The game will begin as soon as The Cast page is filled out and character sheets have been submitted.  Please review your private messages, the prologues, and the setting information to keep from getting lost, and get ready to have fun!

***

CHAPTER 01
The Hitchcock Inn, Hae'driel
Two hours prior to midday one fortnight after August's first full moon

There were many hotels, lodges, inns, and taverns in Hae'driel, but none were as accommodating as the Hitchcock.  Countless hundreds of celebrities had flocked to its venerated halls over the years, partaking in masterful cuisine and an enviable selection of liquors, wines and beers from locations scattered throughout the world.

Baldwin sat at a large table covered with exotic meats and cheeses, each paired with tankards of dwarven ale, gnomish cognac, elven wine, and more.  A steward stood patiently nearby, his countenance the very model of patience.

So many adventures have started right here, Baldwin thought.  So many parties have gathered, with so much promise.  How many more must perish before I find a true hero?

"How many are you expecting this time, sir?" the steward asked, breaking the silence.

"Five, I believe.  We have a promising lot, this time.  I have high hopes for success."

If the steward had any doubts, he kept them to dutifully to himself.

"Very good, sir.  And when shall they arrive?"

"Well, we are at the designated place at the designated time.  The table is set, and our situation has grown more dire than ever.  I expect they'll meander in presently."

The steward simply nodded, his expression betraying nothing.

"I look forward to meeting them, sir.  And I remain, as ever, at your disposal should you need anything."

Baldwin smiled.

"Thanks, Filbert.  If you'll be so kind as to show them to this room when they arrive?"

"Very good, sir."

The steward bowed with the natural stiffness of one accustomed to a lifetime of formality and departed toward the lobby.

Alone again, Baldwin turned his attention to a battered map pinned to the wall behind him.

"Yes, the table is certainly set for our guests," he mused, circling a few points on the map.  "But as for whether they're up for the banquet prepared for them?  That remains to be seen."

***

Each of you is currently located somewhere in the city of Hae'driel on the day of the meeting.  Whether you go or not, and how timely you are, is up to you.  Feel free to describe where you are, what you're doing, and any minor interactions you'd like to have en route to the Inn (or while ignoring the Inn, if you'd prefer).

It's an open forum, so have at it!  Once everyone has described their activities leading up to the meeting, I'll consolidate a response into a timeline that makes sense and we'll go from there.  This is what I meant by a leisurely pace to begin with... :)
This message was last edited by the GM at 13:55, Thu 03 Oct 2013.

In reply to DM (msg # 1):

Keef stood for some time with eyes wide, nearly getting run over by more than a few carriages and horse-carts.  Thus, standing in the middle of a busy road, he learned both a little of the wonders of Hae'driel, the largest city he'd yet set foot in, and also of the most horrible language it's inhabitants can spew at a moments notice.

Yet, in his thirteen or so years of life, he had never been so proud.

Keef took a rumpled letter, which he'd read several dozen times already, out of his pocket and read along, though he had it memorized long ago.  He then folded it with great care and placed it inside his dusty dented leather armor at his left breast.  He tightened his grip on the weapon at his belt and marched down the street head held high.

Endless sensations, all new to him, assaulted his ears, eyes and nose.  Colorful displays, baked goods and sweets, fanfares from exotic instruments, strange beasts and wares, all of these and more tempted him at every turn.  Only the letter, and the promise of adventure it held, kept Keef from straying off down each alley, from stopping to poke at each merchant's wares, and from skipping off after each passer-by with shiny armor, a beautiful star-spun dress, or a voice carrying an accent from far away.

That being said, Keef found himself taking the most circuitous route to the tavern, and despite his good intentions, he was horribly embarrassed to find that he arrived a good half hour late...

Keef dusted off his boots with one gloved hand as best he could.  He tightened his belt and smoothed his hair ineffectually.  His mind spun, running through everything in his well-used backpack, making sure he didn't forget a single piece of equipment.  He tried at once to recall everything he'd practiced for and everything he hoped for each time he fell asleep each night.

Keef fished the letter, now in a crumpled roll, from his armor.  He walked up to a man he assumed was the steward or host and announced himself to the world.  Given the difference in height, Keef was forced to reach up, holding the letter in one fist directly in the man's face a mere inch from his nose.

Good sir, I am Keef and I am here to meet with the great Baldwin of Blakehaven!  Please let me pass!
This message was last edited by the player at 18:18, Mon 16 Sept 2013.

In reply to DM (msg # 1):

The woman--well, woman was perhaps a generous title; girl really-- who walked into the the inn was at once unremarkable in appearance and yet somehow familiar..  You can't help but feel that you've seen that face before.  In an illustration, maybe?  Surely not.  At any rate, the most interesting thing about her is surely not her face but rather the wicked-looking polearm she carries with her.  Maybe you've misjudged the young lady.  Young she may be, but she holds the weapon as if she knows how to inflict some damage with it.

She hesitates at the threshold.  Then, as if making a sudden decision, she strides confidently to the bar.

"That's quite a sidearm, miss," the barkeep says good-naturedly.  "Is there anything I can get for you?"

"Nothing for now.  I'm expected, you see."  The young woman pulls a folded piece of parchment from within a traveling satchel.  "I was told to ask for. . . Filbert. She hesitates over the unusual name.

The barkeep stares at the girl, rather more serious now.  "I see.  And if I were to take you up to this Filbert, what name would I give him?"

"Maeve"

The barkeep chuckles.  "Well that's not much to go on, now is it?  Maeve what?  Maeve Pigsticker?" he says with a grin, nodding toward the polearm.

"Just 'Maeve' will do nicely for our purposes."
This message was last edited by the GM at 21:58, Mon 16 Sept 2013.

Boreas strides up to the tavern entrance, confident, like he's a regular.  In truth, he's only ever seen this place once before, in his youth.  A filthy tavern on a filthy street, or at least Father said as much.  He used to dread when his business forced him to the city he mockingly called "High-driel," after its denizens' alleged snobbishness.

The confidence takes a bit of a strain - Boreas hasn't been in a city for at least a year now.  But it works well enough.

Sir, I'm afraid you'll have to...

The attendant was cut off by the piece of parchment briefly waved in front of his face.  Boreas blew right past, making his way toward a small group of people.

The bard sees me.

He hung back from the group, taking stock.  His eyes - eye - pass over the young woman with the mean looking polearm - a glaive - no - guisarme, if memory serves.  Not bad, and she's well armed, at least.  Stands like a warrior.

The boy on the other hand - scrawny, ill-equipped.  He won't last long.

They just met.

Sensing the right moment, Boreas walks up to the group, a slight, calculated smile on his face, and looks the bard in the eye.

I hear there's adventure to be had.

In reply to Boreas Highwind (msg # 4):

Keef looks on with wonder at the imposing figures before him.  He eyes Maeve's weapon with great interest, glancing down at his own meager armament.

Keef risks a first questions. Is it heavy? He asks gesturing to the polearm.

Curiosity gets the better of him and he launches further into inquiry.

I'll bet it's heavy, can you throw it?  I'll bet you could... I've seen them before you know, but never this close up.  Captain Teeg of the Satin Guard had one too... but it was bigger... but he was half ogre so...

Keef cocks his head and turns to Boreas.

How did you lose your eye?  Did it hurt?

Throughout the inquiry, and in fact since entering the tavern, Keef has been so excited that he has forgotten about the letter he carries.  It remains rolled up in one fist more or less outstretched from his body the whole time as if it were a magic charm or something too fragile to let go of.
This message was last edited by the player at 18:57, Tue 17 Sept 2013.

In reply to Keef (msg # 5):

Baldwin chuckles at Keef's antics, then holds up a hand.

"Such vibrant energy will serve you well, but only in its place.  Peace, young one.  There will be plenty of time to get to know each other in the days to come."

He pauses, appraising each of the three individuals who have gathered before him for a moment before reaching across the table to pour himself a generous glass of elven icewine.

"You want answers, I know.  And you shall have them.  But, as eager as I am to begin our grand venture," Baldwin continues, wiping the rim of his cup with a napkin absently, "I'd rather tell this particular story exactly one time."

He glances expectantly at the doorway, and then at three empty seats that remain at the table.  Only two of these are set with empty cups, plates, silverware, and cups, while the third seems entirely bare.  Behind him, attached to the wall by some unknown means, are three maps of what appears to be a nearby location, each representing progressively more zoomed-in features and covered with handwritten notes.

"While we're waiting for my remaining guests, I implore you to please take a seat, set down your burdens, and sample some of the Hitchcock's famous fare.  I assure you, you're quite safe here, and you'll need your strength for the road ahead."

His sky-blue eyes glitter for a moment, and a smile plays across his lips.

"And don't be bashful about the cost.  This meal's on me."
This message was last edited by the player at 19:28, Tue 17 Sept 2013.

In reply to Baldwin (msg # 6):

Maeve eats when the meal arrives, but without great interest. The bard Baldwin, it seems, has rather exaggerated the "fame" of the Hitchcock's fare. And anyway, the others gathered around the table are much more deserving of her attention.

The bard seems a potentially decent sort, though she does wish that he would skip the dramatics and simply get to the point. The ranger is likewise intriguing, though he has not said enough for her to form an impression one way or another.  His silence is fine by her; Maeve does not appreciate talking for the sake of hearing one's voice.  The boy is therefore growing quickly tiresome.

"Heavy enough" she says in response to Keef's incessant questioning about her guissame. "Though it's the force behind the jab and not the heft of the weapon that gets the job done. And no,"Maeve says, anticipating his next query, "No, you cannot touch it."

In reply to Maeve (msg # 7):

Keef finds a spot on the floor to flop his gear with little ceremony.  He sits down at the table carefully, clearly unsure of what protocol or procedure one follows in such a situation.  He accepts a small amount of simple food with equal caution.  Not fear, merely a desire not to offend.  He eyes the ale and wines with a deep mistrust and accepts only water to drink.  For anything that looks like sweets, however, he shows less reservation.

Force: that makes sense.  My master-at-arms always said it 'follow-through'.  Sounds like the same thing to me.

Keef watches his companions closely and with great interest.  He seems to suddenly have remembered something important.  He fishes around in his dirty backpack and retrieves a fat ugly toad.  He is about to place it on the table but thinks better of it and rests it on one knee while folding his legs under himself on the table.  The toad stares at the table with indifference.  Keef places a small paper hat on its head.

I've never been to such a fancy place, do they have jesters?  I've never been to a place that had jesters.  I've seen them before you know... just not while eating.

Keef smiles broadly at everyone and offers morsels to the toad.

Oh! he says suddenly, looking at Baldwin, Do they allow pets here?  He doesn't eat much.
This message was last edited by the player at 00:41, Wed 18 Sept 2013.

Boreas eats with far more grace than you would expect from a man of his profession.  He seems to know what to take and how much, enjoying the meal thoroughly.

Not that I don't appreciate the meal and the company, but Baldwin, why are we here?  What do you want?

In reply to Boreas Highwind (msg # 9):

"Pets are welcome enough, lad.  Jesters, too!  But as for the complicated question...," Baldwin smiles good-naturedly, taking a slow sip of wine before responding further.

"You're each here for your own reasons, of course.  Fame and fortune, for some.  Personal redemption, for others, and the opportunity to escape the everyday shadows that weigh upon their soul.  Still more among you are here for the chance to right the wrongs of the past."

He pauses to set down his cup and slip his lyre into his hands, which he strums gently - almost absently - while he speaks.

"But as for why you are gathered together here, at this precise moment?"

His fingers fly across the strings, weaving a melody that evokes a sense of great promise in those with an appreciation for such things.

"You're here because you chose it.  Each of you.  Because some very great part of you knows that this world can be better than it is.  This world is in grave danger, though you wouldn't know it from lounging about the oblivious streets of Hae'driel."

"You're here because that same voice inside your head is certain that somewhere, buried deep within the marrow of your bones and the blood in your heart, lies the strength, courage, and intellect to keep Aeryis safe.  To give its residents a better life than the one they know, and to protect them from a future that cannot be allowed to happen."

The music fades as Baldwin's fingers leave the strings to curl around his cup once more.

"And, thank the Muse, you'd be right about that.  All I want, really, is to give you a brief history lesson and a light to guide your along your way.  Both will be provided..."

He pauses again to gesture at the empty places at the table.

"... in the very near future."
This message was last edited by the player at 12:40, Wed 18 Sept 2013.

Zuriel strode down the wide avenues of Hae'driel, barely paying attention to the bustle of commerce around him. His chain mail clinked under the tabard marking him a Paladin of the Emerald Flame as he quickened his pace. Zuriel sighed. He was late. Dealing with a would-be thief in the common market had taken time out of his already tight schedule.

A highborn merchant had caught a street urchin trying to pilfer some cabbages from his stand. Zuriel had happened across the scene just as the livid merchant began howling for the guards. "My cabbages!" he shouted, "this brat was trying to steal my cabbages! Guards, arrest him!" Zuriel managed to make his way to the shopkeeper before any members of the Watch, or worse, fellow Paladins of the Emerald Flame, heard the din. The "thief" was a scrawny, starving thing of around 8 years of age, though as malnourished as he was it was hard to tell. The penalty for theft by the lower classes was thirty days in the dungeon for the first offense, regardless of age. Clearly the boy would not survive a stay in the gaol, yet to his brothers-in-arms, the Law was the Law. Zuriel looked into the boy's eyes. There was no ill will to be found, simply hunger and a quiet pleading desperation.

Speaking placatingly, Zuriel managed to convince the shopkeeper to accept thirty days of service from the boy in lieu of having the guards throw him in the dungeon. Much better, Zuriel had reasoned, that the boy repay his debt to society in a way that benefited the people, such as assisting an upstanding merchant in providing his wares to the public. The merchant would be expected to room and board the boy, in exchange for his labor running errands for 30 days as punishment for attempted theft. By the end of the conversation, the merchant was thoroughly convinced that he had both a good deal in the cheap labor and was doing the city a public service. Satisfied, Zuriel left with an appropriately stern admonition to the would be thief, which very nearly caused the poor lad to faint.

Turning away, Zuriel struggled to suppress a smile. Rather than being sentenced to certain death for the crime of attempting to feed himself, the boy would receive food, a roof over his head, and honest work for a month. With luck, if the boy did his work dutifully he would likely convince the merchant to keep him on as help. It wasn't much, but Goddess willing, it might be enough.

Still, the fact remained that he was now behind schedule. The crowd parted around Zuriel as he continued on his way, the people nearby not wanting to get between a paladin and his duties. Whether it was respect for his mission or fear of being caught breaking some law that caused the crowd around him to give way, Zuriel was never quite sure. He imagined it was a mixture of both. Whatever the case, he rarely had to deal with the crushing mass of population that was the majority of the city.

Finally, the paladin neared the appointed inn, if not quite at the appointed time. Pausing briefly at the door and nodding politely to the attendant, Zuriel swept inside. He took a moment to take in his surroundings before continuing further into the building. It was clear where he was expected. The man who could only be the Bard sat at the head of a table laid out with a generous spread, even by the standards of the Hae'driel aristocracy. A rugged man with one eye sat at the table, as did a small but self-assured girl with a polearm much larger than herself. The third person Zuriel initially mistook for a squire before noticing he too was clutching what could only be an invitation to the Quest. Young even by human standards, he was dressed in motley equipment and was chattering nonstop. A boy, looking more like he was out playing soldier than actually embarking on an adventure. Of course, if Zuriel was honest with himself, that's exactly what his own father would have thought of Zuriel had the illustrious Edrahil Siléndril known of this expedition.

His gaze fell upon the remaining two places set. For himself, and one other. A ragged band to say the least, but if Zuriel had learned one thing in his life, it was that outward appearances could be deceiving, and those who might seem inconsequential or outcast often had the greatest potential. His himself was proof of as much.

Finally taking his place at the table, Zuriel bowed respectfully to the Bard before seating himself.

"I apologize for my tardiness, Master Baldwin. I hope that I have not caused offense. I am most eager to hear of this Quest you set before us!"
This message was last edited by the player at 23:40, Thu 19 Sept 2013.

Looks like we're nearly all here.  Maybe we'll finally find out what we're doing when that last seat is filled.

Boreas heard the clanking of the paladin's armor - even over the sounds of the pub - well before he stepped into view.  He was an elf, "highborn," and the bright green heraldry on his tabard confirmed his status as a paladin of the Flame.

Boreas knew of the Emerald Flame well enough, mostly from Father and Mother's diatribes against that "heathen tree-worship."  He wasn't so concerned about all that, but the paladins carried a reputation for, let's say, rectitude, a standard that might prove inconvenient depending on the tasks to come.

Best to stay on his good side, if we're going to be working together.

It didn't hurt matters that it would cause Mother and Father to grimace to hear him say it.  He nodded slightly at the newcomer, willing a smile, and gave the traditional greeting of the elven faith,

En taro Tassada.

In reply to Boreas Highwind (msg # 12):

Keef watches the paladin approach with great enthusiasm.  You're almost positive he's mouthing the words "a paladin, wow" as the man sits.

For a moment, only a moment, Keef looks as if he'll be able to keep quiet.

A paladin?  Are you coming with us?

Keef is so excited that he can barely sit.  The toad has to maneuver constantly to avoid being spilled onto the floor.

And you'll sing songs about this Baldwin?  About us?

With the largest grin you've probably ever seen, Keef looks at each person at the table in turn.  He is clearly envisioning some great ballad or tall-tale starring everyone he's just met.

In reply to Keef (msg # 13):

Maeve hides a grin as she watches the boy nearly wet himself in his excitement over the paladin.  Tiresome he may be, but there is something hopelessly endearing about his enthusiasm.  She wonders if it will last.

The newcomer seems a capable fighter, which pleases her in spite of the fact that he is also clearly of a god-fearing mentality.  Maeve doesn't *not* believe in the deities per se, but given the choice she would much rather place her faith in her own abilities rather than a fickle God who may or may not decide to be of assistance.  Her father has always been of much the same opinion. It is one of the things she most admires about him and undoubtedly one of the traits that helped him to get to where he is today.

Maeve turns her attention to the last unoccupied seat and silently wills their missing companion to appear.

Zuriel nods and returns the the proper response to the hunter's greeting.

En Taro Adun, friend, and well met.

The paladin inclines his head politely to the quiet girl with the spear before turning to regard the young boy.

Smiling, Zuriel replies "Yes, little one. I will be traveling as part of this expedition. I am Zuriel Siléndril. And whom do I have the pleasure of addressing?""

Zuriel gently removes the toad from his plate and returns it to the boy while he awaits a response. An interesting group to be sure. For all his rough and ungroomed looks, the hunter was comporting himself with impeccable manners and decorum at the banquet. The young girl had the eyes of a warrior, and Zuriel was fairly certain that the boy's toad was no ordinary child's pet, but a familiar.

There was clearly more to this group of misfits than first met the eye.

In reply to DM (msg # 1):

Lyriel walks up to the door of the Inn, slightly out of breath, realizing she was already late...but that couldn't be helped she thought to herself as she scanned the room. She saw the man who must be Filbert standing behind the bar polishing the oak in front of him with a worn rag. He looks up and their eyes meet.

Ah you must be the last of them then, they've been waiting for you missy, best not keep them any longer.

Her green eyes flash, shocked at his manner.My tardiness is my own concern barkeep, just show me to them if you please.

Grumbling a bit under his breath highborn, he muttered. Then straightening up he addressed her well you best be following me then, my lady.

She strides over tucking a stray lock of honey blonde hair behind her ear and fastidiously brushing the city dirt from her robes. Upon entering the back room she notices the others gathered around the table. Quite a lot we are then she muses as she takes her seat.

Greetings Master Baldwin, everyone. She nods at the others. A thousand apologies for my lateness, I'm afraid I had some important business to attend to that couldn't be helped. With her last words her eyes land on Zuriel, a bemused smile crossing her berry colored lips.
This message was last edited by the player at 23:42, Wed 18 Sept 2013.

Upon hearing a familiar voice, Zuriel looks up in obvious surprise before his face opens into a radiant smile.

"Lyriel! I'm so glad you decided to join in after all! With you along, we're sure to have the Goddess herself on our side. Come, sit!"

Zuriel stands to greet his associate from the temple before pulling out the unoccupied chair in front of the empty place setting next to him.

"Master Bard, I believe that makes a Party!"

In reply to Zuriel Silendril (msg # 17):

Keef stands up quickly, hand outstretched with the rolled-up letter from Baldwin again.

I'm Keef, if it please you, sir.  And all of you Sirs and Ladies.

Keef smiles and nods, clearly confident in his reply.  He then realizes that he has sent the toad sprawling to the floor as well as knocked over his chair and backpack in the excitement.

Keef vanishes under the table momentarily, collects his belongings and perches on his chair once again.

In reply to Zuriel Silendril (msg # 17):

"And so it is that all have arrived," Baldwin nods, standing up to hover behind his chair just as Lyriel settles into her own.  "Please continue to eat and drink while I answer the very pressing question on your minds: What are you doing here?"

He glances at Boreas, deliberately pausing to refill his glass with icewine before continuing.

"As you are all aware, there's been a great deal of grumbling lately about the usual topics of international concern.  Telsid-Fas remains choked with gnomish refugees; Hae'driel seethes over the loss of Loe'driel; the East insists upon honoring trade agreements with our enemies; and the minotaur of Grelklic have grown so fond of the taste of gnome meat that they have stopped entertaining our diplomatic envoys entirely.  Truly, the list goes on and on."

He turns toward the maps behind him and points at the most zoomed-out one, which shows the whole of the world.

"But those matters are trifling compared to what I am about to tell you."

His eyes harden slightly, and his tone grows serious.

"What you see behind me is a series of maps. On the first, I have marked each and every temple dedicated to an established member of the Immortal Pantheon that existed during our troubles with the Cult of the Damned some 100 years ago.  Good gods and goddesses are marked with silver, neutral powers with beige, and the nebulous beings attuned to evil with black.."

"Compare this with the second map, which shows the same information as it is today," he says, quietly.  "Tell me, does anything stand out?"

He waits for a few moments while his guests study the map in question.

"Keen eyes will notice a loss of silver across the world, a slight uptick in black, and a marked increase in beige territory.  But this does not tell the whole story."

Baldwin rubs his hands together, cracks his knuckles, and slips his lyre into place.  As he plays, the notes seem to correspond with floating nodes of color which swirl as he speaks, forming themselves into numbers that hover over the first two maps.

"What you're seeing now is the total number of individuals each temple has enrolled as an empowered member of the church.  That is, they show a tally of every person to whom the deity will grant a fraction of their power when asked.  Clerics, paladins, and the like."

He changes his strumming pattern slightly, rearranging numbers to total them under a shimmering symbol the represents each deity.

The numbers on the modern map are far, far lower across the board than those on the older map, and two in particular stand out.  While most of the faiths suffered hundreds or thousands of losses, Tassada's symbol dropped by only a scant dozen.  As for Kazul, the number was reduced from several thousand to six."

"Obviously, there is a margin of error for these numbers -- particularly in the case of Kazul -- but I'm fairly confident Ignati has not led me too far astray.  The base concept is sound: we are losing holy men and women at an alarming rate."

He clears his throat self-consciously, then continues.

"There are only three reasons for numbers like these.  The first is the notion that in this time of widespread crisis, anger, and righteous fury, fewer people are turning to pantheon for assistance.  This explanation does not fit with the steady number of temples we still see in operation, however, which leads me to consider a more horrifying possibility."

"In my mind, this decline is due to either fewer people being chosen to wield the power of the gods... or to something preventing them from being able to do so."

He replaces his lyre, though the lights and numbers linger in the air for a good minute after the final note, and slides into his seat.

"In essence, ladies.  Gentlemen.  Toads, as well.  You are here to investigate the very real possibility that the gods are dying.  And, if it turns out that they are, to save them before it's too late."

He takes another sip from his wine and smiles in relief as it cools his tired vocal cords.

"I have further instructions on how to go about doing this, of course, but first," he says hesitantly, as if dreading what is about to come.  "I should ask if you have any questions."
This message was last edited by the player at 01:16, Thu 19 Sept 2013.

Zuriel frowned as he contemplated what Baldwin had postulated.

"Apologies, but what exactly do you mean by "dying?" How can gods die? They are immortal by definition, as constant and eternal as the stars! The very idea is preposterous. Surely there must be some other explanation. Perhaps it is we mortals who are lapsing in our faithfulness..."

The paladin's sentence trailed off, as his arched eyebrows furrowed in thought, clearly disturbed by the notion that gods may not be so immortal after all.

Boreas sits in silence for a moment, mulling over this new information.

Troubling, indeed, but then again, there's a reason they call it the Liar's Lyre.

He looks up, directing his unpatched eye just past Baldwin's left ear.

Best never to look a bard in the eyes.

He speaks.

I've been on a great number of journeys before coming here, but I've reached far fewer destinations.  What you say, if it's true, is a destination.  Right now, we're all concerned with the journey.

In reply to Baldwin (msg # 19):

"As you say"Maeve said, absentmindedly removing the toad from her lap and returning it to its young master ,"There could be many other explanations for this.  People may leave the church for any number of reasons. That's hardly evidence that there is something sinister afoot."

The young woman was feeling somewhat out of her element. Dealing with the ethereal realms of the spirits was a daunting prospect for one who preferred to, as she'd often heard growing up, "deal in steel."
This message was last edited by the player at 13:00, Thu 19 Sept 2013.

In reply to Maeve (msg # 22):

"Ah, but these numbers are not reflections of church's total flock," Baldwin says, choosing the answer Maeve first.  "They represent the number of followers who have been endowed with divine magic.  If anything, the number of people actually attending temple services has gone up."

Leaving Boreas for last, he turns to the paladin.

"Maybe 'dieing' is the wrong word, Sir Zuriel.  I can't know for sure that they are actually perishing, of course -- we know so little about the true nature of the divine.  Whether they have grown miserly with their gifts, or too weak to bestow them, or have simply seen their connection to this world steadily deteriorate is part of what I hope to learn during our time together."

He drains what's left of his icewine in silence.

"Now then," he says, fixing his eyes in Boreas's direction.  "The meat and potatoes, as it were.  The journey I envision involves several separate destinations, to keep with your metaphor, each with a distinct goal in mind.  First, we must identify what is actually happening.  Second, we must determine what to do about it.  And, finally, we must execute the appropriate plan."

He chuckles softly, shaking his head at Boreas as if anticipating further objections.

"Easy enough, when spoken out loud, yes.  But I can already read the questions forming upon your lips.  You want details.  Facts, not fiction.  And I will be happy to oblige you."

Baldwin reaches into the folds of his billowing cloak and produces a small metal object.  Thoroughly unimpressive despite the fanfare surrounding its appearance, it looks for all the world like a paperweight with a thin slit carved horizontally across its surface.

"An old friend of mine named Magnificent Melvin used to run a magical emporium in Ikuabi packed magical artifacts.  I shared my concerns on this matter with him countless times, and though he never offered to help me, he did lend a sympathetic ear.  Upon his deathbed, he left me this."

He smiles at some passing memory before pressing on.

"Behold, the Godstone.  Though, in all honesty, that name has not yet caught on."

He places the object carefully on the table, slot facing upward.

"Melvin called it an aural analyzer -- gnomes have the most unimaginative names for things.  It is said to have many properties, but chief among them is the ability to read the relative power levels for various magical sources.  Especially divine magic."

To demonstrate, he holds a silver pendent over the device.  It shimmers in the sunlight streaming forth from the windowpane, and many of you recognize it immediately.

"This is a holy symbol of Tassada," Baldwin explains, sliding it into the analyzer's slot, where it clicks easily into place.  "Observe."

He adjusts several dials on the object that were not apparent before, aligning them with the symbol, then steps back as the object starts to shudder and hiss like a teakettle.  The forward-facing panel of the analyzer lights up and shows three zeroes made from fragmented lines of blue light.  (OOC: It looks rather like the display of a digital clock).

"Since this is newly crafted from the temple down the street, it has never been used as the focus for divine spells, and thus the Godstone cannot read it properly.  But look at what happens when I insert one that I borrowed from a friend in the clergy."

Baldwin swaps out the symbols, and the display changes to reveal a rather large number.  It counts down at irregular intervals, one or two numbers at a time, as you watch.

"I have been studying this device for decades, but I still don't know as much as I'd like about this thing. The number ticks down slowly throughout the day, never reaching zero.  At dawn, it is restored to a number very close to the large value it started at the previous day.  Since I began observing it, this starting number has trended downward, but I am not certain what it means."

He leaves the Godstone running as he turns his attention once more to the maps.

"I have traveled the world looking for holy symbols from each religion, a task made all the more tedious by the Godstone's fickle requirement that the symbol must have been actually used to channel the energy of the god or goddess in question.  This is a state of being I have labeled as 'empowered'."

Baldwin clears his throat in preparation of finally getting to the point, temporarily distracted by the Godstone ticking down four numbers at once.

"As you know, you are not the first group I have sent upon this quest.  While each of the other parties were ultimately defeated, many did enjoy partial successes."

He lays out a collection of pendants, each cast in one form of precious metal or another.  You can't help but recognize at least one or two of the lot.

"Behold, empowered symbols corresponding to the churches of Hort, Tassada, Rachelle, Cenadora, Ignati, and Tyblin.  Curiously, the Godstone only functions with the former three, remaining blank when Ignati, Cenadora or Tyblin's is inserted despite the fact that I know for certain their symbols are empowered."

"This leads me to speculate that there is something Hort, Tassada, and Rachelle have in common that Ignati, Cenadora, and Tyblin do not share, though I'll be blasted if I can figure out what that might be."

"That said, I don't want to overlook the possibility that Melvin's analyzer has been damaged or is limited in some way.  We must learn more."

Baldwin waits for his words to sink in, then adopts an extremely serious tone.

"Which brings us to your first assignment, should you be willing to get involved in the affairs of gods and men," he continues.  "And of women and toads, as well."

He turns to the third map, which has until now gone unreferenced.

"This map shows the locations of the only two other objects on this plane of existence that seem similar to the Godstone.  One, as you can see, seems to be nestled somewhere in the woodlands west of here.  The second, I'm afraid, resides in Loe'driel."

Baldwins gives a meaningful look to those gathered before him.

"If I may offer some counsel, I would suggest searching the forests first."
This message was last edited by the player at 14:56, Fri 17 Jan 2014.

Would you have us bring you ten boar pelts as well?

Nonetheless, I could use a walk in the woods.  Do we have a way of locating this object?  Do we know what it even looks like?  I would imagine someone with as storied a history as you would have something that could be of use.

In reply to Boreas Highwind (msg # 24):

Baldwin appears confused by the question.

"It should resemble the Godstone in most important aspects.  You will, of course, be given a copy of this map, which has a close approximation of its last known location marked in a mystic pigment of my own devising.  I call it cloud ink.  Any changes I make to this map will appear likewise on yours.  The reverse will also be true, so that your notes will be reflected on my copy."
This message was last edited by the player at 16:03, Thu 19 Sept 2013.

In reply to Baldwin (msg # 23):

"I don't suppose that 'ultimately defeated' is a nicer way of saying 'they all died horribly'" Maeve said.  She was not afraid of the dangers that almost certainly lay ahead, but all the same wanted to be prepared.

In reply to Maeve (msg # 26):

"I wouldn't say they all died horribly," the bard replies.

"Some of them died well, and others yet live.  In a manner of speaking.  Suffice it to say that in each instance, the party in question was rendered unable or unwilling to continue their quest.  Or talk to anyone about it ever again."

He shuffles uneasily, muttering something about "face checking".

"I have every confidence that this group shall not, in fact, spend six months lost in the treacherous forests only to have the strongest turn up empty-handed, half-starved, and dragging a wagon laden with the broken bodies of his comrades."  He scowls at this, then seems to remember his audience.  "But that ony happened twice."
This message was last edited by the player at 22:22, Thu 19 Sept 2013.

Zuriel snorts dismissively at the mention of danger.

"There is nothing that strength of arms, surety of purpose, and faith in the Goddess cannot overcome. While I do not disregard the danger, neither does it concern me unduly."

Zuriel pauses a moment, and his eyebrows raise as if a thought suddenly occurred to him.

"I am more curious as to the nature of these so-called Godstones. You mention that it does not work for holy symbols of Ignati, Cenadora, and Tyblin. Could it be that your Godstone can only measure the power of the righteous deities? And if so, perhaps the others are the rest of a set, designed to gauge the unaligned and the foul?"

Zuriel shrugs. As disconcerting as it was to think that something as sublime as the divine could be quantifiable with mere gizmos, Zuriel had to admit the Bard made an intriguing case. Though if true, the implications bordered on blasphemous.
This message was last edited by the GM at 14:57, Fri 17 Jan 2014.

Noted.  Don't write on the map.

Boreas turns to Keef, a concerned look on his face.

I fear you don't know what you're getting yourself into here.  If I were you, I'd go home.  A world like this will give you plenty of opportunity for adventure.  But if you insist on coming, tell me, what is it you can do?  What have you learned so far?
This message was last edited by the player at 17:46, Thu 19 Sept 2013.

In reply to Boreas Highwind (msg # 29):

Keef screws his face up in rigid determination.  He looks down at the letter rolled up in his hand and stores it once more inside his armor.

He stands up as straight and tall as he can, carefully placing one hand on his waster and one balled fist on the table.

I may not have the training of all of you, or the stern looks, or the battle-scars... or a big weapon, but I just know that I'm destined to be a great hero.

Keef points at a map behind Baldwin.

I don't know much about the Gods, but I do know that if it weren't for them, we'd all be a lot worse off, and if they die, then probably so do we.  Loads of people have bad lives... some even worse maybe... and we should help them.  Baldwin of Blakehaven is brave and traveled and old and bold.  And if he says we can do it, and we should, then I think we can!

Keef places one foot on his chair, then thinks better of it and climbs up on it instead, nearly falling off in the process.

A hero doesn't back down when there's people in danger.  Sir Greenheart didn,t not ever.  And if we're to be heroes, we can't... well we can't back down.  Not ever!

Keef looks totally convinced that this was a very rousing speech.  He climbs down and scoops up his toad.

Sir Baldwin, Chubbs and I are in!
This message was last edited by the player at 23:40, Thu 19 Sept 2013.

Zuriel looks at the boy thoughtfully, and nods approvingly upon the conclusion of his speech.

"Your conviction is admirable, little one. If one in twenty shared your spirit, the world would be a much better place indeed. However, I would caution you that the Quest we embark upon is likely to be grueling. Even with your enthusiasm, you may not survive. Bards tell the tales of heroes gladly, but gloss over the countless others who die in obscurity struggling to achieve greatness."

The paladin looks over at Baldwin as he pauses for a moment, choosing his next words with care. His eyes, golden in the light, seem almost to shine with an inner radiance as he returns his gaze to look intently into Keef's eyes.

"Many seek fame and fortune. Few find it. If you wish to take up Baldwin's cause merely in hopes of making a name for yourself and becoming a hero, I urge you to wait a few years until you are better prepared for it. If, however, you can look at me and tell me that you truly mean what you say, that you truly want to make the world a better place even if it means your own death, then you will never again hear a word from me against your inexperience. You will have my wholehearted support."

Zuriel waits for the boy's reply, the paladin's burning gaze never leaving Keef's eyes.
This message had punctuation tweaked by the player at 00:06, Fri 20 Sept 2013.

In reply to Zuriel Silendril (msg # 31):

After taking stock of everything she had just heard Lyriel let out a long sigh.Well, this is certainly going to be interesting she thought. She then stands and places a hand with long graceful fingers on Zuriel's shoulder before turning toward Keef.

He is right you know. While your conviction and spirit is indeed admirable, you must not take the decision to continue this quest lightly. There are many twice your age who have gone and failed. It is sometimes hard for the young to imagine their mortality. Then directing her gaze towards Zuriel she says, Perhaps you should heed your own advice Zuriel. There is every guarantee that this quest will be dangerous, and there is no need to throw away your own life so quickly without weighing the consequences first.

In reply to Keef (msg # 30):

As Maeve listens to the boy's passionate speech, something occurs to her.

"Master Baldwin, something has occurred to me" she says.  "You're an adventurer of some renown.  Clearly you know where the Godstone is already; why don't you simply fetch it yourself rather than waste your time gathering contractors, as it were, to do the task for you?"

Boreas waits for an opportunity to speak.

Not to interrupt your answer, Keef, which I'm very interested to hear, but I wasn't doubting your conviction.  That much was obvious.  If we're going to be in this, though, we need to know what kind of skills you bring with you.

Suppose it's not fair to ask without offering - I'm a hunter and woodsman by trade.  I imagine I'll earn my keep in the forest.

Speaking of which, Maeve, you bring up a good point indeed.

In reply to Boreas Highwind (msg # 34):

Baldwin watches the boy's speech with a bemused expression, which transforms into a full grin as the others react to it.

"Glad to hear it, Keef.  You and Chubbs have the spark of greatness within you.  Play your cards right, and listen to those who will help you along the way, and you'll do quite all right for yourself.  All of you will."

He takes a more somber expression before addressing the obvious elephant in the room that has just been raised.

"It's a fair question, and one I hear often," he replies, nodding toward Maeve and Boreas in turn.  "The sad truth of the matter is that I was unable to do what needed to be done decades ago, when I was much younger and much more spry."

He sighs, pouring another glassful of icewine, and snaps his fingers.  For but a moment, his facade of youthful energy flickers, replaced by stark white hair and a wrinkled complexion.  But the vision lasts only a moment, and is gone, replaced by the more youthful visage you've been accustomed too.

"And though I've learned more since then, my body has not kept up with my mind. I fear my days of gallivanting around the woodlands, sleeping under the stars, and fending off the occasional group of bandits, zombies, elementals, and whathaveyou are behind me.  I can still aid you in a variety of ways, be it advice or equipment along the way, but you'll move faster without dealing with the bumbling of an aging storyteller."
This message was last edited by the player at 03:22, Fri 20 Sept 2013.

With the meeting drifting into something resembling a conversation, and less like a presentation from a professor's lecture hall or preacher's pulpit, the steward who had led each of you to the banquet reappears at the doorway, dragging along with him a small cart designed for helping guests move their luggage from their carriages to their rooms and back again.

Upon the cart, plainly seen, is a pile of six identical belt pouches, each faintly inscribed with some kind of ornate symbol.

If Baldwin notes this entrance, he makes no sign of it, choosing instead to remain vested in the conversation he is having with Maeve and Boreas while keeping half an eye on the equally intriguing interactions occurring among Zuriel, Lyriel, Keef, and Chubbs.

For his part, the steward, having completed his task, returns to the room's entrance and stands stoically nearby, a blank-yet-helpful expression seemingly permanently etched across his features.
This message was last edited by the GM at 15:09, Fri 20 Sept 2013.

Baldwin, you shouldn't have.  Seriously though, what exactly are these?  I imagine they're not just ordinary pouches.

In reply to Boreas Highwind (msg # 37):

"Gifts," the bard responds.  "One for each of you, should you embark upon this quest."
This message was last updated by the player at 15:11, Fri 20 Sept 2013.

The steward springs into motion, now that action is called for, wheeling the cart toward the table.

"Master Baldwin has arranged that these be given to each of you as a token of good will," he says.  "The pouches themselves are larger than they appear, and the contents of each are unique.  They are to be selected in the order in which you accept to partake on this journey."

The steward's droning voice holds a level of boredom that suggests this is an announcement he has made before.

"You may take your pick from what's available, each in turn, but know that in doing so, you are agreeing to join the P.A.R.T.Y. until such time as the entity is dissolved, either due to being no longer needed, or no longer physically able to continue its mission."

Filbert then arranges the pouches on the cart, motioning to each in turn.

"In order, the pouches contain: a mystic compass, a coldfire torch, a book of answers, three small vials of distilled insight, a two-headed coin, and a delicious sandwich."

Filbert allows himself a slight smile.

"It is Baldwin's custom to answer no further questions about the contents of these pouches until they are selected. Choose wisely, sirs and madams."
This message was last edited by the GM at 15:28, Fri 20 Sept 2013.

I don't like contracts, especially open-ended ones like this.

Boreas says, surprisingly knowledgeable on the subject for a woodsman.

Is this a magical contract?  Or one bound by honor.  I'm more concerned about the latter.

In reply to Boreas Highwind (msg # 40):

"It is at once both, and neither," Baldwin replies.  "You will not be compelled to remain with the group, nor will you be punished for leaving it.  This is just a symbolic way of reaffirming your commitment to the cause, and to each other."

He smiles good-naturedly.

"Also, call me old-fashioned, but I've always found equipping P.A.R.T.Y. members with at least something that matches to be good for comradery."
This message was last edited by the player at 15:39, Fri 20 Sept 2013.

I wouldn't have come if I weren't interested.  Very well, I will go on your quest.

Boreas considers for a moment, scratching his beard.

The compass seems the most right, somehow.

In reply to DM (msg # 39):

I accept as well Maeve says. She selects from the cart the pouch containing the coldfire torch.  I suppose the only question now is: When do we leave?

In reply to Boreas Highwind (msg # 42):

Filbert retrieves the indicated pouch from the cart and hands it to Boreas, looking slightly miffed when Maeve scoops up her chosen pouch without his help.

"Welcome aboard, both of you," he says, somewhat stiffy.  "And the best of luck to you."

(AUTOFOLLOW)

Keef's eyes widen, as if amazed to be addressed by an honest-to-goodness Paladin.

"Oh, sir, I just know I'm ready for this, and for the right reasons. I want to make a difference! Chubbs and I won't let you or Mr. Baldwin or anyone else down!"

(END AUTOFOLLOW)

Zuriel nods, then smiles. "Well then, I for one welcome you as a comrade and brother-in-arms."

Zuriel turns to regard Lyriel, taken aback by her objections.

[Private to Lyriel Vesper: When you place your hand on Zuriel's shoulder, you can tell he is surprised by this gesture of familiarity. His shoulder tightens slightly under your fingers, but he does not draw away.]

"As I told you in the Temple, I will not sit idle and condemn innocents to suffering by my inaction, if I could instead be putting the power Tassada has vested in me to use upholding Her will. Though I am a servant of the Church, if my order refuses to take the course of action that is good and just, I am oathbound to take it upon myself to do so, even if I wished otherwise."

Zuriel pauses, looking the slightest bit hurt. "Besides, if you didn't already share that conviction, then why did you decide to join as well?"

[Private to GM: Sense Motive on Lyriel's response to that question]

The paladin turns back to face Baldwin and Filbert, not waiting for Lyriel's response.

"Regardless, my mind is made up. Master Baldwin, I will take up your cause as my own, so long as it remains righteous and in keeping with my oaths as Paladin of the Emerald Flame. Good Filbert, if you would be so kind, I would select for my token the Book of Answers."
This message was last edited by the GM at 21:59, Fri 20 Sept 2013.

In reply to Zuriel Silendril (msg # 45):

The steward smiles at this recognition of his duties, giving Maeve a meaningful look that lasts but a moment before he busies himself with the appointed task.

"May the grace and peace of the Goddess go with you, sir," he says.

Three pouches remain unclaimed: the three vials of insight, the two-headed coin, and the delicious sandwich.

Filbert waits patiently for the others to come to a decision, his demeanor betraying no hint of restless energy.
This message was last edited by the GM at 18:56, Fri 20 Sept 2013.

In reply to Zuriel Silendril (msg # 45):

[Private to Zuriel Silendril: Her eyes meet Zuriel's and you see something in them, perhaps concern, perhaps something else...you aren't quite sure.]

I just want to be sure that you are considering everything before you make this choice. I know of your convictions too, but is this what is best for you, for the Emerald Flame, and for Tassada? But perhaps you're right, I just hope that we have Tassada's blessing.

She watches Zuriel as he takes his token without making a resonse, and sighs. Well, I suppose that settles it

Turning towards Filbert she extends a pale hand, The vials of insight, if you please.

In reply to Lyriel Vesper (msg # 47):

"Of course, miss," the steward replies, handing her the indicated belt pouch.  He then turns toward the boy.

"And which for you, young sir?  Assuming you are still interested, I retain in my possession a two-headed coin and a delicious sandwich."
This message was last edited by the GM at 18:47, Fri 20 Sept 2013.

(AUTOFOLLOW)

Keef looks jubilant as each member of the party accepts their place in turn, obviously convinced this was the inevitable result of his rousing speech from earlier.  He seems surprised by Filbert's question, then realizes with a start that there are only two pouches left.

"But I was... I said I was in, back before..." he begins to protest before being interrupted by Chubbs's flailing motions.  "Chubbs!"

Keef ducks under the table to retrieve the creature, scolding it softly.

"Cut it out, Chubbs.  We're gonna be heroes, and heroes don't hop onto people's plates or hide under their chairs or anything like that at all!"

Filbert clears his throat, and the boy looks up, confused.

"Hmm?  Oh, right!  Um, two-headed coin, or delicious sandwich.  What do you think, Chubbs?"

The toad lets loose a guttural croak, which causes Keef to nod thoughtfully.

"Yeah, but what good's a coin when we're going camping?  You gotta think it through, just like Sir Greenheart would."

He points triumphantly to the pouch on the left.

"One delicious sandwich, please, sir.  To go!"
This message was last edited by the GM at 21:23, Fri 20 Sept 2013.

In reply to Keef (msg # 49):

Filbert hesitates for the barest fraction of a second, glancing from the boy to Baldwin and back again, but obediently fetches the indicated pouch.

"Your sandwich, sir," he deadpans.  "And best of luck to you."

His task complete, Filbert withdraws from the room, taking with him the unclaimed pouch and the two-headed coin contained within.

Given his options, ironically a logical choice.

Keef, you may not be who I would have selected as a traveling companion, but your heart is in the right place.  I'll make it my purpose to, as best I can, keep you safe until you've developed the skills you'll need.  I imagine you'll surprise me, though.

In reply to Boreas Highwind (msg # 51):

"I'm glad to see that you all remain committed to the cause.  That is a good sign."

Baldwin motions for everyone to take their seats.

"What you have selected are items both intriguing and useful, for yourselves and for your journey.  They are yours to keep, no matter how this business turns out."

He holds up a belt pouch very much like the ones you each now possess.

"These are belt pouches of holding, curious containers that can hold as much weight as a strong man, divided into as many objects as you like.  The only catch is actually fitting what you want to carry into its opening."

He reaches into the pouch and withdraws a fresh jug of elven icewine, held in a very thin container, and pours himself a fresh glass before continuing.

"Within each pouch is the item Filbert mentioned along with a scrap of paper describing its use.  You may share this information or keep it to yourself - it matters not to me."

Baldwin tugs at the third map on the wall, and it falls easily into his hands.  He extends it toward Zuriel, nodding solemnly.

"Take this with you.  It shows the general location of your target, and is an easy means for you to communicate with me, and I with you."

He takes a sip of wine and closes his eyes for a moment, then continues.

"I do not wish to overlook our good paladin's observation from earlier.  It is true that the three holy symbols the Godstone recognizes are beings of Good.  I cannot believe I didn't see that earlier.  Perhaps the device is not damaged, but incomplete, one part of a whole set."

He frowns slightly.

"Though I hope that is not the case.  It would be best if we could avoid traveling to Loe'driel looking for the third."

Baldwin turns to Maeve and smiles.

"As for you, I have not forgotten your question.  You are to set off immediately, if at all possible.  Filbert will accompany you to the western gate, giving additional aid where needed."

He stands and addresses the party directly.

"You are about to partake on the adventure of a lifetime.  I wish you the very best of luck."
This message was last edited by the player at 21:47, Fri 20 Sept 2013.

In the resulting muted banter as his new fellows finish their meals and chat amongst themselves, Zuriel catches Baldwin's eye.

"About your Godstone, it detects divine power, yes? At least of good deities? It doesn't damage the artifacts it measures in any way, does it? If not, I have something I'd like for you to look at, if you don't mind."

Zuriel reaches around his neck and removes a silver pendant from under his tabard. Holding it out in his hand to Baldwin, he watches him anxiously.

In reply to Zuriel Silendril (msg # 53):

"What have we here?" the bard muses, taking the pendant gingerly.

The Godstone in question has been running throughout the entire conversation, as Baldwin never removed the empowered symbol of Ignati from the slot.  Anyone with even an idle eye on the device would notice that the numbers have obediently continued to tick down in irregular intervals.

"This... doesn't look like a holy symbol," he begins, squinting at it.  "I don't want to risk the Godstone with an inappropriate object."

Still holding the pendant in one hand, he allows it to dangle at the length of its chain and spins it carefully.  The solid silver disk betrays only a glimmer of light as it twirls.

"Abraxis," Baldwin commands, his voice swelling with power and resounding thrice as strong as you've yet heard it.

[Casting: Identify]

A dull light surrounds the pendant, then vanishes, leaving the bard looking perplexed.

"Impossible," he says, furrowing his brow.  "This is very, very old.  It might even be an artifact.  Where did you say you got it?"
This message was last edited by the player at 22:20, Fri 20 Sept 2013.

The paladin regards Baldwin hopefully.

"I don't know. I mean, I've always had it, since as long as I could remember. I think it may have been my mother's, but I was hoping you could tell me. I figured if anybody could identify it, you could."

Zuriel looks at the pendant and then back at Baldwin expectantly, almost desperately.

In reply to Keef (msg # 49):

While Zuriel and Baldwin bend over a trinket that the paladin has produced from under his tabard, Maeve turns and gives Keef what she hopes is a reassuring smile.  She doesn't have much faith in the boy's ability to remain alive but she does admire his spunk, so she will do her best to see that he remains in one piece.

I think you chose well she says, nodding conspiratorially toward the bag containing the Delicious Sandwich.


Who knows?  Our host seems to have an. . . . . .odd sense of humor.  You may have selected the most powerful item of us all.  And even if it turns out to be nothing more than a sandwich, well, at least it will have been delicious.

In reply to Zuriel Silendril (msg # 55):

"I'm afraid I can't tell you much without doing a little research," Baldwin replies, eyeing the pendant thoughtfully.  "Would you be willing to leave it here, in my care, until you return here after your forray into the woodlands?  I feel confident I would have more to say about it if given a few days to dig a little deeper."

He looks at Zuriel for a moment.

"I can tell this is important to you.  I assure you, it will be quite safe in my care."

In reply to Baldwin (msg # 57):

As the meal comes to a close, Filbert once again enters the room, this time dressed in formal riding gear.

"When you are ready, your carriage is at your service outside.  I shall be standing by with the driver."

Zuriel hesitates, clearly conflicted. After a long moment, he nods, his desire to uncover the pendant's secrets winning out.

"Very well. But know that there is nothing I possess that I value more highly. Please keep it dear until I return."

The paladin hands over the pendant, but his fingers linger on the chain before fully relinquishing it. He then rises from the table.

"Well then. I believe I am ready to depart whenever the rest of you are. Adventure awaits!"
This message was last edited by the player at 03:35, Sat 21 Sept 2013.

Boreas stands, brushes his beard absently, and reads the paper from his pouch.

After a moment, he replaces it, nods, and says Let's go.

In reply to Zuriel Silendril (msg # 59):

Lyriel looked around at the assembled party and decided it was high time to pray. Taking her seat once again and bowing her head Lyriel began asking the goddess for safe keeping for everyone during their journey; that is when she began feeling something move beneath her robes. Lyriel jumped up and let out a shriek of surprise. Seeing the culprit hopping away quickly in an attempt to flee from the flailing cleric Lyriel begain to chuckle.

Perhaps I should take that as a sign that I need to relax a bit. Bending down to scoop up the frightened creature she walked over to return it to it's young master. Master Keef I do believe this is yours. Seeing the horrified look on the youngster's face she gave him a reassuring smile Trust me, I've seen far worse in my day. My older brother used to bring home all manner of horrifying creatures to try and startle me with.

Then looking over towards the girl Maeve, she gave a small smile, You know I do believe she's right, I think you did choose wisely. People often under value the power of a delicious sandwich.

She then turns and heads towards the front of the inn and the waiting carrige beyond.

"Does everybody have what they need in terms of supplies, provisions, and extra pairs of socks? A Quest with insufficient undergarments is a miserable Quest indeed, for oneself as well as any comrades downwind. If we are all prepared, then let us get underway."

Zuriel takes one last yearning look at the pendant before he too strides out the front door of the Inn.
This message was last edited by the player at 15:11, Sat 21 Sept 2013.

Maeve gathers her pouch and her traveling gear and joins the others as they head out into the inn's courtyard, where the carriage is waiting. It is a sizable conveyance, which is good.  She had been wondering how she was going to fit the guisarme inside without endangering life and limb.

In other circumstances she would have immediately jumped inside and settled herself for the journey, but she hangs back.  Maeve senses that she has rather displeased the steward by taking the initiative of selecting her own pouch and does not wish to commit another inadvertent faux pas.  Filbert seems a pompous sort, but as he is the man who will very shortly be conveying them out into the forest to face perils unknown, she thinks it best to remain on his good side.

"Well Father, you always did say that I would have my own great adventure one day.  I wonder if you anticipated that it would be with a group this ragtag."  She can hear her Father's gentle chuckle in her mind: "Ah, but aren't those the ones that make for the best stories?"

He's right, of course.  Maeve squares her shoulders and waits for any parting instructions from their unlikely benefactor.

In reply to Maeve (msg # 63):

The driver -- a strong, stocky man named Carl with an untidy beard, a loose flannel shirt, coveralls, and a straw hat -- helps each of you store the bulk of your things in durable trunks bound to the roof and rear of the carriage.  One carry-on bag is, of course, allowed to come with you into the carriage itself.

Filbert, for his part, busies himself by opening the carriage door and showing you to your seat.  There are only five seats in total, but this does not stop the steward from helpfully suggesting a layout that perfectly balances the weight distribution while maintaining a tasteful hierarchy by perceived class.

While spacious, the five of you do fill the interior completely -- it is, perhaps, the first time Keef's small size can be truly appreciated as a good thing for the party, despite his initial insistence that Chubbs should have his own seat.

"Last call for supplies, sundries, and such," Carl bellows, uncoiling his riding whip and testing the reins gently.  "Everyone ready?"

[Private to Boreas Highwind; Giles Thistleworth; Keef; Lyriel Vesper; Maeve; Zuriel Silendril: OOC: If you want to do anything else in town, shoot me a PM and, depending on how elaborate it is, I'll work it into the story retroactively.]

Filbert fidgets as he takes his seat next to the driver, dusting off the cushioned bench with a handkerchief beforehand.

"Master Baldwin would prefer an immediate departure," he informs the driver.

Carl shrugs and snaps the whip, causing the four horses to lurch forward into a rapidly accelerating trot.

The man chuckles at Filbert's startled expression.

"Soon enough for ya?"
This message was last edited by the GM at 21:35, Sat 21 Sept 2013.

In reply to DM (msg # 64):

(AUTOFOLLOW)

Keef squirms in his seat, looking out the window as the carriage zooms past the shops, taverns, monuments, churches, and crowds that pack the busy city streets.

"Do you think they know who we are?" he asks to no one in particular, without looking away from the window.  "When do you think they will?"

Chubbs squiggles his way out of the boy's lap, bounding through the cramped space with complete indifference.

"Croak, Croak, Rrrrrribit!"

The sound draws Keef's eyes away.

"Aw, Chubbs, can't you sit still for just one minute?"

He settles himself into his seat and pats his lap, staring at the toad sternly until it somewhat sheepishly slinks back over to him.

"So," he says, patting Chubbs on the head.  "We all know that Baldwin of Blakehaven gave me the bestest the lunch in the whole wide world, but what did the rest of you get?  Some of that stuff sounded pretty cool!"
This message was last edited by the GM at 18:53, Sat 21 Sept 2013.

Zuriel looks up distractedly from the leather embossed book open in his lap. He gestures at it absentmindedly with a quill.

"A book of answers, apparently. I'm not quite sure how it works. I think I'm supposed to write in it." He smirks. "Just don't tell my aunt Analíenna. She'd either burn me to a crisp or turn me into a cockroach if she found me writing in a tome this nice."

Despite his attempt at levity, Zuriel looks back down at the blank page open in his lap apprehensively. After several minutes of intent contemplation in which he is completely oblivious to anything else going on in the cabin, he wets his quill decisively, and brushing Chubbs from the parchment, writes a short line on the blank page, stares at it for a moment, and then closes the book.
This message was last edited by the player at 20:35, Sat 21 Sept 2013.

"A coldfire torch," Maeve says in response to Keef's query.  "Presumably it's a torch that is. . . .cold?"  At any rate, I chose it because it seemed practical." She spends a few minutes silently reading over the informative scroll that accompanies the pouch, then sets it aside. Fascinating though the items may be, she is more interested in her fellow adventurers.

"Magical items aside, what I would like to know is, well, to put it quite simply: who are all of you?  If we're to be traveling companions on this quest, it would be good to know something about one another other than our names."

Answers are hard to come by.  Good ones at least.  As for me, this compass should help us find our first destination.  At least it might.

Boreas presses the Ruby on the side of the compass and it glows faintly with red light.  The face of the device swivels around, then so does the needle.

It doesn't just point north.  This device will lead us toward certain supernaturally-aligned places.  Might help us find this 'Godstone' that the bard wants.

Boreas takes a moment to look at the face of the compass, adjusting in his seat as the carriage negotiates a particularly sharp curve.

I wonder what he wrote in that book...

In reply to Boreas Highwind (msg # 68):

The carriage rattles and rolls through the city, pauses at the gate, and then wheels off along the well-used and uninspiredly named Western Road, which winds its way through the forests.

"It'll be some way yet," Carl yells from this driver's seat.  "I'd settle in, were I you."

Zuriel stows the book carefully in his knapsack and then leans back into his seat.

"I think getting to know everybody is an excellent idea, especially as I get the sense that this adventure will be more involved than a simple quest into the forest to reclaim a magic trinket. As I mentioned back at the Inn, I am Zuriel of House Siléndril. My father, Edrahil, is a Captain in the Emerald Flame, so I suppose it was natural that I too should feel the call to serve Tassada."

Glancing over at Lyriel sitting next to him, he continues. "And as for why Baldwin's call to action initially caught my attention, well... while my brothers-in-arms in the Order are all very...focused...on performing their duties, sometimes I feel that our true purpose is forgotten in the midst of all the calls to prayer, reviews of the latest legislative amendments to the Codex of Law, hearings at the Council of Nobles, and mandatory gear inspections. Not that all of those things aren't important, but frequently at the end of a full day's activities I collapse into my quarters, exhausted, and realize that in all of those hours I never actually helped a single person. I didn't once uphold justice, defend the innocent from persecution, or shield anybody too weak to defend themselves from harm."

Zuriel becomes increasingly animated during his discourse, and by the time he realizes that he's standing and gesturing vigorously in the air to punctuate his remarks, the whole cabin is staring at him. A faint blush colors his cheeks as his arms fall lamely to his side, and he sits back down, sheepishly.

"I don't know. I suppose I just believe that if we as a Church truly have been chosen by Tassada to wield Her power and uphold Her will, then we should actually be outside the walls of our Temple trying to make a difference for the people and lands we profess to protect. That's why I'm here."

As the paladin finishes, his eyes are set with the determined conviction of the young, though his blush remains, and a keen observer would note that his gaze seems intently interested on examining anything and everything that isn't the cleric sitting next to him.
This message had punctuation tweaked by the player at 06:15, Sun 22 Sept 2013.

Well met.

Boreas waits for a moment, then clears his throat.

I don't have a speech prepared.  Where I come from isn't really important.  I'm a traveler and a woodsman.  To be honest, I prefer to spend my time alone, but I can think of worse company.

He looks around at each person in turn, taking care to make eye contact without it seeming entirely intentional.

The bard's summons seemed like a chance to, well, do some good.  And maybe put a destination at the end of this particular season of wandering.  I'm not sure I trust him entirely, but that's a question for later.

You know, come to think of it, having traveling companions might not be so bad.

Sensing that the taciturn ranger has no more to say on the matter, Maeve takes up the thread next.

"As you probably guessed, I hail from the Eastern Continent," she says, with a wave at her face.  It's true; the tawny hair pulled back in a single plait is indeed characteristic of the desert folk to the east.  More telling however are her golden eyes, a trait unique to the Eastern Continent for humans and those of human descent.  Some find the unusual eye color attractive, others merely disconcerting.  If Maeve had a coin for every time she had been either ogled or edged away from with trepidation, she would be able to retire in style.

"My father is a foot soldier in one of the Sultanate's militias.  Not an especially glorious position, but he does well for himself.  The janissary in charge of his division approached me about signing up--female warriors are not unknown in the East."

"I thought about it for a while, but ultimately declined.  The assurance of a steady job consisting of nothing but routine foot patrols?  Or the opportunity to do something truly extraordinary that could benefit not just the Eastern Continent, but the entire realm?  There really was not much of a choice."

She gives Keef a quick smile.

"Truthfully, we're not so different, you and I."
This message was last edited by the player at 15:16, Sun 22 Sept 2013.

(AUTOFOLLOW)

"Well, I'm Keef, and this is Chubbs," the boy chimes in.  "I grew up in the small town of Harding Meadow.  It was exciting enough during the War of the Damned all those years ago, but now it's just a rural place filled farmers and artisans again."

He looks a bit dejected at the thought of his hometown's return to normalcy.

"Left home early, and never looked back," Keef continues, rubbing the area around his left eye socket and the bridge of his nose gingerly, almost as if nursing an old wound.  "So did all my brothers and sisters.  Hopefully they'll be heroes, too, just like me!"

He puffs up his chest a bit.

"Since then, I've done anything I could to get ready for my adventure, learning from everyone I met.  I know how to hold a sword, how to slip into the shadows... even a little magic!"

Keef grins, obviously pleased.

"So, I know I'm not a paladin, or a cleric, or from a military family, or a hunter, but it's still a good thing you guys have me along.  There are so many ways I can help out!"
This message was last edited by the GM at 15:15, Sun 22 Sept 2013.

In reply to Keef (msg # 73):

Well met everyone. My name is Lyriel of house Vesper. As you may see by my appearance I am a cleric to the goddess Tassada, though that wasn't my chosen path. She shoots a meaningful look towards Zuriel. For as long as recent memory serves a child of house Vesper has always been in service to the goddess. Her face saddens, and a slight mist fills her eyes. You can hear the emotion in her voice as she continues. My older brother Eldric filled that duty as a paladin until a few years ago when he lost his life serving his goddess in battle. I was pulled from my studies as a mage to take his place. She looks down at her hands folded in her lap. I mourn him still.

 She looks up again and gives a small smile to the group. As for my reason here, I was hoping to offer my skills in both magic and healing in as much of a capacity as they will be useful. She holds up the small vials she received as her parting gift. I am hoping these will help me in that task; they each have a different use, from replenishing spells to seeing things that are hidden to sharpening my mind.

In reply to Lyriel Vesper (msg # 74):

The carriage finally comes to a stop some time later, just about an hour before sunset.

"We're here," Carl announces, swinging open the carriage doors.  Filbert appears a moment later, offering his hand to escort each of you in turn from the carriage to the woodland floor.

As Carl begins to unload the various objects packed into the carriage's trunks, you are given a moment to take stock of your surroundings.

The carriage is parked in the middle of a wooded clearing, some ways removed from the main portion of the Western Road.  A sturdy, if simplistic, wooden cabin stands to one side, while the road ends in a cul-de-sac just beyond it.

Tall evergreens dominate the foliage here, with thick brush made up of bushes, vines, and such carpeting the ground between.   The thrumming of insects, birds, and beasts can be heard from the dense woodlands all around you.

"Welcome to Baldwin's summer hunting lodge," Filbert says, motioning to the cabin.  "Your new home away from home.  Feel free to use it as a headquarters for as long as you require it.  There should be firewood stacked out back, and plenty of space within to sleep everyone with some measure of comfort."

Carl leads the horses over toward a ramshackle stable and barn area adjacent to the lodge, leaving the carriage unattended, while Filbert continues.

"Given the time, Carl and I shall stay with you this night, and depart at daybreak toward Hae'driel.  I would suggest setting out at daybreak yourselves, though you shall need to continue on foot from here.  If you have any further questions or concerns, tonight would be the best time to bring them up."

With that, Filbert hurries over to the stable to see if Carl could use a hand with anything, leaving you to your own devices for the time being.
This message was last edited by the GM at 22:34, Sun 22 Sept 2013.

Boreas takes a long, deep breath, savoring the forest air, clearly glad to be back.  He surveys his surroundings, taking out a map of the general region and using the compass to find his approximate position.  He recognizes a distinctive feature on the map nearby and is able to find the exact location of the cabin.

[Survival 26]

Then, he activates each of the compass' settings in turn, noting the relative direction with arrows on the map.

Nice to be back in the woods.  Now that I've taken our bearings, let's get everything inside and bed down before it gets dark.  Who can say what awaits us in these woods?  Best get a good night's sleep.

He returns the compass to normal mode and stows it in his pouch.  Then, he walks over, picks up a load of luggage, and carries it inside.

[OOC]I figure Boreas would have some region-level maps on him.  If not, can we either get one from Carl and Filbert or have bought one in town?  I doubt any terribly detailed maps of the forest exist, but something showing the relative positions of nearby towns and major cities wouldn't be that hard to get, I don't believe.[/OOC]

Zuriel hops out of the carriage, his chainmail clinking as he lands lightly on the hard packed dirt of the path. Standing up to his full height, he stretches his limbs and takes a deep breath, savoring the fresh pine breeze, crisp with the promise of Autumn.

He nods to Boreas as the hunter ascertains their general location. "It will certainly be good to have somebody of your skills and talents along, especially in the forest. This is a bit out of my element, but quite, I think, in yours."

Finishing his stretch, Zuriel steps back over to the carriage and grabs several of the bags, tossing them over his shoulder as he walks towards the cabin.

He stops suddenly, as if a thought occurs to him. "Filbert, just out of curiosity, this cabin in the woods here...it's not the site of any ancient evil sacrifices or burial grounds, correct?"

Filbert pauses, taken aback. "No Sir Siléndril, I don't believe it is. I'm sure that Master Baldwin would have mentioned it were that the case."

"Good," Zuriel replied. "I've heard how that Bard's tale ends, and I want no part." He gestures towards Lyriel. "Our divine magic works wonders against regular zombies, but for some reason not Pagan Torture Zombies. They're completely different things."

Zuriel chuckles, then continues making his way to the cabin.

In reply to Boreas Highwind (msg # 76):

As the travelers begin to unload gear and head into the cabin, Maeve manages to get Boreas by himself for a moment, under the pretense of having him help her to carry in a cumbersome trunk.

"You seem a canny sort.  I think it would be wise if we were to set a watch rotation tonight.  One that does *not* include them," she says, flicking her eyes in the direction of Carl and Filbert, who are also unloading provisions.

"Master Baldwin has been nothing but courteous, but something about this situation makes me uneasy.  I would feel better sleeping with one eye open."

Lyriel looks at the cabin before her and takes a deep breath. It was hard to believe that she was doing this. Sighing she grabs her things and heads after the chuckling Zuriel to the cabin.

You are probably right... Maeve, was it?  We'll need to bring in at least one more on the plan.  Though, if memory serves, elves don't sleep so much as stare, o they may have us covered as unwitting watch partners.  I believe the four of us can establish the rotation.  Let the boy sleep.  It might be the last good night's sleep he gets for a long while.

In reply to Boreas Highwind (msg # 80):

The cabin itself isn't much nicer on the inside than it appears without.  Its rather spartan furnishings include a table with six roughly hewn wooden chairs, a fireplace of clumsily stacked stones, two easy chairs before it, and eight beds scattered among two small rooms.

The doorway leads into the main room, where the table rests. The fireplace lies against the far wall, with a doorway on either side of it.  These doorways each lead to a small bedroom adorned with four small beds.  Besides the main door, the only other portals into or out of the cabin are a small window in each bedroom, complete with glass panes and a set of inside-facing shutters.  Both the shutters and the main door can be barred from the inside with planks of wood, which are propped near each opening for that very purpose.

Above the fireplace, looking somewhat out of place, is the mounted head of an owlbear,, which has been tastefully stuffed and positioned into an amusing expression of good-natured surprise, as if someone just told a particularly funny joke.  Beside the fireplace is a small basket of tinder and kindling, along with a stand of iron pokers and a bellows.

Carl and Filbert continue to fuss with the horses in the nearby stable/barn structure, leaving the party to get settled as the sun begins to dip below the horizon.
This message was last edited by the GM at 04:39, Mon 23 Sept 2013.

I know at least a couple of you are skilled in the ways of magic.  It's a discipline that I confess I've never had much skill or inclination in.  If we're going to be on an adventure together, it may be wise for us all to be aware of exactly what magics you possess.

[OOC]Maybe post your actual spell list in an OOC sidebar, if you feel so inclined.  Might be helpful for us to all know.[/OOC]

In reply to Boreas Highwind (msg # 82):

(AUTOFOLLOW)

Keef slips into the cabin, walks directly into the room on the left-hand side of the fireplace, and tosses his things on the nearest bed.

"Me and Chubbs call dibs on this one," he says, hopping onto it and giving it a test bounce that carries him back to the floor.

Laughing, he jogs back into the main room and hops into an easy chair, which he turns with some effort to face away from the fireplace and toward the main entrance.

"Oh, Boreas, you don't have to worry about that.  I've packed all my best adventure spells," Keef exclaims, tapping his temple conspiratorially.  "For blasting our enemies and saving the day."

OOC: I have tentatively set aside the following spells for Keef: 3x Ray of Frost (0), 1x Acid Splash (0), and 2x Magic Missile (1).  Remember, AUTOFOLLOW carries thick plot armor and will not participate in combat unless personally placed in mortal peril.

In reply to Keef (msg # 83):

Almost immediately after the sun sets, a commotion outside arrests your collective attention.  Shouting erupts from the nearby stable/barn, and Carl's distinctive voice can be heard bellowing over the din of horses and the clatter of steel and wood.

"Get outta here! This is private property, an' you lot ain't welcome!"

The response, if any, is lost in the cacophony, but the following scream of pain that carries Carl's voice is not.

The stable/barn is a good hundred paces from the cottage, framed on three sides by the forest itself.  The barn door has been unbarred, but hangs nearly shut with just a small gap between the doorframe and the door itself.

As you take in this scene, Filbert backs through the barn's door.  A small crossbow is strapped to his wrist, though no bolt lies within it, and he is struggling to haul a barely moving form with three arrows sticking of out it.  Caked though it is in straw, hay, and dust, you're pretty sure the fallen figure can only be Carl.

The steward seems strangely calm, considering the amount of blood and dirt seeping into his impeccably pressed clothing, as he drags Carl's body out of the doorway and props it up against the barn's outter wall.  He crouches over him for a moment, feeling for a pulse, then turns toward the cabin.

"Sirs and madams!" Filbert yells.  "Attend me quickly!  We're under attack!"

He sets to work reloading his weapon, producing a bolt from somewhere within his belt pouch, as Carl's feeble movements continue to slow.

At the same moment, the barn door swings open to reveal four figures.  Well, eight, really, if you count the horses they're trying to steal.

They appear to be human, wearing simple clothing that's seen better days.  Three are armed with bows, while the fourth has two swords strapped to his back.  All four have a black bandana wrapped around their left bicep.

The three archers are mounted, the horses strangely quiet despite the noise and the strangeness of the riders.  The swordsman, however, is having more trouble with his borrowed steed, dragging it by the reins and arguing with it while the others laugh.

"Finish up the foppish one, and let's get going," the swordsman barks, motioning absently toward the barn's wall.  "I'll have this filly under control in a moment."

The archers nock an arrow each and take aim at poor Filbert, who stands defiantly over Carl and levels his pint-sized crossbow at them.

Clearly, they do not expect to encounter further resistance.
This message was last edited by the GM at 14:14, Mon 23 Sept 2013.

In reply to DM (msg # 84):

~~INITIATIVE!~~

Keef: 16
Boreas: 13
Maeve: 12
Swordsman: 12
Lyriel: 11
Zuriel: 10
Filbert: 10
Archers: 8

***

(AUTOFOLLOW)

Keef perks up at the sounds outside.

"That sounds like Carl," he says.  "And Filbert! We gotta help!"

Leaping from his chair, the boy races outside, drawing his wooden waster in the process.

"Hey!  HEY YOU!" he yells at the spectacle before him.  "Those aren't yours!  Put them back, or you'll regret it!"

Satisfied that his warning will be enough, he strikes an intimidating pose and awaits a response.

At the first sounds of shouting, Zuriel was alert. Upon hearing Carl's cry of pain, he was back outside, steel shield at the ready and drawn longsword glinting in the fading red light of the day. Moving quickly, he rushes over to the slumped figure of Carl attended by Filbert. Interposing himself between the pair of servants and the barn, Zuriel sinks into a defensive crouch, shield raised and sword held off to the side in an open parrying position.

"Lyriel, come quickly!" he yells behind him. "I fear your healing arts are needed sooner than we had thought. Friends, to arms!"

Zuriel's eyes flash as he looks towards the source of the danger, heart hammering in his chest as adrenaline surges through his veins as he prepares for imminent battle.

[Detect Evil]

In reply to Zuriel Silendril (msg # 86):

Though the figures took little notice of the small boy charging out of the cabin, the sudden appearance of a paladin widens their eyes.

"What the... Koras, you idiot, the Flame's here!" One of the archers shouts. "We're gonna hang!"

The swordsman looks up from his struggling horse, appearing to weigh Zuriel in his mind.

"Then we got no choice, do we?" he says, tying the horse's reins to a nearby tree and drawing a pair of half-rusted swords.  "He looks young.  Tabbard barely fits.  Drop him."
This message was last edited by the GM at 14:40, Mon 23 Sept 2013.

Maeve has just tossed her gear onto one of the beds.  She assumes that Boreas will take one of the other two and as for the two elves, well, she is halfway convinced that they are sleeping together, if the number of knowing glances shot between the two of them are anything to go by.  If not, she'll let them duke it out for the last bed; if Boreas is right, they won't actually be sleeping anyway.  Meditating maybe?

She just has time for this thought to cross her mind before the screaming begins outside.  Maeve grabs the guisarme and hustles for the door of the cabin as Keef boldly, if stupidly, defies the intruders outside.

Gods, he's going to get himself killed before we even begin! she grimly thinks. Once outside the threshold of the cabin, she adopts a battle stance, ready to trip anyone who comes closer.

[READY ACTION: TRIP]
This message was last edited by the player at 14:41, Mon 23 Sept 2013.

Keef!  Inside!

Boreas does a short dash to the doorframe, nocking an arrow.  He peeks around and fires a shot at one of the archers, piercing it through the eye.

[Attack 24 CRITICAL, Confirm 14]
[Damage x3 + skirmish: 14]

In reply to Boreas Highwind (msg # 89):

The horse carrying the very, very dead archer whinnies and gallops down the road with reckless abandon, the archer bobbing loosely in the saddle for a few meters before tumbling off in a motionless heap.

"Vern!" Koras yells.  "Blast it, this is why we can't have nice things..."

He eyes the paladin, the warrior, and the boy in turn, then sighs.

"If Darilen claims my soul today, I choose death by paladin."

With that, he charges at Zuriel.

[Attack (Main hand): 8]
[Attack (Off hand): 18]

The first blow clatters harmlessly off the paladin's sturdy shield, but the follow-up blow hits home, weaving just inside his handguard.

[Damage: 5]

The wound begins to bleed, but otherwise doesn't seem to slow down his enemy much.

"That's for everything your Order's done," he snarls.  "And, what's more, for everything it's left unfinished."
This message was last edited by the GM at 14:50, Mon 23 Sept 2013.

In reply to DM (msg # 90):

As the swordsman charges at Zuriel and deals him a blow, Maeve leaps into action, swinging the guisarme in an attempt to catch the man under the knees and trip him up.

[Attack 23][OOC Forgot to add in my melee bonus, oops]

[Damage 10]
This message was last edited by the player at 14:57, Mon 23 Sept 2013.

In reply to Maeve (msg # 91):

Koras cries out in surprise as a guisarme takes his legs out from under him.  Quite literally.

"D..." he sputters, before succumbing to blood loss.

The archers look at each other grimly, uncertain of their best course of action.

In reply to DM (msg # 92):

Maeve smiles winningly at the archers.

"Anybody else?"

Zuriel looks at the remaining foes, barely even registering his own wounds. Their fear was clear to see.

Holding aloft his longsword, in a clear voice, he calls out in ringing tones "HE'IR!"

[Casting Daylight]

A brilliant shaft of sunlight illuminates the paladin and brings light to the clearing. Around them, the forest is bathed in the red-gold light of autumn sunset, but in the clearing it is as if it were high noon.

Speaking to his foes, he gestures to their fallen leader collapsed in a puddle of his own blood. "Such are the wages of evil, but for you there is yet a chance. I offer you the opportunity to surrender yourself to justice peacefully. On my honor as Paladin of the Emerald Flame, you will not be harmed, and will receive a fair trial. Though you be bandits, you have not yet committed murder, and as such will not face the gallows. Surrender now, and you shall keep your lives. Should you continue to fight, or attempt to flee the scene of your crime..."

Zuriel nods towards Boreas' nocked arrow. "Then you will perish here in obscurity, with none to mourn your passing."

[Diplomacy 19]
This message was last edited by the player at 15:54, Mon 23 Sept 2013.

In reply to Zuriel Silendril (msg # 94):

The horses rear back in fear as the blinding daylight pierces the clearing, causing one of the riders to lose his balance and tumble to the ground.  Scrambling to his feet, the man holds up his hands - empty, now that his bow has been lost in the fall.

"The Flame offers nothing but a mockery of justice," the other retorts, retaining control of his mount and digging his heels into its flanks.  As the horse bolts toward the road, the remaining archer turning to loose a single arrow as he departs.

[Attack: 8]

The shaft embeds itself into a tree, just inches from the surrendering man's skull.  His eyes well up with fear, and he whimpers softly.

"He's getting away," Filbert advises.  "And is well out of range of my humble weapon."

The steward looks from Zuriel to Boreas and back again.

"If I may be so bold, I would suggest we bind that one and get Carl some medical attention."
This message was last edited by the GM at 16:08, Mon 23 Sept 2013.

In reply to Zuriel Silendril (msg # 94):

Hearing the shouting and commotion coming from the barn Lyriel quickly throws down her things and runs towards the skirmish following Zuriel's shout. Gods it's already beginning...

Quickly assessing the current situation she sees Carl lying to the side bleeding from 3 arrows sticking out of him in various locations.

With Zuriel in the front attempting to reason with the bandits Lyriel takes the opportunity to attempt stem Carl's bleeding. She kneels down beside him breaking off the shafts of the arrows and applying pressure to the wounds. Concentrating she casts a healing spell [Cure Minor Wounds] to stabilize him until she can further assess the damage.

In reply to Lyriel Vesper (msg # 96):

Keef is agog at Maeve.

Wow, that was really great!

In reply to Keef (msg # 97):

Maeve shrugs and begins to clean off the guisarme blade with a soft square of leather seemingly designed for the purpose.

"I didn't enjoy killing him.  But he hurt my friend."  She's hardly known Zuriel long enough to truly consider him a friend, but it seems as good a distinction as any.  And she does feel, in addition to the zeal of a fight, the vague sadness that always comes with having dealt death. She enjoys that feeling; it keeps her grounded.

"One of the Sultan's janissaries once told me that there are two types of soldiers: those who fight because of the killing, and those who fight in spite of it.  He said that the best ones are always the latter."  She grins a little.

"But yes, that was, as you say, pretty great."

Looking up to see the last of the bandits gallop away Lyriel looks back down at her patient to see that the bleeding has stopped, and while still pale, he appears to be in a stable condition.

We need to get Carl inside so I can assess any further damage. If someone could help me move him I would be grateful.

Boreas swings around the doorframe, another arrow on his string and runs a few paces toward the fleeing bandits before loosing it.

[Attack: Shortbow 18<b>]
[Damage + Skirmish <b>8]

It buries itself between his shoulder blades, and he slides from the fleeing horse, unconscious.

Boreas wipes the sweat from his brow and looks back upon the battle - the bandit leader bloodied and being bound, Carl wounded but recovering.

I'm glad someone here has mastered the healing arts.  I have a feeling we'll need them even more in the coming days.  That bandit is hardly worth your goddess's notice, but you should patch him up enough so that we can question him.

One has escaped.  They'll be back, and in greater numbers.

In reply to Keef (msg # 97):

Zuriel frowns in mock offense to Keef's exclamations. "Oh come now, I sustain a glorious injury, turn night into day, talk down our enemies, and *she* gets the applause? I am wounded, sir." He glances down at his side. "Literally and figuratively." He smiles to make sure the boy knows he was only kidding before addressing Maeve. "All japes aside, that was remarkably fast reflexes and presence of mind you displayed. You have my thanks."

Zuriel bends down, wincing, to delicately pick up the unconscious Carl. He gestures toward the terrified Archer. "If somebody would be so kind as to see to our unexpected guests, Lyriel and I will tend to Carl. Filbert, perhaps you might be able to calm the horses?"

The Paladin walks carefully back to the cabin, cradling Carl in his arms like a small child. Only Zuriel's pale face betrays the wound he has sustained.

[OOC I am unclear which of the bandits are dead and which are unconscious but dying. It would be helpful to know for triage purposes.]
This message was last edited by the player at 17:30, Mon 23 Sept 2013.

In reply to Zuriel Silendril (msg # 101):

As you take stock of the situation and begin to rebuild a semblance of a quiet evening, things become more clear than it was in the confusion of combat.

Of the four bandits, one has been killed outright -- slain by an arrow from Boreas.  The bandit leader is also dead, bleeding to death as Lyriel attended to Carl's immediate needs.

Of the remaining archers, one has surrendered and is relatively unharmed.  The second attempted to escape, only to be shot in the back and rendered unconscious.  Miraculously, he managed to remain in his saddle, and the horse carried him further down the trail than vision presently allows.

One of the four horses is tied to a tree near the barn.  Another is standing nearby, recently bucking off the archer who surrendered.  Of the two that remain, one is carrying the wounded archer to gods-know-where, while the second is lost, riderless, somewhere along the trail.

Filbert assists in the transportation of Carl, but the healing magics seem to have done their work well.  The man has awakened, and struggles to stand on his own power.

"I'll... be fine," he says weakly, coughing.  "Just need some hot food and a good night's sleep.  That's some fine work you lot did."

Filbert nods his assent, the crossbow upon his wrist once again concealed wherever it was he stashed it previously.

"We're both grateful.  Who'd have known this rabble would be hiding out in the barn?  I'll have to check the master's security runes before we leave tomorrow."

He glances at the two horses that remain, then down the road.

"I believe Carl will be safe now, so I shall collect those two horses and return them to the stables.  Perhaps someone more sturdy should venture down the path to recover the others?"

He pauses at the doorway.

"We should also discuss what to do with the one you have captured."
This message was last edited by the GM at 17:52, Mon 23 Sept 2013.

"Very well.  I'll see if I can find the animals.  Might be something useful in the saddlebags."

Maeve appraises the lengthening shadows; darkness is falling.  She darts into the cabin and emerges shortly thereafter bearing an ironwood torch topped with a darkened crystal.  No sooner does she lift it to shoulder height than the crystal blazes to life, casting a steady glow over the surrounding area.

"Heh.  Would you look at that?"  Maeve says quietly to herself, amazed at the ease with which the coldfire torch is operated.  She feels almost like one of the wizards in the 2000 Tales of Griselda the Gregarious.

"Is anyone else coming? she calls before striding off down the woody trail, torch lit and guisarme at hand.
This message had punctuation tweaked by the player at 17:57, Mon 23 Sept 2013.

In reply to Maeve (msg # 103):

"I should hope so," Filbert replies.  "They are our horses, after all."

He has gathered the two that did not run away, and holds them by the reins gentle.  "I'll have these comfortably stored for the night, then return to watch over Carl.  Perhaps we shall get a fire started, while we are at it."

He shivers in the chilly Autumn air, which has grown all the colder with the sun's departure.

"Don't tarry too long.  They are just horses, and Baldwin can replace them more easily than he can yourselves."

You all should... relieve these brigands of their weapons.  I'm sure I can put their arrows to good use.   I'm off to find our other friend and his - our horse.

Boreas takes off at a medium run after the fleeing beast, bow in hand.
This message was last edited by the player at 18:05, Mon 23 Sept 2013.

Zuriel steps back out of the cabin, content in Carl's general well being. He moves to secure the random weapons strewn about, slipping briefly in a pool of somebody's blood.

Satisfied that there are no loose weapons in the area, he turns to the surrendered archer. "As I mentioned before, you will not be harmed as long as you do not attempt to escape."

Zuriel calls into the house. "Filbert or Carl, do either of you know where Baldwin keeps the extra rope? We need some bindings out here. Or a place to lock up our guest."
This message was last edited by the player at 18:18, Mon 23 Sept 2013.

In reply to Zuriel Silendril (msg # 106):

~~ RECAP ~~

Maeve and Boreas have ventured down the forest road in search of the horses, the body of one rider, and perhaps the wounded second rider.

Filbert is collecting the two horses whose location is known and taking them to the stables.

Carl is nursing his wounds inside, and attempting to light a fire.  Lyriel is with him.

Keef is standing outside, likely contemplating tagging along with Maeve and Boreas.

Zuriel is securing the weapons strewn about the battlefield, and is keeping half an eye on the captured archer, who is not bound.

In reply to DM (msg # 107):

Down the Path

Maeve and Boreas head down the path with a somewhat reckless abandon, beacon of light eradicating the shadows all around them as they progress.  The path is hemmed in on both sides by the forest, which is fairly dense despite its proximity to a minor roadway.

It doesn't take long for the coldfire torch's light to illuminate a still form laying on the side of the road, an arrow protruding from its eye socket.  Hoofprints continue down the path, and you can hear frightened snorts, clip-clops, and neighing off in the distance.

At the Cabin

"What're you going to do with me?" the captured archer stammers, rubbing his arm nervously as he watches Zuriel gather his former ally's body and their gear into a pile.  "I can't... I don't want to die."

"You are unlikely to die tonight," Filbert says, having finished his work in the stables.  He has brought with him several strips of leather, possibly taken from older saddles and sets of reins.  "Though after what you did to Carl, Goddess help me, I almost wish it were otherwise."

The steward hands the makeshift bindings to Zuriel gracefully, then steps back to let the highborn work.

"If I may be so bold, sir, I would suggest tying him to a wheel of the carriage.  It's a nice enough, if chilly, night.  He'll survive, though none too comfortably."
This message was last edited by the GM at 18:24, Mon 23 Sept 2013.

Boreas calls to Maeve, as he blows past the dead bandit.

We can come back for him.  Let's get those horses.

He continues running down the path, eyes scanning left and right, up and down for anything dangerous that might be lurking nearby.

[Notice 8]

It's hard to be observant when following tracks, however.

Zuriel looks at Filbert as he secures the bindings on the archer. "Actually, after the events of tonight we will want somebody keeping an eye out all night, on him and in general. I would prefer to do so somewhere warm. Let's take him inside."

Once inside, Zuriel sits the archer with his back against the wall, looping his manacles through a sturdy torch bracket mounted into the stone fireplace. The prisoner is allowed to sit, awkwardly but not uncomfortably, near the hearth.

Satisfied with his work, the paladin thinks for a moment. He takes out the map, and in small, neat print uses the cloud ink to write "Bandits captured at cabin. Send Watch to arrest."
This message was last edited by the player at 18:36, Mon 23 Sept 2013.

Maeve moves swiftly down the forest trail, hard-pressed to keep up with Boreas, who is clearly much more at home in the dense woods than she.  Hell, she's never seen so many trees before in one place.  Back in the east with its deserts and savannas, more than three trees together at once is considered an attraction.

She hoists the coldfire torch higher in an attempt to penetrate the ever-deepening gloom.

[Notice 18]

In reply to Boreas Highwind (msg # 109):

Down the Path

As you continue to run down the path, you eventually come to a gruesome scene that includes the body of the second bandit, arrow protruding through his shoulder blades.

The hoof prints continue past this point and around a bend in the road ahead.

Maeve squints her eyes carefully, unused to the vegetation around her, but something about the trees near this second body seems out of place.  Does moonlight reflect from the treetops like steel?
This message was last edited by the GM at 18:42, Mon 23 Sept 2013.

"Boreas" Maeve hisses in a soft voice.  When she has the man's attention, she flicks her eyes meaningfully up into the treetops, then back at the ranger.  She very much hopes that he gets the message she is trying to convey.

In reply to Maeve (msg # 113):

Down The Path

Maeve's message was received loud and clear, though perhaps not in the manner she intended.  The air springs to life with the sound of arrows.

~~ Surprise Round ~~

[Attack: 12]
[Attack: 9]

Two arrows bury themselves into the path, one each near Maeve and Boreas.  There is rustling in the treetops, but it's difficult to make out more than rough shapes.

~~ Initiative ~~
Maeve: 20
Archers: 7
Boreas: 4

At the Cabin

The archer tests his bonds gently, and slips into a rather despondent state as he feels them quite snugly secure.

"What're you doing here, anyway?" the man wonders aloud.  "This place was supposed to be abandoned."

Carl ignores the man, setting a cast-iron pot filled with stew above the fireplace to cook, while Filbert busies himself tidying up the table and setting it for the impending meal.

"Silent treatment, eh?  You can't do that to me!" the archer continues, seeming much more emboldened than before.  "I demand to know on what charges I'm being held, paladin.  This ain't really your jurisdiction..."
This message was last edited by the GM at 19:57, Mon 23 Sept 2013.

Maeve drops the guisarme and sets down the torch with rather more gentleness, then pulls from her gear a shortbow.

"Come down here where I can fight you properly," she mutters, and lets loose an arrow at the nearest ambusher.

[Attack 14]

In reply to Maeve (msg # 115):

Down The Path

The arrow vanishes into the foliage, but it's impossible to tell what, if anything, it struck.

OOC: These targets are the same as the archers from before, stat-wise, but currently enjoy a +5 concealment bonus to their AC.

There is a rustling that accompanies return fire, which is fast and furious.

[Attack: 10]
[Attack: 11]

These shots, too, fail to find their marks, burying themselves next to their past shots to creative an attractive, if abstract, pattern in the packed dirt.
This message was last edited by the GM at 19:06, Mon 23 Sept 2013.

In reply to DM (msg # 116):

Boreas glances up at the trees for a moment, bow drawn and arrow hovering in the air for what seems like an eternity.  He never stops moving during this time, hurrying over to the treeline and angling his bow increasingly upward.

He takes a deep breath, pauses, and releases it and the bowstring in the same moment.

[Attack: 18]

The arrow zips through the branches, dodging this way and that before burying itself into the flesh of its target.

[Damage: 9]

"Noooooaaaaargh," a gruff voice cries out in surprise, tumbling from branch to branch until landing beside the path with a horrible squelching sound.  The figure neither stirs nor makes a sound after impact.

In reply to Boreas Highwind (msg # 117):

Down the Path

The rustling above you grows still, though it's hard to be sure if the remaining target has fled or is merely laying low.  More pressing than this decision, perhaps, is the reemergence of hoofbeats down the path, this time slowly and steadily.

The silhouette of a rider appears at the edge of the coldfire torch's radius, flanked on either side by the two horses that earlier today belonged to Baldwin.  The missing horses are mounted by archers dressed in the same clothing that you've seen before, identical down to the black bandana on the left bicep.  Their bows, however, are slung across their backs in a nonthreatening manner.

The rider in the center is mounted upon what you assume to be his own steed.  It looks significantly stronger than the others, as does its rider - a tall man dressed entirely in dark chain mail.  He lacks a helmet, however, his head instead protected by a black bandana. His tanned face sports rough stubble and a defiant grin.  He holds a wicked-looking lance lazily in his right land, upright, leaning part of its weight against the horse's saddle.

"I'd like to commend you on your work tonight," he begins, addressing Boreas and Maeve in turn. "And to apologize for any trouble you've experienced.  My men were... confused.  This area is seldom occupied, and they forget that the lodge is not truly theirs to command."

He gestures to the horses on either side of him.

"If you're agreeable, I'm willing to accept these horses in exchange for forgiveness of the debt in blood you've accumulated against my brothers tonight.  What do you say?"


At the Cabin

The margin of the map upon which Zuriel had written shimmers, and the following words appear: "Alerted.  Patrol arrives at dawn."
This message was last edited by the GM at 20:49, Mon 23 Sept 2013.

In reply to Zuriel Silendril (msg # 110):

After checking on Carl again, Lyriel moves towards Zuriel who is writing something at the table.

You're injured, you better let me take a look at that. She examines the wound and says, I think that should be quite easy to fix. Smiling she focuses and casts another spell to take care of the damage. [Cure Light Wounds: 10] There all better. Pausing not sure of what to say next she continues, The way you handled yourself out there was very admirable; you bring honor to the Emerald Flame.
This message was last edited by the player at 21:03, Mon 23 Sept 2013.

In reply to Lyriel Vesper (msg # 119):

Keef, having spent long assessing the situation, brandishes his waster in one hand and charges down the path as fast as his scrawny legs will carry him.  He is buried in dark forest before he can realize that he's lost his way.  Keef spins in place for a few moments until he makes out the faint light of Maeve's torch in the distance.

Keef breaks into a full sprint and is soon upon the small party.

He raises his waster defensively but doesn't make a move.

Maeve is instantly suspicious.

"So. . . .what you're saying is that we've slewn several of your men, scattered your horses, I've no doubt Zuriel is back at the cabin now plundering your men's weapons. . . .and now you'll go happily on your way with these animals, no questions asked?"  She shakes her head.  "It seems entirely too convenient for us. Can you guarantee that we won't be set upon by more of your archers on our way back?"  Also, you seem to be forgetting the fact that these are *our* horses, stolen from us by *your* men, and we would rather like them back.

Maeve wonders if she ought to be approaching this entire venture with a more trusting mind.  After all, she suspected Filbert and Carl of some foul plan to assassinate all of them out here in the woods, but so far the two men have been the picture of courtesy. Still, it's rather obvious that this fellow is an outlaw of sorts.  It couldn't be more obvious if he were wearing a sign around his neck that said as much.  It seems unlikely that he will be content to take the horses and leave them in peace.

"I'm afraid we'll need a bit more from you than a nice apology before we can even begin to think about accepting your token of forgiveness.  A name would be a good place to start."  She turns to Boreas.

"What do you think?" The ranger is the only other person in the group is just as--actually, more so--naturally suspicious as she.  If he feels that the stranger is harmless, she is content to follow his example.
This message was last edited by the player at 22:10, Mon 23 Sept 2013.

In reply to Maeve (msg # 121):

Down the Path

The rider stirs in his saddle slightly, his grin fading a bit in response.

"You've killed my men and plundered their weapons, true, but I view these two horses as an equivalent exchange."

The archer at his right hand smirks, while the left-hand archer merely nods.

"Koras should have withdrawn when he saw what he was dealing with.  Still, we must recoup those losses somehow."

It is at this moment that Keef bursts onto the scene, out of breath, sweating profusely, and waving his wooden waster eccentrically.  The rider raises an eyebrow, then all three burst out laughing.

"What have we here?" the right-hand archer chortles.  "Careful, boss.  It's the law."

"Aye, best watch your step," the left-hand archer chimes in.  "He must be an entire decade old!"

"This is rich," the leader says, wiping a tear from his eye.  "Ah, too rich.  I tell you true, I'll uphold my end of the bargain, if you are willing.  My men will withdraw with these horses, and we shall bother you no more this night."

"Do we have a deal?" he repeats, laughter in his eyes as they dart from Keef to Maeve and Boreas.

"After all, I'd hate to face the ire of your child."
This message was last edited by the GM at 04:16, Tue 24 Sept 2013.

In reply to DM (msg # 122):

Keef stands in perfect imitation of a fencer's pose, wooden sword held at the ready, but shaking as he pants.

You... pant have pant chosen pant wisely! long gasp.  Keef steadies himself. My companions are brave and strong another deep breath And your fellows who came at us swallow and another deep breath attacked us with as little honor as courage or skill.

Keef nods approvingly at Maeve and Boreas and continues to gaze sternly down his weapon at the bandits.

But, we are heroes, not killers.  We have no need for senseless bloodshed if you don't. 
This message was last edited by the player at 22:18, Mon 23 Sept 2013.

MEANWHILE, BACK AT THE CABIN

Zuriel closes his eyes and lets out a gasp of relief as divine energy washes over him, knitting together muscle and sinew until only smooth unblemished skin is left. He looks down wryly at his bloodstained clothes. "Guess I have some laundry to do," he says with a wan laugh. "They don't by chance teach you clerics the divine mysteries of instantaneous clothes washing and stitching, do they? Is there a spell for that? Tassada's Miraculous Mending, perhaps? Goddess, I wish there was. I hate laundry."

The paladin's smile fades as his face turns serious. "Thank you, though. For your kind words and your healing touch. Though your words meant more. I could probably count on one hand the number of times somebody from the Church thought I comported myself with the proper behavior for one of the Emerald Flame." Smiling again, he adds, "It's the lack of scowling, I suspect. All the best paladins in the Order have magnificent scowls that could drop a blameless Abbot to his knees begging forgiveness at twenty paces."

"I can't seem to get the hang of it though. See?" Zuriel screws up his face with an expression that appears to be a mix of arrogance, righteous indignation, and crippling constipation. "Can't do it. I'm an embarrasment."
This message was last edited by the player at 01:31, Tue 24 Sept 2013.

In reply to Zuriel Silendril (msg # 124):

Hold for response

Looking down at the map open on the table, Zuriel nods in acknowledgement of Baldwin's response.

Turning back to the brigand bound by the fire, he walks over, pulls up one of the armchairs, and addresses the archer. "Apologies for the delay, I do not mean to ignore you. It is just that you and your friends caught us in the middle of unpacking, and there is much yet be done." Zuriel takes a moment to fill a cast iron kettle with water before hanging it over the fire.

"As for what charges you are being held under, it is not my place to say. It is the court system of Hae'driel that will formally charge you. A patrol of the city watch will be here at dawn, so I don't imagine you'll have to wait long to find out. I can however, make several educated guesses. As things stand, you will likely be charged with Trespassing, Banditry, Assault with a Deadly Weapon, Destruction of Property, Attempted Premeditated Murder, and Attempted Theft of Horse for starters, as well as," here Zuriel gestures down at the archer's shoddy armor, ragged clothing, and tattered armband, "several very serious crimes against the world of fashion."

Zuriel watches as the bandit's face blanches under the weight of the charges. The punishments for each of these are well known in the lands surrounding Hae'driel.

"However," he adds, "one thing you may not know is that the court system has a fair amount of freedom in determining the exact nature, and quantity, of the charges it brings against a defendant. For example, Assault with a Deadly Weapon is frequently downgraded to Unlawful Violence, and Attempted Premeditated Murder can be downgraded to Assault. The difference in prison sentences can be quite significant, as I'm sure you can imagine. The single most significant factor that determines the exact sentencing is how well the defendant has cooperated with the Law."

At this point, Zuriel shoots the archer a meaningful look as the kettle begins to whistle. Zuriel removes the kettle from the fire, produces a small tin from a pouch in his belt, and mixes a mysterious powder into the boiling water.

"Your fate is still somewhat in your hands. I have several questions I would like to ask you. Your level of cooperation will determine what I put in my report to the Watch. If you answer well and truly, then I will make a point to note that you have taken extra efforts to cooperate and be helpful to lawful authority. On this you have my word and oath as Paladin. Should you refuse, as is completely within your right, I will not torture you, beat you, or mistreat you in any way. You will find, however, that the courts in Hae'driel are much less inclined towards leniency than they could otherwise be. It is entirely your choice."

Zuriel picks up the kettle, and finds two mugs in a nearby cupboard. Zuriel kneels next to the prisoner, who flinches back, nervously looking back and forth between the paladin and the steaming kettle. Zuriel calmly pours two mugs of a steaming, pleasant smelling greenish-gold liquid. Placing one next to the prisoner, he loosens one hand slightly, so that the prisoner can lift and reach the mug. He then calls out to the cabin at large. "Would anybody like a mug of hot tea? 'Tis a curious drink, from the Eastern lands. Our friend Maeve would be familiar, I'm sure. My aunt has a standing order with the local importer of foreign goods, and I must say the drink has grown on me. Few pleasures in this life can match a warm hearth and a hot cup of tea."

Zuriel settles into the armchair with a sigh, picks up his own mug and inhales the steam, savoring the aroma before looking up regard the prisoner. "Well?" he asks.

[Diplomacy 23]
This message was last edited by the player at 03:15, Tue 24 Sept 2013.

In reply to Zuriel Silendril (msg # 126):

At the Cabin

The prisoner seems quite overwhelmed by the information being thrown his way.  He grips the cup of tea dubiously, eyeing it with apprehension before trying a sip.

"It's... excellent," the man lies through his teeth, clearly nursing a burned tongue.

Setting the cup down, he rolls the freed wrist, stretching it, and smiles in relief.

"Look, no disrespect, but either way I'm going to jail for decades, right?  And cooperating with the Flame and the Wardens, when they arrive... if anybody sees me, it'll make those years seem twice as long."

The man stares into the fire, a faraway look appearing in his eyes.

"Well... I mean, we'll see.  Go ahead," he sighs, taking another tentative sip from the cup of tea.  "What do you want to know?"
This message was last edited by the GM at 01:44, Tue 24 Sept 2013.

"Well, as to the issue of people seeing you cooperate, as this conversation takes place between us in this cabin, the only people who will know are you, me, and the magistrate in charge of your case. So you needn't worry on that account. A light sentence for your crimes relative to others wouldn't put you out of place either, I'm embarrassed to say. I would be the first to admit that our laws are not always applied equitably. In this case it might well work to your advantage."

Zuriel's face clouds over briefly as he mentions the state of the Hae'driel legal system.

"In any event, I would like to know who you are, and why you are here. And by you, I mean your group." The paladin nods at the archer's armband. "What organization do you belong to, and why do you need horses so badly that you would kill an innocent man over it?"

"Damnit Keef," Maeve groans, running a hand down her face in exasperation.  In any other situation, this would be comical.  As it stands, she is strongly considering killing Keef herself when they return to the cabin.  Assuming the bandits don't get around to it first.

Your claims are, quite honestly, ridiculous.  We owe you nothing for acting in our own self-defense not once, but twice against your men.

Boreas glances back at Keef, posturing and blustering in the way that only a teenage boy can.

They'll kill the boy in seconds if we try to fight.

Still, more bloodshed won't help anyone. Keep the horses, and your promise to trouble us no more.  Not just this night, but ever.  If we are attacked again, I can assure you, those men will meet the same fate.

The horses are not ours to give.  We will not fight you over them, but I can make no promises for their owner.  Now let us all be off.
This message was last edited by the GM at 13:12, Tue 24 Sept 2013.

Maeve realizes that Boreas' advice is sound, but she is initially unwilling to let the bandits leave with the valuable horses.  It seems to her the lowest sort of injustice.  Still, the bandits are mounted and they are not.  Boreas is the only one who can fight with any sort of competence in the dark forest: She is still too unaccustomed to the shadowy foliage to do battle with her usual proficiency and Keef is, well. . . .Keef.  The boy is spirited but in an actual brawl, she thinks that Chubbs would hold his own about as well.  No, the greatest likelihood is that they would all be killed instantly in a gross parody of one of the more tragicomic tales of Griselda the Gregarious.

"Very well.  We accept your "generous" terms and will be on our way.  But know that if you cross us again, you will sorely regret it."  She hopes she sounds as intimidating as she feels.  "Come, Keef.  Let's go."
This message was last edited by the player at 13:00, Tue 24 Sept 2013.

In reply to Maeve (msg # 131):

Down the Path

"Excellent.  We have an accord," the man says, giving the trio before him a brief salute.  "Have a pleasant evening."

The riders turn and trot off down the path, leaving the three of you alone with your thoughts, a lit coldfire torch, and several mangled, readily lootable bodies.

At the Cabin

The prisoner takes his time formulating a response, taking a long sip of tea and trying to savor it.  The paladin's keen instincts tell him the man heartily loathes the drink, but he seems to be choking it down nonetheless.

"Name's Gregor," he says at last, setting the cup down as carefully as he can, given his present situation.  "And I work in Resources and Acquisition."

Gregor stares at the armband for a moment.

"All of us do, or did, anyway.  Our team saw your fancy-schmancy carriage and a pair of servants, and thought you lot could afford to be relieved of a few choice sundries.  If we'd seen this was a convoy of warriors on a woodland retreat, we'd have stayed clear."

He takes another sip of the tea.

"We settled on the horses because they move themselves.  Didn't mean to hurt anyone - we usually don't.  But Vern was right; Koras is an idiot," he smirks.  "Er, was.  Thanks for that, by the way."

Gregor rolls his wrist around a little more, stretching it, and points toward Carl, who is busy stirring the stew nearby.

"This fella gave Koras quite a start, and what's worse, a decent blow to the head.  That's what did it, y'see.  No hard feelings, but nothing we could do at that point.  Boss says jump, you ask how high," he nods toward Zuriel's tabbard.  "Surely you understand the need for discipline."
This message was last edited by the GM at 13:51, Tue 24 Sept 2013.

In reply to DM (msg # 132):

Keef shiethes his weapon and nods to his companions.

That was some good negotiation, shame we had to lose the horses.

Keef spends some time searching around in the dark for Chubbs before adding;

So, do we leave it at that or get the rest of our friends and hunt them down?

Keef looks genuinely unsure of which is best.  Clearly the violence itself doesn't bother him much, but there's something else.
This message was last edited by the player at 14:03, Tue 24 Sept 2013.

The paladin nods in acknowledgement of Gregor's story. If he feels indignation at the Emerald Flame being compared to a band of brigands, or consternation his prisoner was not, in fact, enjoying the delicious mug of tea, he keeps it to himself.

"Resources and Acquisitions...an interesting name for a band of highwaymen," Zuriel muses, taking a sip from his own mug and relishing the flavor before swallowing. "Or perhaps a component of of a larger organization? How many are you? Large enough that you need to wear a token of affiliation to recognize each other, which I suspect means large enough that you don't know everybody personally. But how many exactly wear this bandana?"
This message was last edited by the player at 15:05, Tue 24 Sept 2013.

Since they... relieved us of our - Baldwin's horses, we'll need to relieve their comrades of their unneeded possessions.  Grab what you can from the bandit I shot down.  I'll drag him back with us.  We should burn or bury the dead so we don't attract wild animals.  Now, let's head back.

Boreas takes anything useful from the fallen bandit, then drags his body the short way back to the cabin.  Once there, he obtains assistance from whomever he can to deal with the bodies.

In reply to Zuriel Silendril (msg # 134):

Down the Path

The archers are dressed in tattered clothing, which is unremarkable save for the black bandanas tied around the left bicep of each.  You are able to salvage a shortbow from one of the fallen along with about a dozen arrows, a small dagger, and 10 golden coins in the Imperial currency.  The three of you return to the cabin, bodies in tow, without further interruption.

You arrive to find the bodies of the others neatly stacked near the barn, their gear in a separate pile that includes 10 additional golden coins, two daggers, another shortbow, 15 arrows, and two rusty shortswords.

The cabin's door is closed, with Zuriel, Lyriel, Carl, Filbert, and the prisoner within.  Filbert is milling around the table, setting down plates and cups, while Carl lazily stirs something in a cast-iron pot that bubbles over the fire while shooting nasty looks at the prisoner.

Nearby, the captured bandit has been shackled to a torch bracket near the mantleplace, and is conversing easily with the paladin.  Lyriel stands off to one side, listening to the conversation with interest.

Within the Cabin

"They say lying to a paladin is about the same as killing a child, in terms of how much the gods frown upon it," Gregor replies, appearing more at ease now that conversation seems to be flowing.  "So the correct answer to your question is this: exactly one."

He takes another sip of tea, finishing the cup.

"But what you meant to ask was how many Blackarms there are, in total" he continues, shrugging.  "And that's a toughie.  I have no idea.  Koras led a four-person team, as you've seen.  Our foreman commands five such teams, and there are several foremen - though I do believe ours to be the only teams operating in this part of the forest."

He briefly cranes his neck, attempting to catch a glimpse of the outside world, but sees nothing but wooden walls and the guarded eyes of his captor.

"You've been a great host, really, you have," he says, motioning toward the cup.  "I appreciate that.  And I've enjoyed our little chat, which is far preferable to the drubbing that usually accompanies capture and the loss of a team lead.  So I'll let you in on a little secret."

He clears his throat softly.

"The law will arrive at daybreak, you say, and I believe you.  But if you don't let me go report back, the Redarms will get restless.  And they aren't known to tarry."

OOC: If any of you have Knowledge(Local) or a similar skill, feel free to roll it.
This message was last edited by the GM at 15:20, Tue 24 Sept 2013.

In reply to DM (msg # 136):

Keef helps Boreas lug the dead brigand back to the cabin.

He then continues his search for Chubbs, and finally locates him beside the pile of firewood.

Keef pushes damp hair from his eyes and retrieves the toad. He then grabs a couple logs and prepares to bring them inside the cabin but stops as something catches his eye.

Keef looks around, and seeing no reason to abstain, carefully pries the rusted sword from the pile of loot and adds it unceremoniously to his stack of logs, shlepping logs, weapon and toad into the cabin.

Once there, he stacks the logs beside the fire and retreats to a quiet corner to watch and turn the glorious and fantastic weapon over in his hands experimentally.

Boreas barges into the cabin, slightly rudely, and calls out

Do either of you holy folk want to perform some kind of last rites on these bandits?  We need to get them buried or burned so they don't attract the local wildlife,

shooting a glance at the prisoner,

in whatever form they may take.

Maeve walks into the cabin on Boreas' heels.  In spite of the unexpected nighttime adventure they've just had, not to mention a suddenly conscious Carl and the captive bandit shackled to the mantlepiece, the first thing that catches her attention is the kettle.

"By all the Gods, is that tea I smell?" she says with something approaching reverence.  May I? she asks the room at large, and when she receives a nod of assent from the paladin, she pours a measure of hot water into a battered tin cup and adds to it some of the leaves sitting next to the kettle, mixing the beverage with the ease of someone for whom this ritual is second nature.

Maeve takes a sip and her eyes widen in surprise and delight.

"This is an excellent brew." It's been said that the quality of tea grows worse the further one ventures from the Eastern Continent, and her travels have proved that to be sadly true. Having become acclimated to drinking little better than swill, she is absurdly pleased to be enjoying actual tea.  "Whoever brought this, you are my new favorite person."

The prisoner is staring at her as if she has sprouted an extra head.  She supposes that it must be surreal for him to watch the young woman who messily killed his colleague happily enjoying a cup of tea.  Or perhaps he just doesn't care for tea.

"Well then.  It looks like we have some tales to swap," Maeve says, looking pointedly at the captive bandit.

Upon the brigand's joke, Zuriel chokes a bit on his tea and then bursts out laughing. "Your point is well taken. It's a shame we haven't met under better circumstances. You seem to be a sharp fellow. I doubt you'd have had any trouble making your way in the world inside the law."

The paladin looks at the brigand sadly. "Alas, you and I both know that I cannot let you go. You have, however, cooperated most helpfully, a point which I will be sure to emphasize in my report. You bring up another interesting question, however. I am not familiar with the Redarms. Are they a part of the same organization as your Blackarms? And if so, what ultimate authority to these groups serve?"

Zuriel pauses. "You have already answered much, and for that I am thankful. Let us pretend, for a moment, that I am a clueless, arrogant paladin with little regard for what goes on outside Hae'driel. If you can explain your allegiances and purpose, assuming I know nothing about your group, then I will recommend you for immediate employment on the work teams when you begin serving your sentence."

He looks at the archer's skeptical expression. "The work teams are actually considered a blessing by the prisoners serving out their sentences in the system. Those on the work teams receive more complete rations, and have the opportunity to leave the confines on the prisons on their details. It surely beats being stuck in a cell for years without the feel of sun or wind on one's face. There are also several new programs that are less manual labor and more trade oriented, the intent being to teach convicted criminals skills useful to society upon their release. If you can tell me more about various armband-wearing brigands in the woods, I am confident I can secure your enrollment in one of these programs, contingent upon your continued good behavior."

The prisoner's reply is interrupted by the arrival of the rest of the party. Lyriel nods at Zuriel upon hearing Boreas' request for final rites. "Lyriel will see to it that the fallen receive proper burials. It is my hope that they find the peace that they could not in life."

Turning to Maeve, he replies, "As for the tea, I am glad you appreciate the quality. My aunt is *very* particular about the tea she imports. She was introduced to the wonders of tea on one of her journeys to the East, and has hardly had any other beverage since. She has even devised a system of arcane canisters that she loans to the merchant who takes her orders in order to ensure that the product remains fresh and unspoiled all the way from the source." He smiles. "I never leave home without a traveling supply. You are welcome to it for as long as it lasts."

This 'ti' you speak of, some sort of hot beverage.  Might I try a sip?

Boreas gingerly, almost delicately blows the steam off the top of the cup and lifts it to his lips.  A calm smile spreads across his face.

That is good indeed.  We'll need to be sure to resupply on our next visit to a port town.  I don't imagine you anticipated this much demand.  For now, let's get those bandits buried and get down to business.

Those of you with magical abilities, while it is always thrilling to be surprised by a stunning display of magical power, surprises are no one's friend in battle.  We, glancing at Maeve, need to be aware of your capabilities.  I doubt the going will get easier once we're within the woods.

In reply to Zuriel Silendril (msg # 140):

"Useful skills? Work teams?" Gregor purses his lips.  "I'm already pretty good at acquiring resources, though.  It requires a competitive skill set, you know."

"If you're unwilling to let me check in, I suppose you'll find all this out soon enough either way.  Blackarms like me are tasked with liberating supplies from those who can afford it, while the Redarms are tasked with liberating the Blackarms when, well," he pauses, gesturing at the shackles.  "When this happens."

He fidgets, self-conscious now of the extra eyes upon him.

"It's all part of the spectrum, y'know?  Being part of a whole.  From each according to their ability, to each according to their desires, that's our creed.  Why should the nobles get to live fat an' happy while the rest of the world rots, am I right?"

Gregor stops himself from saying more, suddenly aware of his audience.  "Er, the list of affiliates can really drag on and on, and, quite frankly, would bore you to tears."

The paladin's stare implies infinite patience, and Gregor sighs.

"Bluebands supervise magical matters, while Greensleeves bring in the game animals and deal with tanning, skinning, fletching, and such.  Goldsmiths handle money matters, of course, and that's the lot."

He remains silent for a short while, watching with interest as Keef scurries over to the corner with his prize.

"Sure you won't reconsider?" he asks, turning to Zuriel with an earnest expression.  "Letting me check in, I mean."  Gregor nods in Keef's direction.  "The Redarms aren't always particularly gentle with their extractions."
This message was last edited by the GM at 17:11, Tue 24 Sept 2013.

"I'm glad that you all are so taken with it.  If we ever venture as far as the Eastern Continent, I'll have to introduce you to coffee.  It's even more popular.  You can't walk six feet in some of the larger cities without stumbling over a coffeeshop."

Maeve nods thoughtfully at Boreas' suggestion as she continues to nurse her cup of tea.

"I am inclined to agree.  It would be good to know what those of magical abilities in our little group can do.  I stab things, Boreas shoots things, no surprises there.  But some knowledge of your powers may be useful when it comes to battle strategy."

Seeing that Zuriel is still preoccupied with questioning the captive archer--Gregor, if she heard correctly--she turns to Keef and Lyriel.  "What about you, young wizard?  What can you do?  And I've some idea of your abilities, Lyriel.  No doubt we'll have need of them in the days ahead.
This message was last edited by the player at 17:16, Tue 24 Sept 2013.

Zuriel beams, clearly delighted that others share his enjoyment of the hot beverage despite the new threat against his meager supply.

Answering Boreas' query, he replies "You've already witnessed the extent of the magic the Goddess has blessed me with. And I seem to only be able to call upon that particular talent once before my morning meditations. Lyriel is much more capable of channeling Tassada's divine energies than I."

Then he turns back to look at the prisoner. "I appreciate your information. But who or what is it that you all ultimately serve? Your creed seems to indicate you fight for a wider cause than simple brigandry."

*After Lyriel finishes blessing the bodies and they are buried.*

Overhearing the bandit's explanations, Boreas chimes in

Your cause seems a noble one, if you'll pardon the pun, but there's one thing that doesn't sit right with me.  Carl here isn't a noble.  He's a working man, like you claim to admire.

He pulls a small pouch from his belongings and walks to the door.

You and your men feathered him through, nearly killing him, when all he was doing was his job.  Working to put food on the table, no threat to you.

With everyone inside the cabin for the night, Boreas walks casually over to the door, shuts and bars it, and sprinkles caltrops from his bag at the entrance.

How do you justify that?

He then moves to each window in turn, shutting and barring it.

Still, if our highborn friend here won't let you go, I suppose we'd better be ready.

In reply to Boreas Highwind (msg # 145):

"But I've addressed that," Gregor protests, raising his chin. "It's not my fault Koras was a prideful idiot.  You don't get to pick your bosses, as they say.  Besides, most of the time, the 'common man' would rather allow his master's horses to be stolen than risk a flurry of arrows.  Brave man, your Carl.  I wonder if he'd like a job..."

He seems to enjoy Carl's disgusted expression a little too much, then turns to address Zuriel.

"As for what power we serve, that would be Mi'driel," Gregor answers easily, laughter dancing behind his eyes as the highborn in the room adopt an bewildered expression.  "Chief picked the name for precisely that reason."

Your boss, this Koras, was a swordsman, yes?  Carl was full of arrows.  Seems Koras didn't attack the unarmed man, even if he ordered it.

In reply to Boreas Highwind (msg # 147):

The captive simply shrugs as best as he is able.

"I take it you've never served in the army, then.  Ask your paladin friend.  Or even the Eastern girl, judging from the way she carries herself.  They'll understand."
This message was last edited by the GM at 17:40, Tue 24 Sept 2013.

Zuriel holds up a hand to forestall the imminent philosophical argument before it started in earnest. "We've already discussed his responsibility in the attack, Boreas. If he is unwilling to accept his role for what it was, there is nothing we will be able to do or say here to convince him. That's something he will have to come to terms with for himself. I'm more interested in this Mi'driel, and more importantly, the chief." He looks at Gregor intensely.

Maeve, who has been lounging in a a chair by the fire, doesn't think she has been carrying herself any particular way, but is a little pleased by the sort-of-compliment.

"I think we all are.  What I'd like to know though is why you were so keen on attacking our paladin here," Maeve says, gesturing to Zuriel.  "You seem to bear an intense grudge against his order.  I was under the impression that paladins were supposed to be paragons of virtue and Zuriel here is exactly that, no question about it.  I can't imagine what he would have done to incur your wrath."

"Furthermore it seems reckless to be openly attacking holy warriors.  I've never put much stock in the Gods myself.  Frankly I don't care if you worship the Emerald Flame, the Sapphire Flame, or even the ever-loving Fuschia Flame,  but to blithely attack a paladin?  That seems to be asking for trouble.  What has the Order of the Emerald Flame done to provoke such a reaction from your group?"
This message was last edited by the player at 18:09, Tue 24 Sept 2013.

In reply to Zuriel Silendril (msg # 149):

"There's a surprise," Gregor says, his tone more muted under the scrutiny of the paladin's gaze.

"Mi'driel is a... hidden kingdom, you might say.  Without a king.  A realm where all are equal in the eyes of the Chief."

He seems to gloss over how little sense this statement makes, particularly within the context of the militaristic hierarchy that seems to govern his actions.

"You can't imagine the, the power he radiates.  The force of character.  The stories he tells!  Men sit enthralled, unable to do so much as relieve themselves for fear of missing a single nuance.  Women flock to him like lovely songbirds to a fistful of seeds.  He is - "

Gregor's diatribe is interrupted by Maeve's perfectly reasonable interjection.

"Er, Koras, again, was not the brightest man I've ever worked with.  He seemed to hold a personal vendetta against the Flame.  He probably believed that the only way to make a clean getaway would involve incapacitating your friend here."

He raises his eyebrows slightly.

"After all, Paladins can conjure celestial steeds of incredible speed and fiery temper, can they not?"
This message was last edited by the GM at 18:11, Tue 24 Sept 2013.

In reply to Zuriel Silendril (msg # 149):

While everyone else is talking, Keef sets down his new prize long enough to sneak forward and, following the example of his companions, pour a tiny amount of hot water into an earthen goblet onto a tea leaf.  He stands contemplating it for some time before taking a cautious sip.

Keef stifles a small choking sound.  His face is screwed up as if he had just sucked a lemon.  Carefully and politely he puts the goblet down on a table and backs away, returning to his sword.  With the back of one hand he wipes his tongue off.

Keef pays only half attention to what Gregor says, busy turning the sword over and over in his hand.  When Maeve speaks to him he snaps out of his reverie and nearly drops it.

A wizard, sir?  Ma'am?  I've never been called such... don't think I really am.

Now interested in what's being discussed, Keef turns to Zuriel.  A steed?  Can I see it?

Zuriel seems a bit abashed by Maeve's praise. "Truth be told, there are many that hold grudges against the Emerald Flame. We are not, generally speaking, known for dispensing justice gently. Without knowing Koras' history with the Flame it is difficult for me to say whether or not his grounds for displeasure with us are valid. Some of us in the Order yet believe that Justice is best served when the arbiter upholding the law does not make presuppositions as to the character of the one being judged. The sad fact of reality is that while many criminals despise the Flame simply because of who we are, some have been wronged by us in the past in what could be considered...misapplications of justice. A tragic few are indeed pushed towards crime as a result of losing faith in the system of law, or even the concept of justice itself. Not that this in any way excuses their actions, but perhaps such people are not solely to blame for the path they choose to follow.

At this, Zuriel looks down bitterly. "So while it saddens me to meet with such people who bear me ill simply because of the tabard I wear, I am not particularly surprised. I do firmly believe, however, that there can be redemption for anybody, should they choose it." The paladin looks meaningfully at his prisoner.

"As for our steeds, it is indeed true that many of us reach such favor with our Goddess that we are blessed with the companionship of a mighty heavenly steed. Much like people though, their dispositions vary wildly based on their personalities. They are quite intelligent. So yes, while many have fiery tempers, many more are calm and even-keeled. Steeds tend to be drawn to like-minded paladins, though the exact process is a divine mystery revealed only to the worthy. I myself have not yet been blessed with such a creature," Zuriel replies, to Keef's obvious disappointment.

While the discussion continues, Boreas sets his bow on the sturdy, oaken table and pulls up a chair.  He spreads his map out and begins to examine the markings.   Every once in awhile, he puts a small mark on the paper.  He spends some time calculating and marking.

And watch for the clatrops by the door, if you need to use the privy, he remarks off-hand.

In reply to Boreas Highwind (msg # 154):

"You'd need some food in ya for that to be a concern," Carl chimes in.  "Stew's done.  Grab a bowl an' help yourself.  We got plenty."

Filbert springs into action immediately, stacking up the bowls and heading over to the pot for Carl to fill.  Once packed with steaming-hot food, a bowl is set before each of you in turn - though nothing is provided for Gregor.

"I have a bit of ale, some wine, and a cask of spring water out in the carriage," Filbert says, his voice achingly apologetic. "In all the confusion, I'm afraid I quite forgot about it.  Which would you like me to fetch?"
This message was last edited by the GM at 19:30, Tue 24 Sept 2013.

Maeve, can you go with him?  I'll clear the caltrops long enough for you to bring in what we need.  I imagine the two of you can handle it.  Everyone, stay alert.  Never know when these red-armed ruffians will come calling.

Thank you mightily for the stew, Carl.  I'm hungrier than I'd thought.  Once we get everything inside, I'll tuck in.

Zuriel waits until the party and servants have set aside bowls for themselves before taking a second smaller dish and filling it with a portion of the stew and a spoon. He puts the bowl before Gregor. "Here. I imagine it may be some time before you have the chance to eat properly cooked food again. While you're eating, please tell me more of this chief. He sounds quite charismatic. Where is he from, and how long has he led your organization?"
This message was last edited by the player at 19:54, Tue 24 Sept 2013.

In reply to Zuriel Silendril (msg # 157):

The captive stares at the stew hungrily, unsure how to actually get its contents to his mouth without spilling on himself, given the awkward angle his wrist is at.

"Nobody knows, but before the Chief came along, there was no Mi'driel, so to speak.  The colors, the camp, the creed, the rules... all his ideas."

He licks his lips unabashedly, clumsily scooping some meat into his mouth.

"Really inspirational guy, y'know?  Draws you in.  Plus, he makes a lot of sense.  That doesn't hurt.  We used to get a lot of outside help, too, but a few years ago that kind of dried up.  That's when we formed the Blackbands, actually.  We're the newest band.  But we keep the Chief well equipped!  Well, most of the time."
This message was last edited by the GM at 19:56, Tue 24 Sept 2013.

In reply to DM (msg # 158):

In reply to Zuriel Silendril (msg # 157):

Keef's eyes are locked on Zuriel and the prisoner, though he breaks his gaze to watch Boreas' caltrops.

He accepts a bowl of soup gratefully.

Thank you, kindly.  He blows on it and then sits cross-legged on the floor with the sword across his knees, the bowl set on top of the blade and Chubbs balanced precariously on the hilt.

Keef takes a few bites and smiles.

If these guys are coming to kill us, he offers helpfully, we should set a trap for them, just like Sir Greenheart in the Wooing Woods when those slavers came to kill him.

Keef swivels his head to check all corners of the cabin but doesn't seem to find what he was looking for.

Also, we should trust Gregor.  Sir Greenheart freed one of the slaves and he helped him beat the slavers.  He told Sir Greenheart where to lie in wait for them.

You know, the boy has a good point.  Gregor, these Redbands of yours, how do they operate.  You've said they're not gentle in their... extractions, but how do they go about it?

He stares the bandit down with his good eye, then pulls back his eye patch, revealing a glinting emerald.

It's in your interest to tell us.  You don't want to go back to this Chief of yours now that you've told us so much already.  If we can stop them taking you away, all the better for you.

The bandit quakes at the possibilities.

[Intimidate 24]
This message was last edited by the player at 19:58, Tue 24 Sept 2013.

In reply to Boreas Highwind (msg # 160):

Gregor pauses mid-bite as Boreas stares him down, unable to tear his gaze from the horrible emerald eye embedded in the huntsman's socket.

"By the gods..." he whispers, letting the spoon sink into what remains of his stew.  "I, er, no, I'd rather the Redarms not know how conversational I've been."

He looks quite conflicted at this thought, glancing around himself frantically.

"But I don't want to go to prison either.  Or work in the camps."

He licks his lips nervously (or, perhaps, to rescue any stray bits of stew still lingering upon them).

"Extraction is just the cover-all word for what they do.  I'm not a Redarm, I don't know their code.  It changes to suit the scenario.  If I had to guess, they'd first check to see who survived, how they were held, and what stands between the prisoner and the rescuers."

He shivers slightly, though he is seated quite close to the fire.

"I've heard they use magic sometimes, but the Bluebands always scoff at those stories."

Gregor, who looks quite ill at ease now, falls silent and does not resume eating.
This message was last edited by the GM at 20:22, Tue 24 Sept 2013.

Maeve glares a little at Boreas' telling her to go and fetch the libations, but she sets aside her empty mug and accompanies Filbert outside to the carriage.

Zuriel shoots Boreas an irritated look before responding. "Look, we're not trying to scare you. But you have to understand, the redarms are highly unlikely to prevail against a group of trained warriors expecting them. They won't succeed, whether or not you help us. What I'm asking you is to help us prepare for them so that we can turn them away with less bloodshed all around. I don't know your story, or your reasons for joining the group. But I do know that no life is beyond redemption. If we prevail here, you will go to jail, yes. But not forever. You will have your life back. If you can help us here, when your debt to society has been paid you will receive assistance from my house finding gainful employment according to your abilities."

[Diplomacy 26]

In reply to Maeve (msg # 162):

Filbert and Maeve encounter no resistance on their foray to the carriage, returning presently laden with several containers of refreshing beverages.

Boreas wastes no time replacing the caltrops before the threshold, then returns to his place near the captive.

Gregor, for his part, turns miserably to Zuriel and shrugs.

"But I've told you all I know.  I expect nothing, save a swift and effective extraction, and perhaps bloodshed since they will not be expecting such formidable foes.  The only way we'd avoid that would be for someone to have issued countermanding orders that I be left in captivity, and I truly doubt that's the case."
This message was last edited by the GM at 20:25, Tue 24 Sept 2013.

When they return with the beverages, Boreas helps to distribute them, pouring a modest mug of ale for himself.

Never know when these "redbands" will strike.  Thanks for covering Filbert.

He returns to the door, bars it, and puts the caltrops back in place.  Then, he approaches Gregor, listening to his interaction with Zuriel to find out if he has any more information to provide.

Zuriel nods in acknowledgement. He waits for Gregor to finish his food before re-tightening his restraints, testing to make sure they weren't cutting off circulation. He then sits back down in his chair and pours another cup of tea.

"By the way," he asks, "did you three manage to track down those horses?"
This message was last edited by the player at 20:33, Tue 24 Sept 2013.

We did, and the new riders that miraculously materialized on them in the twenty or so seconds they were out of our sight.  A fight would have meant more bloodshed, and we were outnumbered.  Well, probably.

In reply to Boreas Highwind (msg # 167):

Filbert glances over at Boreas, surprised.

"So, they are gone?"

"That's a shame. I certainly was not expecting such organized banditry in these parts. I will be writing a report to the Wardens."

Zuriel settles down with a paper and so parchment and begins to scribe a formal report to give to the Wardens in the morrow, being sure to include acknowledgment of Gregor's cooperation, and recommendation for specialized work detail as promised.

"I think that's all for me tonight. After I'm done with this report I will begin my meditations. Please let me know what watch details I should support."

Zuriel goes back to scribbling on the parchment, the scratching of the quill making a soothing rhythm with the crackling of the hearth.
This message was last edited by the player at 20:45, Tue 24 Sept 2013.

Boreas finally resumes his place at the table, stows his map and quills, and tucks into his rapidly cooling stew and rapidly warming ale.

Either this stew is excellent, or I'm far hungrier than I thought.

In reply to Boreas Highwind (msg # 170):

"If yer just about done yappin' with the criminal," Carl says, "Maybe we should settle in for the night.  Discuss who's sleepin' where, and for how long, and all that.  Filbert and I need to get an early start, especially with half the horses we started with.  Might slow us down quite a bit."

Filbert nods his assent.  "I concur.  It's been an eventful, exhausting evening, and by all accounts, the excitement might not be over.  We should prepare ourselves accordingly."

Maeve, can you take the first watch with Lyriel?  Zuriel, if you can take the second with Filbert, I'll bring up the third on my own.  Keef, get some rest.  Any objections?

In reply to Boreas Highwind (msg # 172):

Lyriel happily accepts a bowl of stew, her stomach giving an uncharacteristic rumbling. Oh my, do excuse me, I must be hungry!She takes a few bites and relishes in the the spreading warmth. Then turning to Boreas she replies, I'd be happy to keep first watch with Maeve. Also you all should know that while my magic is mostly of the protecting and healing variety, but I do have a trick or two up my sleeve.

Maeve finishes off the rest of her stew.

"No objections here.  We ladies would be perfectly content to take the first watch," she says with a polite nod to Lyriel.  It will be interesting to share watch duties with the reserved cleric.  Maybe Maeve will finally get to find out whether or not the blonde elf is sleeping with their resident paladin.

"Just what we need," she thinks to herself.  "Romantic tensions and high adventure never mix well."

In reply to Maeve (msg # 174):

Keef quickly slurps down the remainder of his stew and jumps to his feet.

I can stand a watch, I've done it before... in the city.  The dark doesn't scare me.

Keef holds the hilt of his wooden sword in one hand and the handle of his new metal one in the other with Chubbs perched on his shoulder and doing its best (albeit decidedly amphibious and phlegmatic) impression of a bird of prey.

Very well then, Keef.  You'll be on third watch with me.  If you notice something going on, it's very important that you don't do anything except tell me.  We want to make sure we wake everyone before we engage any threats.  Clear?

Keef responds with an eager stare and a head nod.

Also, a little pro tip: one sword at a time.

In reply to Boreas Highwind (msg # 176):

Carl is only too happy to be assigned a full night's sleep.  The rest of you break off into groups to keep watch -- though with the windows shuttered and the door barred, there isn't much to look at besides the dull glow of the fire's embers.

First shift belongs to the party's ladies, who are remarkably alert.  They hear nothing truly out of place beyond the rustling of the trees in the wind and perhaps the faint padding of transient wildlife.  Certainly, nothing that warrants their full attention, though their captive seems to expect every sound to correspond to his imminent release.

[Perception (Maeve): 20]
[Perception (Lyriel): 23]

The paladin and the steward are awakened to serve the second shift, though Filbert spends most of his time staring blankly off into the distance.  Upon being prompted by Zuriel's polite chit-chat, Filbert answers in vague terms and asks if the paladin would like anything.  Gregor spends this time snoozing by the fireplace at an awkward angle.

[Perception (Zuriel): 19]
[Perception (Filbert): 6]

The final shift is held by Boreas and Keef, during which the latter is shown the proper way to hold a sword by the former while Chubbs and Gregor watch on in amusement.

[Perception (Boreas): 9]
[Perception (Keef): 15]

All told, the night passes rather uneventfully.  Gregor appears increasingly agitated as time creeps onward, and by the time the chirping of birds can be heard outside, the man appears quite despondent indeed.

When you unbolt the shutters, swing open the front door, and greet the breaking dawn, the only sign of any disturbance are four tiny flowers placed upon the uneven mounds in which the slain bandits had been buried.  Far off in the distance, out of sight down the road, you can make out the unmistakable sound of iron horseshoes pounding against packed dirt.

OOC: If you want to have further interactions during your watch, just let me know and we'll build it in!

Zuriel kneels in front of the hearth, deep in meditation. As the sun rises above the trees, his amber eyes snap open, alight with anticipation. He opens the Book of Answers.

So they have honored our deal.  I'll have to remember that.

Boreas gathers the caltrops before anyone steps on them, straps on his armor, and grabs a heel of bread from last night.  Carrying his bow in his right hand, he nibbles at the bread in his left as he makes a circuit around the property, looking for any other signs of incursion and staying alert for bandits hidden nearby.

[Perception 26]
This message was last edited by the player at 16:49, Wed 25 Sept 2013.

Maeve awakes with the dawn, surprisingly well-rested.  She dons her armor, takes up the guisarme, and heads outside to make use of the privy, making sure to scan the threshold for caltrops.  Who carries caltrops around with them? she thinks to herself, bemused.

The forest seems much more appealing in the early morning light, friendlier somehow.  A doe is grazing a short distance from the privy, which adds to the sylvan feel. One could almost ignore the fact that a troop of bandits is almost certainly hiding nearby.

[Notice 13]
This message was last edited by the player at 12:45, Wed 25 Sept 2013.

In reply to Boreas Highwind (msg # 179):

Once the others begin to rouse, Keef, though a bit sleepy, launches himself into a vigorous morning routine.

First he takes up his wooden waster and spends several minutes advancing, retreating, blocking and attacking a small sapling tree.  Keef then gets down and does several push-ups in a row, followed by a lap around the cabin.

Keef finishes by finding a free spot on the floor near the fire and spreading several books out in front of him.  With Chubbs planted firmy on his back, Keef alternates between his books, reading and studying for a solid couple of minutes before he loses focus and searches around for breakfast.

In reply to Keef (msg # 181):

The morning air is alive with the buzzing of insects and the calls of songbirds, punctuated by the occasional rumble from somewhere deep within the forest.  The smells are those of Autumn, the crisp air marked with a combination of overripe fruit, recently fallen leaves, and faintly browning pine needles.

Boreas scours the surrounding woodlands carefully, but detects nothing out of place.  He does, however, notice a break in the wall of trees just beyond the barn.  Though not a true path, it looks as though this would be the easiest place to venture into the forest without having the hack and slack through decades of untamed brush.

Maeve does the same, though her vision is mostly centered on appreciation for - and admiration of - a particularly brave doe that has seen fit to sup on the succulent grass near the barn.

Filbert and Carl are alive with energy, the former carrying a small amount of supplies back to the carriage while the latter works to harness what's left of his team of horses.  To their credit, the pair of remaining steeds appear rambunctious and ready to get on the road.

As for Gregor, the poor man remains shackled to the wall, mostly forgotten in the morning hustle and bustle.

Keef wanders outside in search for breakfast just as the pounding hoofbeats become impossible to ignore.  Anyone looking in the direction of the path can see four horsemen.  Three are dressed in chainmail, crossbows strapped to their back and swords built into their saddles.  The fourth rider is in the lead, and wears no armor at all, carrying instead the banner of the Imperial Wardens.

This group thunders toward the cabin, stopping with one thought about 10 meters from the entrance.  They regard the motley group with hesitation, clearly looking for something.

"The Empress bids you good morning, travelers," the flag-bearer begins, addressing no one in particular.  "We're the trash collectors you ordered.  Where's the rubbish?"
This message was last edited by the GM at 14:05, Wed 25 Sept 2013.

Zuriel studies the book in his lap intently before taking some parchment and a quill to meticulously copy the book's reply. He then shuts the book and stands up. Walking over to Gregor, he unties him from the wall and rebinds his manacles in front of him in a more comfortable position. Helping the prisoner stand and stretch his legs, the paladin hands Gregor a tin cup of water and heel of bread, which is greedily if awkwardly consumed. Upon hearing the approaching hoof beats, Zuriel leads Gregor outside, giving him the opportunity to relieve himself before transferring custody to the approaching Wardens.

Zuriel raises his hand in greeting towards the approaching Wardens. "Greetings in the name of the Empress. Thank you all for coming on such short notice. This prisoner here surrendered after a brief skirmish in which his fellows were killed. Please escort him back to Hae'driel to stand trial. I have here a missive describing his circumstances for whichever Magistrate is assigned to take him to charge him. He is a member of a much larger criminal organization, and may eventually prove to be a valuable witness. As such, I must request that care be taken to treat him fairly. I have no doubt that you Wardens will show him the courtesy and protection afforded to him by the law."

In reply to Zuriel Silendril (msg # 183):

The flag-bearer motions to one of the crossbowmen, who guides his horse over toward Zuriel and accepts the proffered missive.  Snorting derisively at Gregor, the man returns to the group and hands the parchment to the group's speaker.

"Noted, Flamebringer," the flag-bearer nods, eyes darting across the paper far too quickly to have actually read anything.  He folds the parchment and stuffs it into his saddlebag, then removes from the same container a polished wooden stick.

"Stand back from the prisoner," he commands, lazily pointing what is obviously a wand in Gregor's direction.

With a swish and a flick, a faint mist surrounds the ground beneath Gregor.  Seconds later, a horse materializes beneath the startled prisoner, raising him from the ground as it appears.  The mist fades as swiftly as it appears, leaving Gregor mounted somewhat uncomfortably in the beast's saddle.  It's hard to say which being possesses the more bewildered expression: the horse, or the prisoner.

"The prisoner is advised to remain still," the Warden says in a stern voice, throwing a coil of rope in Gregor's direction.

The flag-bearer utters arcane words beneath his breath and points at the rope as it soars through the air.  In response, the lifeless strands spring to life, winding around Gregor to pin his arms to his sides and leaving just enough mobility for his shackled wrists to grip the pommel of his saddle.

Satisfied, the flag-bearer returns his attention to the party.

"The Empire will take it from here, citizens.  Thank you for bringing this is our attention.  Is there anything else we can do for you?"

His expression clouds slightly as he takes in the exact makeup on the group standing before him.

"If not, perhaps you can indulge my curiosity and explain exactly what such a heavily armed group is doing in my jurisdiction."

The man clears his throat before continuing.

"Because I see two of Tassada's finest in the company of mercenaries and hunters.  Which suggests yet another obvious, pointless effort to ferret out the wildkin, a group we both know is extinct.  The Empire has been very firm in its stance: leave them be.  Every time you send a cadre clomping through the woods, I have to spend weeks assuring local hunters and farmers that all is well."
This message was last edited by the GM at 15:49, Wed 25 Sept 2013.

No, we've no intentions of hunting dead elves.  We're of that special breed of empty-headed soul called adventurers.  As you might suspect, we're off on the Quest for Maligar's Magical MacGuffin, or some such nonsense.  Nonetheless, it's a chance for me to get back to the woods, our pious friends here to get out of the church for a bit, and our other friends to see the countryside.  Also, this young fellow gets his first taste of adventure with us here to make sure he doesn't become a wolf's dinner - or to do our damndest trying.

Thanks for taking Gregor off our hands.  He really was quite cooperative.  I'm sure Filbert and Carl here would appreciate an escort on the return journey, at least until they're clear of the woods.

Boreas turns to his comrades.

Is everyone ready?  Grab a bite to eat if you haven't.  I've found a path into the woods, and we can't afford to waste any daylight.

Zuriel looks on on curiosity as the Wardens bind Gregor and prepare him for transportation, impressed with their efficiency. He glances around at his fellow P.A.R.T.Y. members, nodding in agreement with Boreas. "No Warden, if my comrades don't have any further requests, neither do I. We simply wanted to report our skirmish and the activity of organized bandits in the area, and turn over our captive to the lawful authority. On which note, we have no intention of causing issues in your jurisdiction. As my friend states, we are not hunting the wildkin, not shall we engage them if we were to happen across any. Our business is simple retrieval of aforementioned misplaced object. So unless you have anything you would like us to be aware of in your jurisdiction, we shan't impose on your time any further."

((OOC unless the Wardens wish to chat further I will just gather my things, bid Carl and Filbert farewell, and prepare to venture forth.))
This message was last edited by the player at 17:07, Wed 25 Sept 2013.

In reply to Zuriel Silendril (msg # 186):

The man nods, though it's hard to tell whether this is out of agreement or impatience.

"Right, then, we'll be off.  I can accompany your friends as far east as Fortshire, where we must stop for other business.  From there, it's an easy few hours to Hae'driel proper."

"Our thanks, sir," Filbert says, climbing into the carriage's forward seat next to Carl.  "We'd be pleased to have your company for as long as you can share it."

In short order, the unlikely procession has departed, with the flag-bearer riding point, Gregor behind him, flanked by crossbowmen, the carriage, and a final crossbowman taking up the rear.  Before long, the entire group has vanished from your sight, though it will be a while yet before the clatter of the cart fades from earshot.

The steward seems to have taken the liberty of stacking everyone's belongings -- those that were not on their person when the Wardens arrived -- neatly on the table, packed and ready to go.  Five portions of bread, cheese, and pressed grape juice have been left next to them, along with a scrap of parchment upon which "Godspeed" has been written in the tidiest handwriting you've ever seen.

With the group thus nourished, belongings packed, and cabin secured as best as possible, you make your way into the forest.

The first thing you notice about the trail itself is its condition, which is poor, followed by its width, which is virtually nonexistent.  You must walk single-file in order to avoid the constant encroachment of branches, leaves, vines, and the like, all while keeping an eye out for exposed roots, sudden dips covered by fallen leaves, and similar hazards.

Those among you who are unused to the natural world may find the trail more than a little daunting.  Children and huntsmen, however, should feel right at home.

OOC: What is your marching order?
This message was last edited by the GM at 17:31, Wed 25 Sept 2013.

"Boreas, you should probably go in front.  You're most at ease in these woods and the most likely to spot trouble.  I'll go next--might be able to use the guisarme to clear some foliage-then Lyriel.  Zuriel can bring up the rear."

Before Keef can even open his mouth, Maeve says "Keef, you're in the middle, between me and Lyriel.  Don't even think about wandering off."

In reply to Maeve (msg # 188):

Boreas plows through the trail as though it were a paved city street, ignoring the roots and branches closing in on every side with a sort of deference that becomes maddening to those unaccustomed to being subjected to such things.

Maeve follows close behind, sweat building up in the clothes beneath her armor as the foliage blocks out the autumn breeze.

Keef hops along afterward, fending off imaginary foes and occasionally scooping Chubbs up when the toad makes his periodic attempts at escape.

Lyriel is next, her attention almost completely focused on avoiding the snap-back of branches disrupted by Keef's rather careless steps.

Zuriel, too, feels the caress of branches, leaves, and vines against his face and armor more often than one might expect, lost as he is in his own thoughts.

The party continues thus for an hour, and another, and then a third, until the path begins a steep incline that winds around one of the forest's many hills.  By midday, you've reached its peak, at which point the path drops off at a small clearing.  Before you, the trail is replaced by a rather dilapidated bridge that spans a 15-meter gap connecting the current hill to the next, where the path seems to continue onward in wider fashion than before.

Beneath the gap, perhaps 50 meters below, lies a fast-moving portion of the Golden River.  It runs perpendicular to the bridge, and wide enough that any fall should send a person plunging into its icy depths.
This message had punctuation tweaked by the GM at 17:52, Wed 25 Sept 2013.

Zuriel eyes the bridge dubiously. "Perhaps it would be best to cross this span one at a time."

Boreas examines the bridge closely, testing ropes, feeling planks, placing a tentative foot on and then removing it.  He peers over to the other side, stares for a few moments, then addresses the PARTY:

Looks sturdy enough, if we're careful about it.  Something is a little bit off about the other side.

[Perception 15]

He scratches his beard.

Why is that stump there?  Nonetheless, we'll need to cross if we want to find this stone thing.  I'll go first.

He tests one of the posts holding the bridge, finds it steady, then ties one end of his rope around it with a well-practiced clove hitch.

Come one at a time.  Keep hold of the rope when you cross.  Last person to cross unties it, gathering it as he crosses.  Be on your guard, and Keef, keep Chubbs well-secured.

Boreas crosses to the other side, each footfall seeming to weigh nothing.  When he gets there, he ties the other end of the rope in a similar fashion after testing the post, then draws his bow and looks around.

[Perception 11]

In reply to Zuriel Silendril (msg # 190):

Lyriel nods at Zuriel, may I also suggest that we perhaps use some sort of rope to secure ourselves should the bridge give way. We can attach it on this side until someone gets across then have it attached at the other side as well. Hopefully that will prevent any accidents. She flashes a wan smile, I'd rather not have to preform any unnecessary miracles.

In reply to Lyriel Vesper (msg # 192):

Boreas crosses the bridge carefully, and stands alert and armed upon the other side.  The bridge sways softly in the breeze, as if daring a second attempt at crossing.

OOC: The next person to cross, should they go it alone, must make a DC 5 Balance check to get across smoothly.
This message was last edited by the GM at 18:52, Wed 25 Sept 2013.

Excellent idea, Lyriel.  Wish I'd thought of it.

Boreas calls across the clearing, winking with his good eye, which really kind of looks like he's just blinking really hard.
This message was last edited by the player at 18:46, Wed 25 Sept 2013.

Zuriel looks around. "Do we have another length of rope or should we resecure the one we have to some that isn't the bridge?"

The posts are secure enough.  It's the rope and planks that are a concern.  Just come on across.

Boreas calls across, once again.

You all need to take a look at this.

In reply to Boreas Highwind (msg # 194):

Great mind's think alike! She shouts back at Boreas as she grabs hold of the rope to secure it to herself. She then says a quick prayer before making her way across.

Welcome to the other side,

Boreas offers.  He gestures to the stump.

This thing is clearly magical.  Very magical.  Can you examine it with any of your spells?

[OOC]This post assumes your DC 5 Balance check succeeded.  Also, I'm asking for a Detect Magic, if you hadn't guessed.[/OOC]

In reply to Lyriel Vesper (msg # 197):

The cleric begins to cross the bridge, but stumbles as the bridge sways "to" when she expected it to sway "fro".

[Balance (+1 dex, -2 armor): 2]

She maintains her grip on the guideropes, however, and pulls herself to her feet, completing her crossing without further trouble.

[Balance: 19]

The breeze picks up noticeably as the cleric steps off the bridge to join Boreas, and the wooden structure starts to rock more violently than before.

OOC: Check to cross has been raised to 8
This message was last edited by the GM at 19:04, Wed 25 Sept 2013.

That breeze is pretty stiff.  I think I see a pattern here.  Let's see if this stump has anything to do with it.

In reply to Boreas Highwind (msg # 198):

Why thank you sir, that was quite exhilarating. She looks in the direction of the stump. Hmm...I think you may be right, lets see shall we?

Lyriel casts [Detect Magic]

In reply to Lyriel Vesper (msg # 201):

Even a cursory inspection of the stump increases your curiosity about it.  No grass grows around the stump itself, and the top of the stump is as smooth and polished as a tabletop.  It stands just off to one side of the path, more or less in the center of the clearing, halfway between the end of the bridge and the beginning of the trail's continuation.

Lyriel studies the stump for a moment, her eyes imbued with heavenly energy.

Boreas waits as Lyriel stares at the stump for several minutes.  He knowingly casts a knowing look her way, wondering what she knows.

What has your magic revealed?

"Well, here goes nothing."  Maeve shucks her armor for the crossing and edges carefully out onto the bridge.
This message was last edited by the player at 19:33, Wed 25 Sept 2013.

In reply to Boreas Highwind (msg # 203):

Hmm...well it would appear that both this bridge, but especially this stump. Let me see what else I can find. She concentrates a bit more, hoping for a revelation.

She frowns a crease furrowing her brow, The only thing I can seem to determine is that they are connected, but unfortunately that's it. Anyone else able to give it a try?

[Spellcraft Bridge: 8]
[Spellcraft Stump: 11]
This message was last edited by the player at 19:40, Wed 25 Sept 2013.

Maeve wobbles briefly halfway across the bridge.  She holds on to the rope until her knuckles turn white, pausing until she has regained her balance.  The rest of the crossing goes without incident.  She alights gratefully on the other side and quickly dons her armor once again, then goes to join her two companions, who are examining what appears to an unremarkable stump.

Why is it that adventurers never get to cross sturdy, well-made bridges? she thinks, recalling once again tales from her homeland.  She looks back across the river at Keef and Zuriel.  For once, the boy may be at an advantage; he looks light and nimble enough to make it across without much difficulty.  The tall paladin might run into some trouble though.

In reply to Maeve (msg # 206):

The breeze picks up once more as Maeve's feet leave the bridge behind.  The swaying has transformed into a rather sickening churn.

OOC: Balance DC is now 12

Zuriel and Keef glance at each other glumly as they debate their options.

"Have you tried manipulating the stump at all?" Zuriel calls across the chasm. "Perhaps it in some way controls the bridge and could calm this wind?"

Boreas bends down and touches the stump.  He recoils at first, as the it feels warmer than it should, but then he places his hand back.  The warmth is oddly comforting.

What spirit lives here? he asks.

No reply.

Al-the'anun ter-y-mir? which Zuriel and Lyriel recognize as the same question in Highborn.

[Private to Boreas Highwind:
In response, the winds swirl around Boreas' ears, and faint words can be heard within them.

Pure blood, pure blood, in the woods
Touches stumps and foreswears hoods
Speaks he Highborn, speaks it well
Better blood, or password tell]

His eyes widen, and he removes his hand.  After a moment, he rises and walks to the edge of the bridge.

Zuriel, ask your book what the password is to cross the bridge!
This message was last edited by the GM at 21:13, Wed 25 Sept 2013.

"It doesn't work like that!" he calls back. "It only answers one question a day, at dawn. Wait, did the stump ask you for a password?"

That's about the size of it.  Any ideas?

"I have no clue. Keep talking to it to see what it wants! Maybe we can convince it that we mean no harm and to let us pass."

Lyriel, you try touching it.

In reply to Boreas Highwind (msg # 213):

Alright, I will give it a try. Lyriel kneels down by the stump and places both hands upon it, trying to feel for a presence within. Goddess give me strength.

In reply to Lyriel Vesper (msg # 214):

[Private to Lyriel Vesper: The stump feels warm to the touch, though not uncomfortably so, and you swiftly hear voices in the wind, speaking in Highborn.

One hand, two hands, Redhand, Blueband
Goldsmiths fine, and Greensleeves, too
Blackbands turn back, if I were you

Your blood be pure, your colleagues, not
The only Highborn of the lot
Though passage granted, for your friends
Beware, beware, ere this path ends]

After a few moments, the churning winds fall silent, leaving the bridge as calm as when Boreas first crossed it.  Stray leaves swirl around Lyriel for a moment, spiraling from her feet to her hair before fluttering away.

OOC: No further DC check required to cross, so long as you travel one at a time.
This message was last edited by the GM at 21:13, Wed 25 Sept 2013.

Zuriel gives a brief whoop of congratulation as he waits for Keef to cross the now harmless and in retrospect fairly well built bridge, before he too crosses, bringing up the rear with the end of the rope.

Never thought I'd see a racist stump. Boreas mutters, taking his rope back from Zuriel and coiling it carefully before replacing it in the pack.  He surveys the area once more for anything that could be of use.

[Perception 14]

In reply to Boreas Highwind (msg # 217):

There is little else worth noting in the clearing, save the stump itself.  The trail continues to the south, where it once again narrows enough to warrant your previous single-file formation.

Also of interest is a side path that seems to jut off near the bridge, winding its way down toward the banks of the river 50 meters below.  Calling it a path is actually quite generous - it's more of a steep incline with rocks scattered here and there.  It looks technically passable, if not easily or gracefully so.

Through the forest canopy above you, the sun can be seen climbing ever higher in the sky.  It is not yet noon, but it will be before too long.
This message was last edited by the GM at 21:16, Wed 25 Sept 2013.

This seems as good a place to take our meal as any.  I propose we eat a brief lunch and then venture forth.

In reply to Boreas Highwind (msg # 219):

Lyriel nods to Boreas's proposition, a puzzled look on her face. I know this may sound strange, but the stump,she pauses not sure how to phrase it, well it spoke to me. The good news is apparently it won't be letting any of our black banded bandit friends cross, but it didn't seem to care about red or blue bands, which could be concerning. Also,you were quite correct Boreas when you called it a raciest stump, apparently it only reacts to pure blood highborns. [Private to Zuriel Silendril: Lyriel gives a significant look towards Zuriel unsure if she should mention anything.] Shaking her head she sets to helping with lunch.Perhaps we should make some of that, what was it called, ah yes tea...tea might be just the thing.
This message was last edited by the player at 22:33, Wed 25 Sept 2013.

"A racist stump, eh? And here I was thinking I was supposed to be the judgemental one." He chuckles. [private to Lyriel Vesper: Zuriel notices your troubled gaze and raises an eyebrow quizzically.]

He gestures towards the path leading up from the river below. "I guess over there was Plan B if the bridge didn't work out."

Clearly happy to be back on solid ground, he busies himself with heating water for tea.
This message was last edited by the player at 22:45, Wed 25 Sept 2013.

I hear that people of the Southern Realms chill their 'ti' with conjured ice and sweeten it with honey.  Have you ever tried it that way?

Maeve brightens at the prospect of tea.

"If our journeys take us to my homeland, I will insist that we stop by the shop of Kah'Ribu.  He is the finest tea and coffee merchant in all the land, and has impeccable taste--strange for a minotaur.  He recently opened another shop near one of the great Universities.  I hear that the students are frequent customers.  Aspiring bards often spend the afternoon there working on their sagas."

"I must warn you though.  A cup can run three or four gold pieces.  Kah'Ribu knows quality, and you'll certainly pay for it."
This message was last edited by the player at 23:00, Wed 25 Sept 2013.

In reply to Boreas Highwind (msg # 222):

Ice and honey sound nice... if I had that though, I wouldn't add the tea.

As the water in the pot comes to a boil, Zuriel and Maeve pour out measures of water into five small tin cups, adding the tea leaves from Zuriel's canister before passing them around.

Zuriel sinks down into the soft grass, waiting for his tea to finish steeping and cool. He whistles a curious melody absently to himself that is at once both soothing and tinged with melancholy.
This message was last edited by the player at 02:41, Thu 26 Sept 2013.

Boreas blows the steam off of his cup of tea, sipping it slowly as he gazes out along the length of the river, eyes following its course.  It's peaceful here, and he lets himself enjoy a few minutes of it.

Draining the last few drops from his cup, he sets it by the fire and begins wordlessly securing his belongings.  It's nearly time to move on.

As Maeve begins to gather her few belongings, something occurs to her.

"Zuriel, about the Book of Answers you have there.  If I understand it correctly, it answers a question of your choosing every day.  Why not ask it where this stone is tomorrow? Or if there is anything guarding it?  It would certainly save us some traveling time--and possibly some bloodshed-- if we had a better idea what we were up against."

In reply to Maeve (msg # 227):

Keef nods in agreement.

Sir Greenheart was always prepared, it's the best defense he always said

Apparently unable to sit still, even in such a serene spot, Keef marches back and forth along the water loping the tops off of some cat-tails with his waster.  Chubbs splashes happily in a puddle nearby.

What are we going to do anyway?  If the gods ARE dying?  And who would want to stop us from helping?

"I suppose we could try," he responds, clearly reluctant. "I don't think it answers very directly though. Let's continue on the path, and see if the way is any clearer by this evening. Maybe the compass can let us know if we are moving in the right direction? If we are still lost by the time we make camp tonight then perhaps we can think of a question for the book. " He points towards the path leading deeper into the woods.

On a whim, Zuriel walks over to the unassuming stump and places his hands on it. "Thank you for allowing us passage," he says in Highborn.

In reply to Zuriel Silendril (msg # 229):

A slight breeze stirs, swirling around Zuriel for a moment before dissipating.

[Private to Zuriel Silendril: The stump feels warm beneath your ungloved hand.  Before long, you notice that the winds carry words within them, spoken in lilting Highborn tongue far more musical than most speak it on the streets of Hae'driel.  Despite this, the words still sound indignant.

"Passage granted, winds have calmed
Still has Halfborn placed his palm?
No thanks needed, duty's clear
Rest no more; depart from here!
Guidance needed, from the fey?
Let the Highborn ask the way"]
This message was last edited by the GM at 14:53, Thu 26 Sept 2013.

Zuriel kneels by the stump, seemingly in conversation. After a brief moment Zuriel's eyes widen and he recoils, jerking his hands back from the smooth surface of the stump as if bitten. He stands up, shaken, and wordlessly collects his things.

"I think we should be on our way," he says tersely, his eyes troubled. "I'd rather not stay here any longer."

[private to Lyriel Vesper: Zuriel's haunted gaze catches yours for the briefest of moments before he turns away and faces the forest path.]
This message was last edited by the player at 14:02, Thu 26 Sept 2013.

In reply to Zuriel Silendril (msg # 231):

The winds remain silent for only a moment, then swirl around Zuriel with surprising force, leaves whipping harmlessly around his body in a colorful display despite the fact that the paladin no longer touches the stump.

[Private to Zuriel Silendril: The words continue, now tinged with a mixture of suspicion and curiosity.

"Wait a moment, tarry still
Your bloodline reeks of Silendril
Diluted, yes, but still a spark
Are you kin to Wildheart?"]

In reply to DM (msg # 232):

Keef steps closer to Zuriel, one hand outstretched slightly.

I think the stump doesn't like you

Keef seems oddly focused.  He looks back and forth along the path and the water.

What sort of questions does the book answer?  I can think of a lot of good questions...lots of things I'd like to know

Zuriel stands in the middle of the swirling leaves, wreathed by a flurry of green, yellow, red and gold.

"Aye, I am of House Siléndril," he replies to an unheard query, as if to the air. "Though I know nothing of this Wildheart you speak of. What difference does it make to you, Spirit?" he finishes, increasingly agitated.

He seems completely oblivious to Keef's questions.

Right, then.  Let's move on.  I propose we follow Zuriel's plan, though the compass won't help much, I'm afraid.  It indicates places imbued with good, evil, and magic.  Good points to Hae'driel; Magic to, gesturing at the stump, that.  We're heading towards evil right now, though I can't say how far.  Until we get closer to another place of power than the stump, the magic setting won't be any help, I'm afraid.

Boreas looks at the jagged mountain path.

I don't know what that thing said to you, but it looks like we should be moving on in one way or another.  Let's keep going south, down the path we've been following, and ask the book where the stone is tonight, if we haven't found it.  Agreed?

Figuring that the racist stump will have no secrets to divulge to her, Maeve turns her attention to the other members of the group as the prepare to take their leave.

"This talk of the Book of Answers reminds me, we never did determine what some of these other items do."

She removes the coldfire torch from her bag and holds it, unlit.

"This is a useful device, and very easy to operate.  According to Master Baldwin, one can activate it up to four times a day merely by wishing it so.  As you've seen, it provides a reliable source of light that strengthens and dims at will and will remain lit for an hour at a time.  It also has useful properties against the undead."    Maeve pauses thoughtfully.  "I'd just as soon we not have to face any, but if we do at least we will be somewhat prepared."

"But what of the Vials of Insight?  And I will admit, I am most curious about that sandwich.  Does it have any unique qualities aside from its deliciousness?"
This message was last edited by the player at 15:22, Thu 26 Sept 2013.

In reply to Boreas Highwind (msg # 235):

[Private to Zuriel Silendril: Lyriel catches Zuriel's haunted gaze and a pained expression comes into her eyes.]

I agree with Boreas, I think it is best if we get going, and forget about this stump for the moment. Then looking towards Maeve she continues, The vials like I mentioned before in the carriage are fairly useful, they can restore spells, allow me to see things which are hidden, and help me to become wiser and smarter for a time.

Lyriel then gathers her things and makes to start continuing down the path.
This message had punctuation tweaked by the player at 15:34, Thu 26 Sept 2013.

In reply to Boreas Highwind (msg # 235):

Distinctly elvish words echo throughout the clearing, audible now to everyone as they gather their things.

Fire, water, wind, and stone
Silendril is far from home
Allies gained, or added foes?
Who would win, if came to blows?

The words get slightly louder, though no less solid, and seem to come from everywhere at once.

Men with horses, swords, and bows
Hack our branches, burn what grows
Lacking colors, garbed in flame
Stop those men, and earn your name
If caring not your colleagues be
Of your well-being, care not we

The faint sound of musical laughter fills the ears of all who are present, lingering but a moment before it fades to a memory.  At long last, the air becomes utterly silent save the normal sounds of the forest.
This message was last edited by the GM at 19:18, Thu 26 Sept 2013.

Boreas starts down the path, taking the lead as before.  As he steps onto the southbound path, he looks back over his shoulder.  Huh.  Well that was interesting.  But we should stick to the plan.  If we see anyone who meets that description, we can help Zuriel take them out.

Glad to hear we have such useful tools with us.  But Keef, what of your sandwich?

"Why is it," Maeve says, "That enchanted things can never just come out and say what they mean?"

Standing up straight, Zuriel calls out in a clear voice, "Speak plainly. If evil is afoot in these lands I will stand against it, but I will not go chasing ghosts."

In reply to Zuriel Silendril (msg # 241):

Though you shout into the midday air with righteous indignation, cynicism, and increasing ire, it offers no further response.

In reply to Zuriel Silendril (msg # 241):

Lyriel places a hand on Zuriel's shoulder. Perhaps it is best if we just leave it be, there is no sense in being rash, especially towards an unknown quantity like a spirit. We have our warning; I wouldn't push it. No one is questioning your faith or purpose Zuriel.

Lyriel's words seem to calm the paladin somewhat. Letting out an explosive breath, he turns once more to the southerly path. "Lets go then. Towards uncertain evil it is. I feel the powerful urge to smite something."

The noonday sun shines in Zuriel's dark hair, mussed and tangled with leaves. For a brief moment the paladin looks curiously Druidic before shaking the leaves free of his hair. He catches a particularly vibrant leaf in his hand as it falls, and for a time contemplates its rich red hue, shot through with gold and russet. He begins to make a fist as if to crush it, but then stops and gently tucks it into his belt pouch.

"Let us be on our way."

In reply to Zuriel Silendril (msg # 244):

You continue along the narrow path carefully, sloping gently higher among the forested hills before rounding a bend and beginning to tread downward.

Less than two hours later, the path empties out into another clearing, this one containing a small pond.  A handful of mallards swim in its otherwise tranquil waters, oblivious to your presence.

The trees surround the water at a perimeter of about 5 meters, with two breaks in the treeline that denote new trails.  One winds further southward, in the direction you have been heading, while the other extends to the west.

On the eastern bank of the pond, you see the scattered remains of a cooking fire, along with a charred spit laid across it, empty, resting on a pair of branches that have been jammed into the earth.  No hint of warmth remains, though the flattened grass near the stone circle that separates the fire area from the rest of the clearing suggests something had been sitting there not long ago.
This message was last updated by the GM at 16:54, Thu 26 Sept 2013.

In reply to Zuriel Silendril (msg # 244):

It's VERY delicious.  Also I think it's very dangerous.  The letter says that people can't resist it.  It's enchanted you see.

Keef makes a strange gesture with his fingers that you don't recognize.

I think it would be good for traps, he adds.

Keef scoops up Chubbs and hefts his backpack.  He shieths his waster (the actual sword is lashed tightly to his bedroll) and stands ready to march on.

Boreas moves with practiced grace, methodically examining the campsite remains.  Absently, he says Very interesting, Keef.  I imagine that will come in handy.

[Survival 17]

It doesn't look like they tried to hide their leavings.  Humanoids.  They were eating meat, here about three hours ago, give or take.  Boreas pauses, examining an indentation in the ground.  Wearing boots.

Boreas turns his attention to the compass, checking each mode.

Can't tell which way they went.  The southern path still leads toward evil, though.  But there's a source of magic to the west.  No more than 2 hours away, judging from how far we've come.  It's got to be closer than the stump.  I say we investigate.  Carefully.
This message was last edited by the player at 17:09, Thu 26 Sept 2013.

Zuriel nods in assent. "Provided we can come back and deal with this source of evil once we've investigated the magic. I agree, if it seems nearby we should take a look."

In reply to Zuriel Silendril (msg # 248):

Agreed, shall we be on our way then? Lyriel begins moving in the indicated direction.

Boreas nods, taking a moment to watch the ducks as they swim in th pond, leaving little trails of ripples behind them.  Then, he strikes off down the path, bow ready and eyes alert.

In reply to Boreas Highwind (msg # 250):

Keef shrugs and followes Boreas.

In reply to Keef (msg # 251):

The P.A.R.T.Y. strikes out west from the pond, bidding the ducks a fond farewell and wiping away a single tear at the thought of leaving them behind.

Over the next hour or so, the trees along your path become increasingly less dense, until finally you arrive at a place devoid of them entirely.

To call the area a clearing would be a disservice; the place looks as though skillful lumberjacks suddenly decided to clear-cut an area of the forest nearly 30 meters in diameter, then dump acid on the grass afterward.

The end result is a rather miserable-looking circle of dirt, the center of which is adorned with a man-made crater or pit with a diameter of about 15 meters.

A flight of sturdy stone stairs descends into the crater from the western edge of the pit (that is, the side nearest to you), and they extend into the earth beyond sight.  There is no other obvious way to enter or exit the strange hole.

Next to the staircase is a simple wooden pole, which looks for all the world like a coat rack.  The coat rack seems to have been inserted into the ground directly, and consists of five slender arms on which you might hang a hat or cloak.  Though the arms are bare, each is marked with a different band of paint around the tip: one black, one blue, one red, one green, and one gold.

The trail ends here, hemmed in by an impenetrable-looking wall of trees, brushes, and dense foliage that licks against the edges of the barren area.
This message was last edited by the GM at 18:43, Thu 26 Sept 2013.

"Five arms, five of us.  That seems convenient.  Thought that could just as easily mean nothing.  Do these colors have significance to anyone?"

[Notice 13
This message was last edited by the player at 18:53, Thu 26 Sept 2013.

Zuriel draws his sword as he looks around.

"I don't see anybody wearing clothes of flame, but it seems that whoever did this isn't being particularly kind to the forest. Let's have us a look, shall we?"

[Perception 6]

[Detect Evil]

Zuriel looks at the colors Maeve indicated. "Don't those colors match the different roles Gregor was telling us of this Mi'driel organization?"

In reply to Zuriel Silendril (msg # 255):

"Indeed!  They do.  It seems as though we've perhaps found their hideout."

"Well then," Maeve says looking at the stairs.  "Unless I'm very much mistaken, this appears to be the most logical way forward, unless we'd like to spend several hours hacking through underbrush.  What do you say we pay this Mi'driel a vist?"
This message was last edited by the player at 18:57, Thu 26 Sept 2013.

"Or *a* hideout at least. This entrance seems pretty unassuming for the scope of the organization Gregor described. Shall we investigate? Unless there are any objections..."

Zuriel makes to descend into the hideout, sword drawn.

That seems as good an idea as I've heard.  Though, if this is the magical area my compass indicated... Boreas checks his compass, taking a few steps in either direction and watching the needle move... and I suspect it is, then we should have a quick look at it first, to ensure it isn't warded.

Anyway, let's go have a look.

[Perception 12]

In reply to Zuriel Silendril (msg # 257):

Keef draws his waster and tightens his gloves.  He is clearly incapable of containing his excitement.

Either way, it's going to be an adventure! he chirps.

Zuriel moves to the mouth of the pit and cautiously begins to descend, sword out and shield at the ready.

"Perhaps somebody with a free hand should hold the light. Maeve will likely need both her hands for the guisarme. Keef?"

In reply to Zuriel Silendril (msg # 260):

Keef nods excitedly.

Torch-bearer?  I'd be honored!

In reply to Keef (msg # 261):

Wait a minute everyone, some of the rhyme that the stump spoke to me is coming back, and I think it has something to do with the coat rack. The stump said, One hand, two hands, Redhand, Blueband Goldsmiths fine, and Greensleeves, too Blackbands turn back, if I were you.

Lyriel looks towards the entrance.

Do you still think we should go in?

In reply to Zuriel Silendril (msg # 260):

You descend the staircase carefully, weapons drawn and ready for anything.  Each step causes reverberating echoes to pierce the afternoon air, and before long the lip of the crater (and the light of the sun) seem quite far away.

Keef proudly leads the way, thrusting his torch into the encroaching darkness as if it would repel the Reaper himself.

Happily, you reach the bottom without incident, though a marvelous sight indeed awaits your curious eyes.

The air hangs heavy with the scent of wine and spices, and the faint sound of music can be heard from somewhere beyond your current location.

Looking around, you discover yourselves to be in what appears to be a foyer of sorts, the staircase emptying you into a room with walls of polished stone on every side, including a ceiling.

A heavy iron door greets your eyes to the left and to the right, each one centered in their respective walls.  Directly in front of you stand three additional doors of the same make and model.

An unlit torch rests in a bracket beside each door, unique bands of color painted around their respective grips.  Starting with the leftmost door and proceeding around the room in a clockwise fashion, the torches display the following colors: red (the door to against the left-hand wall); blue, gold, and green (along the far wall); and black (the door against right-hand wall).

Each door is closed, and you can detect neither knob nor latch on the smooth, featureless faces of any of them.

In the center of the room lies a raised pedestal, upon which rests a ledger, inkwell, and quill.  A placard above the parchment reads "Guest Sign In".

The only other exit is the staircase from which you came.

Gregor said the Blackbands were the newest part of this little 'worker's paradise' here, and the rhyme seems to indicate that they're the only ones the forest, or at least the stump has any issue with.  Maybe that's the 'lacking color' bit of that blasted stump's riddle.  Still no idea on the 'flame' part.  We'll never know if we don't try, but can you discern what kind of magic infuses this place?

"What in the nine hells is this place?" Zuriel exclaims. "Lyriel, can you sense any magic? Boreas, what does the compass say? And Keef, stay behind me. I don't need the torch to see and I'd rather you not be in front if we were to encounter any unpleasant surprises."

In reply to Zuriel Silendril (msg # 265):

Calm down everyone, I'll see what I can sense. Lyriel casts [Detect Magic]

As I thought, this is the magical place my compass pointed to.

The needle spins when set on topaz.

Looks like two approaches here.  We can get into the Blackband door and exact righteous vengeance, glancing at Zuriel with a smirk, or we can find this 'Chief' and fill him in on the situation.  Granted, with what Gregor told us, he sounds like a dangerous man, and just talking to him could be trouble.  What do you all think?

"There seems to be a lot going on here that we don't understand. I think we should try to learn more before charging in dealing death and retribution. Let's go talk to this Chief."

In reply to Zuriel Silendril (msg # 268):

Keef shrugs.  He wanders over to the ledger and looks at the names already on it.

In reply to Keef (msg # 269):

From what I can tell it seems like magic is positively everywhere, except for that piece of parchment. But the pedestal it's on seems magical. She points at the sign in sheet that Keef is inspecting. But what is strange is that it appears that the torches, which correspond to the doors, are also connected to something up above, perhaps the coat rack? Maybe we are missing something here. Perhaps I should examine the coat rack more closely.

Zuriel wanders over to the pedestal to look over Keef's shoulder at the guest book.

Maeve waits patiently as her companions call upon their abilities to try and detect any magical energy in what appears to be the receiving room.  She has never been jealous of those who possess such powers, but standing around with little to do but wait until her friends are finished scanning the room for magic, she feels a bit out of place.

Gives you something to do, at the very least. she thinks.  She moves over to join Keef at the ledger, partly out of idle curiosity and partly to keep an eye on him lest something horrible jump from the shadows and try to eat him.  Stranger things have happened.