmurs, shaking her head.  She'll wait forever for one of these people to set to breakfast themselves, so she sets to work on making breakfast.  "Everyone hand in some of your food," she calls.  "We'll need enough, and Zadastha isn't gifting it to people today."

And nobody has even commented on her mended dress.  What cheek...

Corian leaves a portion of his own provisions close to the fire - some cheese that should be edible with a minimum of scraping, a little bread, and small, carefully folded paper packet containing the last of his tea - and wanders across to stare into the abyss.

After a few moments, his expression transforms into a puzzled frown.  He shift his position so that he can look at the chamber below from a different angle, then tilts his head to one side, to change the angle further.

"By the gods!"

He sways, momentarily, on the brink as he blindly fumbles with his belt pouch...  Then he steadies himself and pulls something from the pouch.  An amulet, which he holds up, for all to see, beaming like a demented moon-calf.

"There, on the trap door.  Do you see it?  'tis the self same sigil that appears on old Eralion's amulet.  Crudely crafted, and definitely distorted, but recognisable, all the same."

"Food."

Bilfro has reappeared in the room at some point and rummages through his pack.

"Gone."

He shrugs apologetically and then looks at Eilieen with an appreciative expression.

"Nice dress, m'lady," he bows and then somehow, with a speed belying his fragile frame, ends up behind Corian, looking over his shoulder, "Old Eralion, says you?  Interesting."

As Ozzy patiently awaits his serving of breakfast, his interest is once again piqued by the strange old man. He asks, " So Bilfro, where you from originally? I mean, before all... this. Any living relatives?" He pulls out his notebook, ready to add more to this particular characters backstory. " I mean, you weren't ALWAYS here, ...right?"

Seeing Eilieen's much improved appearance, Aarnr wipes his dirty hands on his less-than clean leather skirt, though he knows not why he does so.

"I'd thought to go huntin', but we got a bit froggin' busy," Aarnr explains to the priestess why it's all the orcs fault anyway that he has naught to contribute to the meal save being keenly invested in the consumption of whatever can be scraped together.  "Me an' Fergus could go out now, though ?" he suggests enthusiastically, always keen to embrace a solution that involves violence.  "See what we can catch nappin' ?"

Corian's excitement does, however, require the priest's immediate attention.  "Hold the fobbin' trinket still, thou demented moon-calf !" Aarnr demands (yup, he can see the likeness).  Staring down into the poorly lit hole to squint at the the second trapdoor, he looks long and hard before offering a scornful, "Froggin' nothin' like it, thou jolt-headed mammet !"

Having satisfied everyone that the sturdy planks bear no resemblance whatsoever to a small pendant, he adds, belligerently, "What's a gleepin' sigil anyway ?  Some sort of fobbin' seabird isn't it ?!!"

"What?" Corian starts as Bilfro's voice sounds at his ear.  "Oh, ah, yes.... Old Eralion.  He was... ah... my uncle, yes that's it, my long lost uncle.  The whole family wondered what had happened to him.  That's why I was searching for him.  He was a famous... er... painter.  Knew absolutely nothing about magic.  Definitely not a mage."

And then Aarnr comes to assist in the identification of the mark, and the apprentice mage's stomach drops into the depths of the Abyss.  Aarnr will have heard the whole brilliant deception.  Unfortunately, Aarnr probably thinks subterfuge is a kind of berry used for stuffing wild boar.  Probably before killing the unfortunate beast.

"A sigil is a sign.  A mark, you see."  Corian indicates the symbol on the medallion.  Then, mostly for Bilfro's benefit, he adds, "Some of them are magical, but not necessarily all of them."

"It's alright Miss, I think Aramil's already got breakfast started."

Fergus, being a farmboy at heart and not at all educated in the way of women, failed to notice the marked improvement in Eilieen's clothing.  Besides, he had been trying very hard not to notice the holes in her clothing before and having finally got the knack, it would be a shame to break the habit.

"I don't think going hunting'd be a good idea, Aarnr.  We haven't looked in all the places up here yet.  We might be needed while we're out.  An' I reckon breakfast'll be up soon anyway and it'd be a shame to let it go cold."

Fergus tries to follow the conversation about the trapdoor and the sigil, but without much enthusiasm.  He'd much rather take the chalice back to Shandril and then be off to Rappan Athuk.  Since it's unlikely that idea will win much support he stays quiet, taking the chance to rest before he's required to face plague rats and who knows what else in the darkness below the ground.

Erista looks at Ozzy approvingly.  The shirt looks good on him, she decides, and would definitely have been too small for Fergus anyway.

Coming over to the trapdoor, she gives Corian a doubtful look.  "Um, you know, when my uncle - Uncle Lannet, an actual Uncle of mine, you could meet him someday - sat me on his knee and taught me how to lie, one of the first things he said was, `And Risty?' - he called me Risty - `When you think of a good one, you just say it.  Don't tell yourself how good it is, and for Brandobaris' sake, don't tell everybody.  Them little phrases like `Yeah, that's the one' or `of course that's where I was', those're a dead giveaway'."

She pats Corian on the shoulder.  "Don't feel bad.  I hear nobody ever tells folk this stuff where you come from.  Just try it again.  Say it with me."  She clears her throat.  "Old Eralion, indeed.  My long lost uncle; you might have heard of him, actually, for his painting.  The whole family worried so, that's why I set out to search for him."  She looks at Corian encouragingly.  "And then you stop there, see?  Nobody ever said he was a mage, so no point in saying he wasn't yet.  Leave off the painter thing, too, actually, unless he was a painter as well as a mage.  It's good to give a lie a nice shine of truth."

"Indubitably."

Bilfro says but one word to Corian in response to his tale of his uncle and the lack of magic involved.  He gives Erista a telling look before turning his attention completely to Oswald.

"Ah, I have forgotten whence I hail primitively, being noticeably young upon childbirth, lacking my beard and all," says he a strokes the beard absently, "but I have spent most of my life in Bard's Gate.  Perchance you have heard thereof?  It is to the east of here, along the road.  Quite a adorable venue, if I may say so myself.  Agreeable folk too, apart from the proprietor of The Drunken Flute, being as odd as the name of his establishment, mark my words!  And he snores.  Loudly."

He nods sagely and takes a deep breath to continue.

"Relatives, now there is an interesting epic to be related!  I did, at one point, have those, at least the usual mother and father like most who had a natal day, but at some juncture we diverged and have since then not chanced upon one another, if indeed any of them are still alive.  I might claim an uncle or two," a passing glance at Corian, "but where they be and whether they live and breathe, only they can tell.  Or anyone who knows them.  Unless they are dead.  My uncles that is.  Or those who might know them, indeed.  Come to think of it, death may not stop anyone from talking either, and I don't necessarily speak of necromancy either.  Ghosts and such still linger, to point out one possibility.  Mind you, muteness may hamper any effort to partake information, either way.  I think I had a sister too, but it might have been an effeminate younger brother.  It is with him or her as per my uncles, if they do exist and so forth, only he or she really knows.  Well, presumably my mother as well, wherever she might be, if she still lives..."

He takes another deep breath, evidently preparing to continue his tale.
This message was last edited by the player at 20:18, Sun 21 Apr 2013.

"I'm afraid the only lesson I ever had concerning lying taught me that it is wrong to do so." Corian replies to Erista, somewhat tartly.  He does, however, refrain from mentioning that his lack of education in the subject of falsehood is, in all likelihood, entirely due to his not being less than three feet tall.  This tactful omission is probably on account of Ozzy's proximity, diminutive stature and suddenly martial appearance.

The mage tries to ignore Bilfro's rambling explanation to Ozzy.  Even so, he can feel his eyes glazing over before the man takes his first pause for breath.  He casts about for a distraction, and spots Colwyn watching him.

"What, pray tell, are you smirking at?"

The rogue's smirk broadens into a grin, and he shakes his head, "I were always thinkin' as 'ow wizards's serposed ter be clever as owls.  I's not seein' much edivence of it."

Corian turns about, and stalks away from the trapdoor, leaving Colwyn to ask Erista, "So them's teachin' kids ter tell porkies good'n'proper where you's comin' from?  That's bein' better an the lessons what I were 'avin'."