With every window and exit barred and covered, it would only be from the cracks and leaks from poor construction that would tell you the sun had arisen.

Frederick arises after almost exactly 8 hours of sleep. He rouses Dinen Dal, who slept fat and happy after ridding the Inn of some of its vermin. Frederick dressed and ran thru his mental check, satisfied everything was restored.  Then he makes his way down to the main room, where he gets a plate of whatever they have for breakfast. He takes a seat at a general table and surveys the room.  Dinen curls up on the table beside his plate and sighs deeply, obviously offended at being awakened so early.

Hawkmoon arrives a minute or so after Frederick, sitting with him and ordering the breakfast of the day as well.  He really doesn't care what it is as long as it is food, hot and tasty is a plus.

"A better morning than others so far, Sire Frederick."

Frederick smiles and greet his companion as he comes in.  He responds to Hawkmoon in a light-hearted tone.

A truer statement has not been spoken Sire Hawkmoon. To sleep in a bed and wake to hot food is a pleasure taken far too lightly. I must admit to doing just that when in between adventures though.

Dinen rouses himself just enough to look at Hawkmoon's plate.  Seeing nothing interesting he snuggles back in.

In reply to The Powers That Be (msg # 1):

Boris completed his morning ablutions and, once dressed, said a few prayers.

He made his way down. "Good morning, my friends. Let's make our report to the Captain, yes?"

In reply to Boris Underhill (msg # 5):

Awake a little later than the rest.
Stoney, whose armor was neatly strewn  all over the floor, starts to gather it.  He stripped it off himself in a drunken stupor last night. He thoroughly checks the straps, and material to ensure it wont fail during battle.
On his knees, he grabs his wineskin for a quick drink, then says some prayers.  Prayers to multiple gods, and Gods, and deities, none he is so certain at this stage in his life are the real or best one.
After his prayers, he dresses himself, and goes to the bar to refill all of his wineskins, and canteens.
Seeing some of the others.
"Good morning, how did yo all sleep?"

The Inn was full of sailors and townsfolk of all sorts, but some overnighters were clearly different from the others. One such man slept on the floor of the Inn, covered in his black cloak and using his backpack as a pillow. With the rousing of the masses he rises and shakes the dirt from his outerwear. His tattered officer's tunic is recognizable to any who have spent time in or near the King's military. So is his bastard sword.

His long black hair gets a quick comb before the man fits his pack and cloak into place and approaches the bar. The maid offers whisky but he waves it off. She slides a tankard of water to him and he drains it.

Wiping his mouth with his sleeve he says, "Now that's a good mornin'." He smiles at the barmaid and shifts his stance, choosing not to sit at the bar. "Tell me, if ya please, were there any reports of attacks during the night?"

Ondrea partook in another bath before dressing and descending into the tap room. She ate whatever breakfast was being served and greeted her companions. "Yes a good idea I am sure the Captain is eager for what we have to say."

She broke a crust of bread and dipped it into her bowl.

-

Frederick watches the soldier at the bar.  Its easy to tell a trained fighter by their movements and the way they survey a room looking for exits and enemies. The man had not been in the inn when he retired the night before, so was a late arrival. And asking about attacks he must know the area somewhat. Finally he looks to Ondrea as she responds to Boris. Then he speaks.

I don't believe either Hawkmoon or myself have met this Captain.  And I'm also nto sure that David has either.  Who is this man?

A slumber filled with dreams, or rather images of dreams. or was it that the dreams hid the face of that what lies beneath it. Always on the knives edge. Still, as his eyes opened David felt more rested then he had been in the previous few days. Sleeping on the ground. Or even on a soft patch of it. covered by a blanket did hardly satisfy a man's needs to rest.

Getting ready David once fully awakened made his way downstairs, seeing his companions already at the table. Smiling sweetly he casually waved as he made his way. Carefully to keep his sharp visage aside from a few early birds from the town. Not knowing how well vistani, or even halfbreeds would be received. Certainly with no heroic deeds to prove their intend the mood could swing either way.

"A good morning to all. I see on all your faces the beds have done their job. Innkeeper a bread and something light to drink. Preferably something that smooths the throat clear of the evening"

Once the breakfast was presented Davids eyes roll across all eyes, at least one stood up as a sore thumb. Whispering as he tears of a chunk of bread "That one, ... is no local." (Sharps) pointing rather obviously towards the man. Not hiding it

The fare is both filling and tasty, despite being simple standards such as fresh baked bread items and simple stews (eggs of course!).

In reply to The Powers That Be (msg # 11):

Devouring the food placed in front of him.
"No matter where I eat, eggs always seem to be tasty.  Some seasoning, no seasoning, even times I seasoned them with soil from the ground.  I dont think you can mess up eggs!"
wiping his mouth clean and washing the eggs down with some wine.
"I mean no disrespect, simply that I love eggs!  My compliments to the chef!!"'

In reply to Frederick (msg # 9):

"We met him briefly as we returned through the gate. He was the one who initially charged us with going into the forest to stop the attacks on the village."


-

PM

Milling about, you spy the first soul to walk towards the heavily barred door.

In reply to The Powers That Be (msg # 15):

Boris said grace, began eating. He enjoyed himself.

When the man walked towards the door he didn't stop but watched in idle curiosity as he ate.

The knight eats heartily, and as much as is available.  He will even ask about seconds.  Compared to the last few days, this place was the height of luxury.

In reply to The Powers That Be (msg # 15):

Boris addressed the man walking to the heavily-barred door. He seemed to recall they needed to make a report to the captain of the guard.

"Excuse me, good fellow. Are you by chance a local here?"

Sharps pauses at the door, then turns to face the halfling. "No sailor am I, good sir, but I believe you saw that. Just like I noticed that your group is foreign to this place, too."

He shifts from foot to foot. "Now I'm going to take a big piss, have a pipe and a look-see to figger what may have happened during the overnight. You and yours are welcome to join me, once you've broken your fast." He throws back the bar on the door. "I'll be at the old apothecary's place, if you can't find me wanderin' 'round."

Unless there is compelling conversation he throws open the door, pauses a moment to adjust his eyes to the light, then strides through- provided there is nothing treacherous waiting on the porch.

In reply to Sharps (msg # 19):

BOris nodded. "Aye, we have some business to attend to but I should like to share a pipe and a wineskin when we are done. Old Apothecary? I'll see you there."

This would be the same apothecary your group visited when you first arrived; the murder scene :)

Frederick takes a swallow to wash some food down then speaks.

And what, if I may be so bold to ask, is your capacity that you look for trouble and search murder scenes? Not to pry but if you have official capacity perhaps you can offer help to us.

"Smoking a bowl and drinking a little wine certainly sounds good, as does exploring this town a bit."

Ok...you and I are friends now :D

"Me an' my swingin' cod will be havin' a talk outside the building here, then I can have a talk with you folk. A man's gotta have his priorities."

Once the door is open Sharps strides outside and immediately turns the corner on the building.

Hawkmoon looks baffled.

"Was that common?  What could he possibly mean?"

Sunlight explodes through the doorway, sending most denizens of the inn into hiding like a group of vampires.  The sounds of songbirds follows, allowing you to momentarily forget your situation.

In reply to Albion Hawkmoon (msg # 26):

Boris snorted. "Methinks he needs to use the Jakes.

"That sounds like a great idea."

PM

Me thinks I have no idea what the Jakes would be but I'm certain the tavern owner would appreciate you use it over their floor.

In reply to The Powers That Be (msg # 30):

"The Jakes" was the outhouse, and Boris headed that way. Before he left out into the light he stopped. "I am unfamilliar with this "apothecary". I mean that I know what one is, but not how this one is significant."

"I will stand by... I have used the.. facilities already."

When Boris emerges from the outhouse he sees Sharps standing on the boardwalk, motioning for the hobbit to join him.

When he does he sees the man has something in his hand- a frog on a skewer.

"There's three things ya gotta know when eatin' frog on a stick," Sharps said, through some crunching noises. He swallows.

"First, never eat the heads." He takes the fresh frog, bites the head off and spits it out into the dirt of the street.

"Second, get 'em early in the day. See ol' Tasha there sellin' frogs?" he confides, nodding toward a haggard woman standing behind what is obviously a cart full of fried frogs. "Know what ya don't see? A bucket'a frogs, that's what. They don't want ta be cuttin' and guttin' right here on the street, so they fix up the whole day's run early in the morning. After mid-day the frogs get dry and mebee a lil' gamey, too."

He bites off a leg, chews it exactly once, then swallows. "Third, an' this is important here, frog what come from near to the salty waters taste like a goblin's dick if they don't get out the grist gland. Tasha, here, she's been a frogger on these shores fer more years than she can count. She knows how to do it, don't ya, my beauty?"
Sharps raised his voice.

Hearing her name the frog vendor raises a hand and smiles, her teeth being a most ragged and colorful set.

Sharps waves back, then takes half the frog in a single chomp. "Mmm mmmmm," he coos.

Off the group's odd looks he says, "I get it. Don't look too appetizing, does it? Let me tell ya, I was once stuck in a cave for a week at the Hardship Moors- my leg was broke and a whole squadron of Dashiel infantry was out combin' the surround, searchin' for me an' my mates." He taps his left leg. "The mudmen of the fens kept us safe and fed, but all they eat is worms an' frogs an' eels. No fire, either, bein' as we were livin' on the sly. I got sick the first two days but by the end I could take their food pretty good, because I had no choice. One of my mates passed away from dysentery and starvation. It was hard watchin' him go, but it made me buck up."

Sharps waves the remaining portion of frog on a stick. "Now, this ain't winter fowl with elderberries and brandied apples served on the King's silver at the royal banquet, but considerin' our circumstance-" he motions to the frightened and sparse community they stood in- "it ain't a bad breakfast, either." He consumes the last of the frog and drops the stick to the ground.

"My name's Sharps, or Captain Sharps if you want ta get all fancy and fuss."

In reply to Sharps (msg # 33):

After Boris finished up, he joined the mysterious man at the boardwalk. He nodded at the discourse, as he enjoyed it. "Captain Sharps? Boris Underhill. A most interesting culinary experience. I shall try it myself, now that you mention it. One, please, my good woman."

He bought himself one of the delicacies from the frogmonger, then ate it how he remembered Sharps doing it. Boris wiped his mouth with his sleeve. "Ah, yes. An... acquired taste. We of the small folk are no strangers to the art of preparing fine victuals, but our tastes run more to steak and kidney pie.

"I take it you were a soldier? I was a trader, and a traveller. I am not from here, wherever here is. Not Port Strangefellow nor this island."

Having already had the breakfast provided by the Inn, Hawkmoon doesn't bother with having a frog as well.

"And I am Hawkmoon, Crusader of  Mayaheine.  Captain Sharps, was it?"

A nod of agreement to what Boris is saying, as he watches Sharps in a fairly neutral manner.

In reply to Albion Hawkmoon (msg # 35):

Stoney is still at the breakfast table.
"Nothing like a little rum to wake you up in the morning."

To Boris and Albion (and any others who join them outside) Sharps waves his hand.

"It's just Sharps, leave the Captain part in the back of yer mind. As far as bein' a soldier, aye, that's the truth. There's been a lot of miles since I and the Guard parted ways, an' in truth, I been a lot of things since my soldierin' days.

But a fightin' man, that I am." His hand rests on his sword pommel, not in a threatening way, but in the comfortable manner of one who has spent more days of his life wearing a blade than not wearing one.

"I ain't sure what weirds brought me ta this place, nor have I figgered what has these people so goddamn frightened at the night. But, seein' as no calamity has befallen our sturdy little port this mornin', I needs to study my books for a minute or two to freshen up on some of my combat magics. That's why I'm making for the apothecary; there's a nice building there with colored glass. It's peaceful."

Sharps looks at the local people hustling to their morning obligations. He sighs. "I might straighten up a bit in that house and start a fire. There's a man sells mussels and clams just a little ways down, and a granny who makes bread. We'll have us a boil for lunch. Yous are welcome ta join me, but I needs a little time ta myself first." He looks at Boris. "And bring some wine, when ya come. I wanna hear how you got here, an' see if we can share clues to what's goin' on." Looking at Albion, he adds, "It might be a three bottle story."

Frederick will purchase two frogs from the vendor, one for himself and the other for Dinen Dal. He listens to the man called Sharps while he eats.  The frog was cooked quite nicely.

He perks up when the man mentions combat magics.

Pardon me Cap...Sharps. Is your magic from the Gods or from manipulation of the world mana?

"It ain't the gods," Sharps answers.

In reply to Sharps (msg # 37):

Boris nodded. "Aye, it would please me to spend more time in your company. I am not that familiar with my companions, having met them not a few days before. But outside the walls of the town there is much devilry and unholiness to be afraid of. We saw much that was un-Godly, and that was only after less than a week's journeying.

"My companions were the ones concerned about the apothecary, I just noted their surprise at your mention of it. Perhaps they can enlighten us both?"

It might also help bring myself and Hawkmoon up to date.  We found ourselves in an abandoned village int eh woods and met up with this group.  It has become evident to us that we are not all from this are, possibly not even this world. So if you could enlighten us to the situation.

Frederick ends up purchasing a second frog from the vendor, finding the taste to be delicious.

"Like I said, come to the apothecary an' we'll have a proper sit-down and discuss things in private. Too many ears an' not enough allies on this street, ya see, so come on with me now or handle whatever business yas might have on yer agenda an' meet me later. Seems like some of yas already know th' place."

Once conversation has politely concluded Sharps makes down the boardwalk for the apothecary, looking around to see if anything is different that it was yesterday.

In reply to Sharps (msg # 42):

"We shall meet you there, Master Sharps.

"Master Hawkmoon? Mistress Ondrea? Friend Stoney? Let's make our way to the apothecary when you are ready."
This message was last edited by the player at 06:59, Wed 04 Mar 2020.

"Certainly, Sire Boris.  Let us make our way to this apothecary."

In reply to Albion Hawkmoon (msg # 44):

Stoney finishes stocking up his wine skins, then pays, and follows the rest to the apothecary.

Ondrea and Stoney should know this place from investigating it themselves.

In reply to The Powers That Be (msg # 46):

Seeing most of his time Stoney is inebriated, or close to.
"I have been here before, but I dont recall much about it.  I cant really place how I know about this place."

"Come on in!" Sharps' voice calls out, from within the home.

The wooden door creaks on it's hinges as you open it.  A small swirl of dust picks up in front of you as the breeze races inside.  Before you sits a rather simple but crowded cooking area.  A few pots and pans hang from hooks but the room itself is mostly filled with bottles, beakers and small glass vials of all shapes, sizes and colors.  The walls are festooned with drying flowers and herbs giving a comfy feeling to the entire room; an intoxicating aroma slowly encircles you like a fine perfume.  A table sits in the middle of the room surrounded by four stools and a tall log of wood. A fire has begun in the hearth, not long enough to warm the room much.

To the back of the right wall you can see a door and towards the front of the left wall rises a small staircase.

Sharps stands over a bucket, resting on a smaller table, his sleeves rolled up and bits of shellfish on the floor surrounding him. His armor, sword and cloak are neatly hung from pegs in the wall. He waves a knife in their general direction.

"Th' murders happened upstairs," he informs them, nodding toward the staircase.



((ooc: apologies to The Powers for adapting his descriptive text))

In reply to Sharps (msg # 48):

Having not been here before himself, Boris merely looked around and noted the decor and what Sharps was doing.

"Thank be for welcoming us. Who's abode is this?"

Sharps comes to a full stop. His brow wrinkles. "Not meanin' any offense, but... this is called the Apothecary. Murders happened here. An' now someone with a radically differn't taste in interior decorations is makin' lunch in the dusty kitchen." He returns to his work. "This is one a' them short mysteries. Meanin', easy ta solve."

He speaks again without looking up. "Those what don't want ta see the crime scene can go out that door in th' side yonder." He motions with his head while wiping his forehead on his forearm. "That room with the colored glass is somethin' ta see. Kinda wish I coulda talked to the old buzzard 'bout it, but ghosts don't carry conversation.

"And where is that wine?" he suddenly rememberes.
This message was last edited by the player at 23:50, Sun 08 Mar 2020.

OOC: That is precisely what I was going to post so no worries.

In reply to Sharps (msg # 50):

Boris looked mystified. "I don't see why you'd think I would take offence, after all, I was clear I don't know anything about this house. Other than it's an Apothecary. Which, where I come from, are not usually the scene of carnage. I take it someone died here? Who, how and why? Does anyone know?"

"Take a look upstairs," Sharps answered.

Once she had finished her breakfast Ondrea made he way along the same parth as the others in the group. She was glad to be in the light again, this place was strange and unsettling. Once she was at the building that served as the Apothecary she stood outside looking the structure over.


-

Do you often make yourself at home in the abode where one was so recently murdered?

In reply to Sharps (msg # 53):

Making the sign of the cross Boris looked up nervously at the ceiling, then back to Sharps.

"(Gulp) Begging your pardon, must I? For the love of Christ the Saviour will someone just tell me what's up there?"

In reply to Frederick (msg # 55):

Do you often make yourself at home in the abode where one was so recently murdered?



"I don't usually get the chance," Sharps replies. "But let's walk this dog about for a bit. If you're in a dungeon, and you come across three dead bodies each carrying gold, do you leave the gold and continue on? Not any adventurers I know, 'cept some paladins and one guy who is very afraid of zombies. Now, even though you didn't kill them three, you claim their gold for your own and continue on, to spend it in whatever manner yous please."

He waves to indicate the home they are currently in. "Now, this here house is the property of dead people whom I did not kill, see, and I was directed ta this place by the sergeant of the guard himself for the purpose of investigatin'. This home is just like a dead man's gold. The living take what they needs from them which ain't livin' any more. A few coins or a home, it's all the same."

He sets the pot near the fire on the hearth. "Besides, yous all saw me sleepin' at the inn. I didn't move in here, just needed a place ta study spells and have polite conversation with new folk.

"And, Mr. Underhill, what's upstairs is blood an' chaos and a murder scene like none I've ever seen afore. An' those which may have been heres before, did ya notice the secret compartment beneath the bed?" he asks, wiping his hands off on a cloth and sweeping up the pieces of shellfish from the floor.

"There is some question, if there might be heirs, that they should be allowed to inherit the properties.  We are in civilization, not in the wilds of a dungeon."

Sharps shrugs his shoulders. "Hard to argue with that," he says, "but, seein' as how we seem ta be on some island, isolated from the rest of the world, as it were, with no ships goin' in nor out, I don't see nobody comin' ta claim it. It's not like I'm paintin' the walls and hanging my shingle out in front- we are just makin' lunch."

He finishes sweeping. "Now, I'm gonna pack a pipe and have a sit in the nice room with all the colored glass. If any wish ta jaw on where we are, how we got here, an' what killed them poor people you's welcome ta join me. There's been far too much talkin' and not nearly enough figgerin' goin' on. Any body else can  either take their ease or take their leave. Jus' don't spit in my soup on yer way out." Sharps pulls out a fine handmade wooden pipe and a bag of fragrant herbs, then lights a candle. He'll disappear into the door in the back, unless someone stops him from doing so with conversation.

A chuckle from the knight.

"The food is likely to go to waste, indeed, otherwise.  Enjoy your smoke."

Frederick shrugs his shoulders and smiles.

That is a logical argument. Whiles those who wish have a bite I will go upstairs and survey the scene. DinenDal is good at ferreting out things others miss.

Frederick will move to the upstairs area where the murder occured.

The well-traveled warrior nods to Hawkmoon. "It's be better if'n you'd come out an' talk with me about our situation hereabouts."

He adds, "The boil's got a few minutes left 'fore it's ready. Browse about, come an' talk. Whatever yous wish."
This message was last edited by the player at 02:14, Wed 11 Mar 2020.

A nod to that and Hawkmoon pulls out his own pipe and stuffs it, heading into the room and finding a comfortable place to sit.

"Hmmm, if you wish sire."

He finishes stuffing it, then lights it from a scrap from the fire, handing the same to Sharps.  He puffs the pipe to life and relaxes, his apparent attention wandering.


OOC:  He never mentions the name "Albion" so you have only known him as Hawkmoon.
This message was last edited by the player at 16:54, Tue 10 Mar 2020.

When Hawkmoon agrees to join him, Sharps smiles broadly. "Bring that brand in here, we'll smoke an' talk out back."

The door gives way with ease; as it slowly swings to the side, a beautiful, vibrant image begins to unfold.  The room itself, at least at its core of construction, appears to have been just a simple sleeping chamber, perhaps, at one time.  It's current use, however, is far removed from its original intention.

The rafters are bereft of any thatch and are instead covered by panes of brilliantly colored glass.  With the sun shining brightly outside, it gives the room a very ethereal, otherworldly quality.  The room itself has been refitted to a be a greenhouse.  Pots of all shapes and sizes fill the room, each bursting with some sort of fragrant, colorful flowers and foliage.  Towards the back of the room sits what appears to be a small alter or work table of some sort.

A broom and bucket are in the corner, and it seems evident Sharps has made an effort to pick up the dead leaves and debris from the floor prior to the group's arrival. There is a light scent of smoky essence here, as if there has been some pipework here earlier in the day.

Sharps waves off the scrap, using the candle instead to light his pipe. "Sorry, no stools," Sharps says, "I rousted them to the dinner table."

As Hawkmoon takes in the scene, Sharps says, "I been here exactly one day. One minute I was on a mountain, lookin' for herbs, and the next- I'm on my ass in the sand." He takes a pull from his pipe. "How 'bout yous? Been here long?"
This message was last edited by the player at 17:04, Tue 10 Mar 2020.

Taking his cues from Sharps on when to light his pipe he leaves the brand back at the fire and avails of a candle himself, with no place to sit he stands with his arms close to his body admiring the glass for a while before speaking again.

"A few weeks myself.  I had camped in an orchard, a pleasant place overall and when I awoke I was within an inn frozen in time, a fair distance from this place, with Sire Frederick."

He lazily puffs and blue smoke curls around his head.  An odd pipe tobacco, stuffed it smelled a little of dirty feet, but had a pleasant odor when smoked.. mild and somewhat spicy.  Tabbac, certainly.. but an odd blend.

In reply to Sharps (msg # 59):

"Don't spit in your soup? I make no promises I can't keep," Joked Boris as he followed Sharps and Hawkmoon outside. Once there the Halfling lit his own pipe.

"I don't quite recall how I came to be here... wait, I recall being chased through the forest.I was taking a shortcut. Then someone started to follow me, and I know the difference between someone going my way and being hunted. I ended up at the gates of Port Strangefellow, this city, with the Saracens in pursuit! My companions here came out and fought the Saracens off, saving my life. Now, I known my home of Outremer quite well and I've travelled many a league there, from Marseilles to Tyre, but I've never heard of this Port Strangefellow. Or this island. But the Earth is a large and full of strange and wonderful places like ancient Cathay and far Afric! With monsters, magic, people without noses and sleep curled up in their gigantic ears and so forth as described by Jehan de Mandeville.

"Messier Sharps, you mentioned coming across bodies in a dungeon? And relieving them of their gold? First, what is anyone doing wandering in a dungeon? That is where prisoners are kept by the lord of the keep, the "donjon". I've been in such a place against my will and believe me the only thing you can think of once inside is escaping it. The prisoners certainly don't carry gold unless it is sewn into their clothing, and the last thing you want to do is take the time to search a body for that. Except maybe to look for a weapon, or keys. If I came across the body of a poor soul I guess I might look for kin to pass along their belongings to, if I could. Maybe save a penny for their eyes and enough to give them a Christian burial."

Sharps nods with appreciation at the scent of each man's smoke, Sharps says, "Well-told, Mr. Underhill. In all sincerity I hopes you never gets ta see what I mean when I say, dungeon. Very uncomfortable an' always cold. Plus- death, you know, 'round every corner." He shrugs, as if to say, no big deal. "But sir, what is a Saracen?"

He continues. "And Hawkmoon, two weeks? What'd ya learn as ta why we all got picked, an' what's everybodies so afraid of at night?" he asks, eager to hear any bit of news.

Hawkmoon shrugs.

"Picked?  I somehow doubt my patron had much to do with this, though maybe my devotion to her might be a factor.  This place smells of evil, the stench fills my nose."  He lets smoke leak out his nose.. to emphasize, or make light of it.

Sharps nods. "And what of th' thing that goes bump in th' night?" he queries.

Hawkmoon cocks his head at Sharps, then shrugs.

"There are certainly things out there, but they are what they are.  Pray tell, what do you mean by that?  Some things are not inherently evil that others may think, but are just by nature frightening.  What is good and pure is not always the best weapon against evils, nor does a lack of evil mean goodness.  I can have similar discussions about law, but that gets even trickier, since it is so subjective.  The bottom line is that all that goes bump in the night even means harm."

Sharps draws in and exhales. "Th' guard sarge told me whatever it is what comes in the night, that's what killed them people upstairs, and a lot of others, it seems. That's what I'm lookin' into. Th' nature of evil and such, them's wasted words on me, brother." He draws in again. "I've seen evil. I got no inklin' ta explore the whys and wherewithalls of it. No, sir."

A chuckle.

"I don't explore it, I just kill it sire Sharps.  As for what came in to kill these people, do you think it will return to the scene of the crime?"

"Until I knows what it is I can't be predictin' its behavior," Sharps shrugs, with reservation. "One thing's fer sure: the townsfolk believe it comes in the night to kill people, and they're the ones which know most about it."

He looks about. "If we wanted ta lure it in ta attack it by surprise, this is a poor place. Lots of doors an' such. I bet if we walked this abandoned neighborhood we could find somethin' more suitable for such an act, where there's one way in an' one way out." He nods, his hand falling reflexively to his sword pommel, thinking about the mechanics of an ambush.

In reply to Sharps (msg # 73):

"Oh, I've been locked in a lord's dungeon before. Would not recommend it, sir!

"As for "Saracens", the priests say that they were once men who worshiped a false God, "Allah" and his false prophet, Mohammed". They were in some place called the "Holy Land", denying it to the Church and all of Christendom. Now, I think, it's just any demonic or unholy being of evil disposition. Not a human of another of the Godly races."

As Sharps talks about his religion Hawkmoon looks to Sharps and simply shrugs and smiles.

"I have not been locked in a dungeon, but I have visited them and I concur sire Underhill, they are not for proper folk."

After drawing deeply and holding it for a moment, Sharps exhales slowly. "Well, quite a little nut-grinder we've been tossed into. Saracens at th' gate and a beastie unknown terrorizin' the city at night. I ain't gettin' paid enough ta deal with this shit." He taps the handle of his pipe against his palm.

"It ain't in my character ta be afraid of somethin' just because others are. Nobody can describe what this terrible night time thing is, and I need ta see it. I couldn't figger out a plan when I was alone on this, but now there's yous. We can set somethin' up."

He shrugged. "I mean, it's either that or go out an' fight them Saracens." He looks to his smoking companions.

Frederick pokes around the upstairs, trying to get a reading on what happened.  He has Dinen look for objects that might have fallen where regular size folks would have trouble finding them.

Frederick will examine the walls, trying to ascertain inf the scratches seem claw like to from debris slapping against them. He will also have Dinen look for strange scents in the room.

In reply to Frederick (msg # 78):

Standing up from a seated position Stoney chimes in.  "Well it seems like we are facing an unknown assailant with an unknown motive with an unknown agenda, and an unknown location."
Yes, I know motive and agenda are similar terms, but Stoney has been drinking.
"I think we need to look for clues, as to why this murder happened."
Obviously some of you are already doing this.
Stoney takes a good long drink.
Then starts searching around this level, he is looking for clues, or secret doors, safes maybe something that has been tamperer with to show what the criminals are after.

In reply to Sharps (msg # 76):

Boris was unwilling to do more than have a brief look at the murder scene. He crossed himself, then came back down and served tea to whoever was willing.

"We were asked by Captain Rasmir to track and kill the Saracens. I think we've done that? After we're done here, let's report in to him.

"As for the murder of the poor soul... did the killer break in? Was it let in? Does it hide within the walls of the town? The people here seem sore afraid of it, has it been rampaging long? Should we set a trap? If so I do not volunteer to act as bait!"

Adding a little more to his pipe, Sharps visits the candle and draws deeply.

"Well, here's a happy alternative, eh?" he says. "No figgerin' out a mystery. Th' Capt'n is organizin' Saracen huntin' parties? Seems like that'd play more inta our strength, so ta speak." He actually looks pleased.

"Killin' that what looks like men is one of my specialities, as is turns out. Let's have us some lunch an' talk to th' Cappy." He draws in again. "Unless y'all have your hearts set on takin' down this unknown beastie from th' night."

In reply to Sharps (msg # 81):

"The Saracens look a little like men, but they are not. Their bloated heads have wide mouths filled with needle-sharp teeth. They loped like jackals and howled like wolves!

"But the forest and swamp where we traversed while tracking them are accursed. In the night we were assaulted by... several demon snakes made of human bones. Imagine a spinal column, but longer, and surmounted by a fanged skull with glowing red eyes. It was a being of pure devilry and the blackest sorcery, and they used some kind of foul magic to freeze some of my companions."

Sharps slaps his leg in delight. "Well, that sounds like a two-pipe story, Mr. Underhill. Somethin' for us ta look forward to.

"I must admit, all this talkin' an' no action has made me a bit restless. I figger, best thing would be ta get e'eryone together round the table, have us some lunch, an' decide what we are goin' to do." He taps his pipe against his palm and blows it out before sliding the item into a belt pouch. "Let's check on that boil."

Likewise, Hawkmoon taps out the ash remaining in the bowl of his pipe.  He blows through the stem with the bowl in his palm to clear ash in the hole, then fishes a bit of straw to clean out the stem and bowl methodically, but quickly.

He puts it back away in a fairly safe looking pouch on his belt and moves to follow.

"I will follow your leads as investigators, and offer what little I can on this issue, for now."

The room itself was pretty trashed but there are some tiny claw marks that are fairly easy to find.  Also, if not previously mentioned, there is the opened compartment under the bed with the surrounding area suffering minor burn damage.

(I know I've mentioned this before but I don't remember who was present so my bad for the timing.)

In reply to The Powers That Be (msg # 85):

Stoney moves to look closer at the claw marks.
"Yep definitely someone had nails, or claws."  Holding his own hand next to the caw to help determine the size of the claw.
"Looks like a little creature by the size of the claw marks.  Might be hard to track down, if it is indeed that small."

The party gathers around the table to enjoy the seafood boil and talk about next steps. "Saracens or the night beastie?" Sharps presses. <blue>"I'm used ta fightin' men. I prefer ta take yer guard sergeant's offer ta hunt outside th' wall. Even godless crazed men can die, and I know lots o' ways ta do it. But, there's a bunch of us here," he says, "an' some of ya may not wants that." He wipes his mouth.

"If we stay in th' city, we has ta plan a trap for th' thinger. If we go a'huntin' outside the wall, we need ta see the sergeant." He drinks some wine and sucks mussels from the shell, loudly.

In reply to Stoney Applesmith (msg # 86):

Boris seemed stumped. He repeated his earlier thought. "Errr... I guess we could set a trap of some kind? Either way, let's report to the Sergeant at Arms that we tracked and killed the Saracens."

Frederick will examine the burnt area. Does it look like there are any sigils around the area anywhere? Once done he will go back downstairs where the others are gathered.

I am prepared for either contingency. But if something or someone is killing the townsfolk, then maybe we are of better use here.
This message was lightly edited by the player at 14:52, Sat 04 Apr 2020.

Fredericks examination quickly uncovers that the small compartment below the bed must have had some sort of fire-based trap set, judging from the burn patterns and their initial source.  Whatever was in the compartment, or supposed to be there as it was barren, must have had some value.

It would appear that some used s fire spell to guard whatever was in that compartment. My guess is the claw marks came from a familiar. So sounds like our victim knew magic. I guess an Alchemist mage is no surprise.

He turns to Sharps

You said there had been other murders I believe?  Have you examined them?

"I can't claim to know 'bout more dead folk, but the locals do. The guard sergeant told me they'd recovered bodies from other attacks. He'd know more. Might be able to see some'a them bodies," Sharps answers. He takes a half-bite. "How a person dies tells loads about what killed 'em."

In reply to Sharps (msg # 92):

"I've been to the morgue already.  there are other bodies there.  I didn't really examine them very close to see why they dies, but maybe another trip there is in order."

"We may have someone looting mages, you might think?"

Sharps looked around at the home they're in. "If he was a wizard, he's real good at hidin' it," he opines, eyes casting about for detail within the structure.

"This is an apothecary, for sure, by title an' due to what the locals called these folk, but that's not magic. Now he did have that hidey-hole 'neath his bed rigged with a magical explosion, that much is sure," the warrior admits, with a shrug, "but I don't see nothin' in the manners, the fixings or the works 'round here that say, magic user. You're right to look fer patterns in th' violence," Sharps says to Hawkmoon, beginning to clean up the lunch. His strong and scarred hands handle the dishware and foodstuffs with caution. "We should collect some information along the way to see your man in th' guard."

In reply to Sharps (msg # 95):

Pulling his bottle away from his mouth long enough to speak.
"I am not well versed in the way of arcane magic, I request the powers from the gods, BUT there definitely was magic happening down here.  It reads of magic.  I think you are right, there was possibly a theif, or assassin what used magic to help eliminate the target."
Catching his breath after that being said.

"Oh... well, I don't know much about mages.  This looks to me like a targeted attack, like they knew what they were after.  I have a feeling it is not money."

Frederick shrugs his shoulders.

I'm not sure what else would have caused that obvious burn mark from a small explosion.  Although he was an alchemist. He could have rigged something. But I'm not sure what trappings you are looking for.  Other than perhaps a spell book or maybe some components. I certainly don't think someone entering my home would assume I was a mage. But you may be correct.  And we do need to find out more information about the others who have been killed.

"That's it then," Sharps concludes. "It's off to the morgue and ta see yer guard captain."

As you draw closer to the eastern edge of town, passing once more through those beautiful old courtyards glimpsed before, an old, warped stone wall rises before you in the distance.  As the last of the small cottages and colorful gardens disappear you find yourself surrounded by crumbling foundations of long gone homes.  Judging from the decay and neglect this was probably the oldest section of the city; the original town that first planted roots on this land.  Off ahead about 40 yards you can see the tops of the tombstones doting the rolling landscape.  In the furthest corner, almost built into the wall itself, was an old stone cottage...smoke still rising from the chimney.  Not seeing any other signs of life, nor any sort of dwelling or building, you assume this to be where the bodies are held before burial

"This place comes with a feeling of age, does it not?  I am thankful for that cottage, it might be where the dead go, but it at least shows signs of life."

Sharps leads the group toward the house. "Long as them dead stay in th' ground, they don't bother me none. When they get pulled out and start walkin' round," he says, with a bit of gravity to his voice, "that's ugly work. A sword-strike makes 'em shatter, an' bits of corpse get everywheres in your armor and your hair, so I kill 'em at distance with magic."

He looks about at the twisted wall and the crumbled homes. "I wouldn't mind gettin' a good swing on," he mutters, hand on his pommel. "Been a long time since I seen somethin' what needed killin'."

"Hmmmm... we recently met a necromancer of sorts that was not inherently evil.  In this place, you sometimes have to deal with shades of gray.  Not that I will ask them questions before sending them back to their graves, mind you."

An aged, grizzled gentleman opens the the weather worn door.  While his face and snow white beard reveal his age, his body was another story.  The man would have had to bend down to get through the door, probably 6'5 tall maybe, with arms the size of trees, to say nothing of his legs.

With a look of concern he addresses all of you; his voice low but booming none the less...

"Can I help you folks?"

In reply to The Powers That Be (msg # 104):

Stoney steps forward, not waiting for anyone else.
"Good day, sir."
Said with respect.
"Wondering if you could help us."
Looking at the group.
"Right?  What is it we are here for again?"
Scratching his head, then it comes to him.
"Oh, ya."
Looking the tall man, nearly double Stoney's height in the face.
"Can we see your recently dead, please, or ask some questions.  We are on official business."

"You look a tad familiar, have we met before?"

His voice rattles through the air like a foghorn yet you detect no malice or ill-will in his tone.

"No matter...well what is it you want to know?  I can give you the usual answer I used to give the guard, when they still asked about these things.  Only got two right now, and one of them is more than likely old age.  Had a few others recently but I've laid them to rest already."

"Th' folks in the town say people get killed in th' night," Sharps says. "What killed 'em? What marks have ya seen on th' bodies? Got one we can give a lookover?"

In reply to Sharps (msg # 107):

"We have met before.  If my memory serves correctly, we shared a bottle of drink together."

Although Stoney's memory isn't always correct, since he is in the bottle most always.

"Do you have any of that ale left?"

Sharps slowly adopts a big smile. "Oh, so you've been in the cups together? Practically kin, then. In fact, I think I see a family resemblance in you twos." He looks at the diminutive Stoney and the half-giant undertaker. "Yep. It's in the eyes, I think."

"Well, I do have one currently that is...well...a mess.  Looks just like the others."

He opens the door, inviting the group inward.  He points toward a back wall made of stone with multiple openings built into it.  Two of them contain what appear to be corpses under dirty canvas sheets.  Despite a small fire in the corner nearest the door, a definite chill seems to hang in the air.  As you venture further inward it seems to be concentrated in the area of the corpses.

"No, I'm sorry sir, I currently am empty of such beverages."

"Let's see 'em," Sharps says. He either waits for the undertaker to remove the sheet or does so himself.

Frederick will remove one of his light-balls from a pocket and open it to better illuminate the place.

Hawkmoon, what sense do you get from these poor creatures?

In reply to Frederick (msg # 112):

Sheet is removed, and undertaker states they don't have anything to drink.
"No worries."  Stoney says to himself.
Despite the smell, and gore, Stoney tips his flask to take a drink.
Then offers it to the large undertaker.
"It helps take the edge off."
Then he also looks to inspect the body.

In reply to Stoney Applesmith (msg # 113):

From nowhere, Boris intercepted the flask. "Just a titch! Mmmm. There." He passed it along after taking a sip.

Hawkmoon stays back, watching and listening.

He reaches out with his ability to sense evil as he does, seeking it out.. in case.

The air immediately surrounding the wall was near freezing; it caused the hairs on your arm to stand erect.  Slowly the undertaker pulled back the sheet revealing a truly grostesque sight.  The unknown male had his throat slit nearly the entire width of his neck.  The cut itself was perfectly clean, almost surgical, with no tearing of the flesh whatsoever.  On closer inspection it becomes clear that, although it was a single cut, it was deep enough to expose the spine.  The gentlemans' face, however, was quite the opposite.  Almost no human features remained, no eyes or nose to be found.  It looked as if his face had been clawed at by a small animal; the small, parallel lines leaving ripped, mangled flesh in their wake.

"Ahhhh, that is the work of.. possibly an animal and a person?  I would guess that the neck cut is to finish.. off.  Gruesome."

In reply to Albion Hawkmoon (msg # 117):

Receiving the wineskin for his turn, Stoney takes avery long drink, then leans in to see the body.
Almost wrenching with the sight, he turns his head.
"Were those claw marks similar to the ones we saw earlier?"  He asks the group and no one in particular.
"I didn't inspect them closely, but they sure look the same. "
He takes another drink.
Now addressing the undertaker.
"Have you seen many people come in with those same claw marks?"

"Oh yes.  It has become a rather common feature I'm afraid to say."

Sharps is all smiles at the sight of the body. "Well, here's a bit of luck for us, eh?" he says, delighting in their gruesome discovery. "Undertaker, you've seen yer share'a these bodies. Any bite marks? Chunks missing? And, is there anythin' in their pockets when th' bodies are discovered or hauled here?" he asks, while poking at the corpse.

The warrior takes his gloves off and uses his bare fingers to spread the neck wound wide. "I've ne'er seen an animal cut like this. This looks like a blade cut. What ever did it, they's right powerful. Look how deep the cut is." Sharps drops the head back down. "Assassins an' soldiers are taught how ta kill a man by slicin' his neck from behind with a knife. This wound was not made by no knife-wielding man trained in th' arts, it's a lotta extra work fer no damn reason. Wait... Could be a garotte." He tilts the neck back to see if there are marks on the back of the neck.

"Well, yes actually.  Now don't go thinkin' I'm a man that steals from the dead.  What they come with...what the guard hasn't taken or whoever found them first...they get buried with.  But to answer your question, many still have possessions, even coin upon them.  Never really thought about that till you said something."

The old man scratches his chin in ponderance.  Looking briefly at the corpse before returning his gaze to the floor.

"You think that means something?  There's already been plenty tales goin' round about demons and monsters and whatnot.  Can't say I blame them but...well, what kinda man kills and doesn't take anything?  What kind of beast rips a mans' face off but doesn't eat any part of him?  I'm  no expert on these things but there's a lot of meat left to spoil if that's the case."

OOC:  You do find markings on the back of the neck but they appear more to be tiny cuts or holes.  They almost look like tiny claw marks, as if a cat sat on your neck and dug its' claws in.

In reply to The Powers That Be (msg # 121):

Watching Sharps, "play with the wounds, Stoney turns his head.
"Need a bigger drink to help deal with this. "
Glancing back at the body, and the scratches.
"I have read many books in the monastery. some of those books speak of demons that can live on our plane of existence that could possibly do damage like this.  We need to find a common thread, on why these individuals are targeted. Maybe they made a deal, or it is simply chaos."

Sharps looks up from leaning over the body. "Oh, I think both of yas have the right about it. A man will pull everythin' outta a dead man's pockets, he decides whats for keeps and whats not, then he drops the not and pockets the keeps. This ain't a wound made by a man."

Sharps stands and puts his hands on his hips, heedless of the place where his hands have recently been. "Undertaker, do these bodies they been bringin' you seem ta have been drained of blood? And, what can ya tell us 'bout the apothecary an' his wife?" he inquires.

"Drained?  I mean, they're missing plenty, as you can imagine but they're still full of the stuff."

If they were killed by a man and he left their pockets un-riffled then he was there for a purpose. Either assassin or someone with a more important and diabolical purpose. I wonder if these marks could be those of a pseudo-dragon.  Or mayhaps an Imp or Homoculus. There are a couple of things I'd like to check.

Frederick moves up near the bodies and begins to speak while gesturing and sprinking a bit of dirt on the bodies.

Obicite me ab his qui tenuit vitae vis es


Then he reaches inside his cloak and pulls out a small container of with just a couple of drops of liquid in it.  He pours the liquid on a fingertip and applies it to his eyes as he once again speaks.

Revela oculos meos est damno presecence illorum qui in mundo.


Finally, he walks to the head of the alchemist and speaks while reaching out to touch the mans shoulder.

Huic mortem monstraverit se
This message was last edited by the player at 17:05, Sat 25 Apr 2020.

Sharps steps back and gives plenty of space.

Private

Frederick steps back from the body and sighs.

Well, I can find no signs of evil nor is there any life left in these poor souls.  I had hoped to gain some knowledge of the killer but alas, my ability to weave the threads of mana is not yet powerful enough.  I could only see what this unfortunate individual looked like prior to his murder. I am afraid I was no help in furthering out investigation.

Frederick looks to the mortician.

Have all the bodies looked similar to this one?
This message was last edited by the player at 18:22, Sun 26 Apr 2020.

"So.. some kind of creature... possibly alone.  Our best bet may be to lay a trap for it somehow."

"I'll assume you mean the ones that met untimely ends?  Yeah, come to think of it, their all pretty similar in appearance.  Most folk don't like to talk about it.  I guess it's that 'out of sight, out of mind' sort of thing."

A frown.

"Similar, what are those characteristics, exactly?"

They might have a night killer hunting for a specific target...

"My apologies, I meant their....appearance at the end.  Otherwise, can't say I seen too much else similar about 'em.  Some are poor, others not so much.  Some were rather simple folk, some guards, shop owners...you name it really.  Doesn't seem anyone is safe."

Sharps strokes his chin. "That apothecary an'his wife, they's taken inside their beds at home. Were others out in th' open, or were all these victims snuggled up all cozy?" he asks.

"All were at night and I'm pretty certain almost all of them were at home or in bed."

In reply to The Powers That Be (msg # 134):

After another long drink.
"Hmm I see the common denominator.
Just don't be at your house, or in your bed."  He says with a smile. then takes another drink.

"A night stalker, so to speak.  I wonder if it feeds... what are they missing?  Blood, eyes, organs?"

"I wouldn't really say anything is missing just, well they tend to be pretty mangled is all.  Faces ripped to pieces, sometimes their chests.  Even seen fingers torn off, they were still there on the floor from what I understand."

"This is gettin' right odd," Sharps cautions. "Th' creature flies, see, 'cause there was no sign'a disturbance in th' apothecary's home 'cept a second-floor window opened."

"And as much blood as you would expect?"

"I suppose yes.  I'm not certain how much a man would hold offhand but I..uh..."

He leans forward, beckoning you inward...

"I don't think it was vampires personally.  I mean, why else ask about the blood?"

Albion moves inward...

"I was trying to figure out what a creature might gain from doing this."

In reply to Albion Hawkmoon (msg # 141):

"Yes weird.  Bitten off, but not eaten fingers.  Maybe there was a ring on a particular finger, so the creature bit off the finger to retrieve the ring?"

"Fingers on a battlefield ain't nothin' new," Sharps adds, "an' it ain't mysterious, neither. You put yer hand up to stop something an' it cuts right through yer fingers. Whatever sliced them people's necks clear to tha bone would'a made short work of any hands or fingers held up to defend.

"How often are these attacks comin', and have ya seen attacks from mor'n one location on th' same evenin'?" he inquires. "And, if you were a bettin' man, where would somethin' capable of doin' this hide around here?"

"Oh no, I can assure you, these were bitten off.  I ain't got nobody here to show you on but you could see it clearly, where the teeth entered and where they closed.  I'm no expert but I've seen enough animal bites to recognize one.  They were damn small whatever did it."

"The attacks themselves seem completely random, from what little information I've gleaned from all this.  Always at night and so far, never a case of a repeated attack.  Seems they get the job done the first time I guess.  And if I had to bet, somewhere out the forest up past the gate.  Pretty damn big place, who knows what could be hiding up in there.  But that's just the closest point, damn landscape is nothing but danger these days."

In reply to The Powers That Be (msg # 144):

"From my readings at the abby, I have heard of secret groups of men and monsters.  Possibly all these victims are connected to such a group, and a rival group or someone seeking power is eliminating members."

Taking a long drink, then another.
"But Ill tell you this.  The more I sit in contemplation, and drink, the more conspiracies my brain  conjures up!"

"Well you'll find good company in this town with conspiracies; the tavern is full of'em.  If memory serves, I believe you yourself mentioned something about an attack on your ship?  Little flying things was it?  Aside from those damned yellowish things out on the road, you might be the only people that have ever stated seeing something."

In reply to The Powers That Be (msg # 146):

"Yes, right.  I was attached by a little winged creature when I first arrived here.  I half thought it was a dream, BUT it might be the same creature."

Taking a drink.

"Sometimes my dreams interfere with reality and its hard to separate."

"It's easier ta go where th' creatures are than ta get 'em ta come to you when you wants 'em to," Sharps contributes.

In reply to Stoney Applesmith (msg # 147):

Somewhat at a loss as to where to proceed with the investigation, Boris perked up with Stoney's statement he'd been attacked. "Can you describe this demonic creature that assaulted you?"

In reply to Boris Underhill (msg # 149):

"It was tiny.  Maybe the size of a large apple.  Leathery skin and wings with claws.  Sharp little claws."

"Well, that's our criminal, right there," Sharps says. "It's a sure thing those creatures made all these tiny scratchins' in this poor sod's bod. Seems likely there'e something else with 'em, something what made this mighty cut here."

He turns away from the corpse. "Where can we find these flyin' pussycats?" he asks Stoney.

In reply to Sharps (msg # 151):

"Maybe they work with something, or someone that uses them as a distraction."

In reply to Sharps (msg # 151):

Boris nodded in agreement. "Aye, sounds like these may be the villains that are responsible!"

"I doubt any creature in this accursed land needs much of an excuse or some complicated plan to attack anyone!" he scoffed.

That sounds like a bat.But they generally don't attack people in the open.  Or at least not in the land I hail from. Perhaps it is different in this accursed place.

In reply to Frederick (msg # 154):

"It does sound like a bat, but believe me it is no bat I have ever seen.  Leathery wings, and bipedal like a small imp of sorts!"  Taking another drink, to try to forget their sight.
"Their sight brings chills to my skin, even thinking about them."

"Let's get at 'em!" Sharps says. "I'm itchin' ta swing the sword. But first, check in with yer friend at the guard."

"Wait!  One moment, I just remembered something!"

The old gentleman walks toward a cabinet filled with glass jars.  Various oddities filled them, some with liquid, some without.  He removes a small, ceramic jar, no bigger than an apple, and walks over to the group.  Removing the cork stopper, he dumps the contents into his open hand.  A single object appears.  Reminiscent of a curved sewing needle, the jet black object took up little room.

"Found this stuck in the leather apron of one poor fellow they brought in.  Wasn't too sure what it was so I simply added it to my collection.  But now that you mention things, it kinda reminds me of a small talon or claw."

Bending over to examine the claw, Sharps chuckles. "Well, e'en more good news. These claws are pokers, not cutters." Stepping away, he motions for the others to have a look.

"I seen enough. I'm ready ta have-at these fuckers."

In reply to Sharps (msg # 158):

Also interested in the little talon.
"That looks like it could be the size from one of the mini imps I,ve seen.  The size does match up fairly close if not exact."
Looking closer. Which is an odd scene as the other gentleman is holding it, Stoney's face is nearly touching the claw as he inspects it.
Turinig his head side to side, and all around.
"Wonder if there is a poison that the claw can ooze."
As he looks for a groove, or hole in it.  "Obviously without some sort of magnification I cant see much."
Now to himself.
"Is a spell that I can track the mini imp with, using his claw to obtain it's "scent"
Now louder, "Anyone know of a tracking spell?"

In reply to Stoney Applesmith (msg # 159):

Boris shook his head. "The practice of magick is unknown to me, friend Stoney."

After a few moments of contemplation with his eyes closed Frederick looks up.

Alas, I have nothing like that. I believe at higher levels of learning it may be possible, but I have not attained such knowledge. I can see what the rest of this creature looks like however.

Frederick reaches to touch the foor and mutters to himself

Huic mortem monstraverit se

Sharps nudges Boris. "Handy guy to have around," he whispers, thumbing at Frederick.

Boris looked at Sharp, the back at Frederick. "Aye! Let's see what he can do."

Private

Frederick grabs his head and steps back until his back hits the wall.  He shakes his head and speaks.

Well, that was both unexpected and unpleasant. I'm not sure what that portends but it can't be anything good.

Sharps counts out five gold and hands them to the undertaker. "You've been right helpful, an' if me or mine needs anythin' we sure will be lookin' ta you for help." He gives him a genuine smile, staring up into the oversized man's face. "It helps ta have friends, don'tchya know."

Sharps is ready to hit the door. "Why don't you tell us what ya just saw while we walk," he asks of Frederick. "We've got a couple'a stops ta make before it gets dark."

In reply to Frederick (msg # 165):

Hawkmoon moves to Frederik's shoulder and is there to steady him, and keep him safe from attack.  He says nothing but gives him time and support to do what he needs to do.

Frederick stands back up and nods to Sharps and Hawkmoon.

Thanks guys.  Sorry about that.  That spell usually shows an image of the deceased, or if the caster is powerful enough, a vision of how the target met his end.  But this was different. It showed flashes of ...something.  Then a voice spoke and said "Thank you". And it was not a pleasant sounding thank you.  I wonder if I haven't opened us up to something.  Or someone.

"That is troubling.  Please stay close to me until this is resolved, evil is afoot and I can be of some help with such foes."

In reply to Albion Hawkmoon (msg # 169):

Offering Freerick a drink.  "To help calm your nerves."

"Interesting.  I wonder if I can pray to the Gods and see if any will answer me what this force could be.  Once we settle down, I will spend some time in contemplation."

The old man looks at Sharps' gift and then towards him, a glint almost visible in his eyes.

"Why...thank you sir.  I don't know what to say.  Yes, friends are indeed very important, in this place and at this time most definitely.  If you need my assistance again, I will be at your call."

"Are you steady, friend?" Sharps asks Frederick, in sincerity.

To Stoney, he holds out his hand for a pull at the wineskin. "We'll wheel on through our stops today an' get ya back to th' Inn with enough time ta speak in prayer. I think our trap should be placed out tomorra, give us enough time ta get it organized." Sharps is ready to go.

Frederick nods in the affirmative.

It will take more than fleeting visions, a headache and an ominous voice to shake one such as myself sir. Especially when surrounding by friends such as this company.

In reply to Sharps (msg # 172):

Boris waited his turn with the wineskin. "I need to steady my nerves, as well!"

Knowing that Stoney doesn't freely offer drinks Frederick takes the wineskin and has a pull from it.  then he passes it on to Boris.

Thank you Stoney.

Once the party leaves the company of the undertaker, Sharps reveals his proposal to the group.

"Let's get to the bottoms of it all: there's a bunch'a flyers and something bigger that needs dealing with. If we're gonna kill 'em, we have ta draw 'em out.

"Fortunately, we knows how this is done. Be in the forest at the right time an' they'll chase ya. So that's what we'll do. Send one into the woods to scare up some bad guys and let them chase ya right to where we're at- the middle of the road, all bunched up."

Sharps pulls out his wine skin. "Drink it empty, we'll refill at th' Inn." The warrior takes a long pull then hands it to Stoney.

"Have yous ever been fowling? Catchin' birds ta eat or sell? I was stuck on a tropical island fer two months waiting on a ship an' I saw plenty of fowling trips made by the natives. Smart folk. If you wanna catch somethin' flying, use a net.

"Here's the quick of it. We'll go to the docks, get two ten foot poles, have a net strung between those two poles. When fight time comes, me and Hawkmoon are standin' together in the middle of th' road an' each holdin' a pole. Th' rest'a yous are behind us.  When our man gets them flyers ta chase 'im to us, he runs past us. We each run to a side of the road and stretch th' net; them flyers get caught in the net. We drop th' poles, trapping them flyers under th' net, then we stomp hell outta 'em.

"Here's the tricky part," he cautions, rubbing his hands together. "There's that other thing we've been talkin' 'bout. The creature what cuts throats. E'eryone not holdin' a net or runnin' their ass off has ta be on th' lookout fer this toughie. Swat th' fyers not caught in th' net an' keep 'em off me and Hawkmoon, first an' foremost, but that sum-bitch is what we're after.

"Well, that's me plan," he sums, looking around for the wine skin and seeing it already emptied. He just shrugs and laughs. "Tell me ta go an' get stuffed, or tell me how we can make this plan better," Sharps asks the group.

In reply to Sharps (msg # 176):

"I ran from the Saracens before, I can do it again if needs must," Boris offered.

Frederick like the gruff of the small human.  That race always amazed him.

I too can run. I can also assist either myself or the runner in advanced escape methods.  Such as flying.

Impressed, Sharps nods to Frederick. "A man with many talents, I see. Look, we needs these flyers ta stay close to th' ground, so no flyin' until we drop th' net."

He pauses his musing while continuing to walk. "You bein' experienced and all, you gotta know this already. If you take ta th' air while the big bad guy is around, you're a natural draw fer his whole attention. Until we knows what it is an' how it can be hurt, I don't think none of us should try that."

In reply to Sharps (msg # 179):

"Good plan."
Stoney says as he grabs for the empty wineskin, and holds it up getting the last drops in his mouth.
"I worry they will cut through the net.  I am not familiar with nets, but can they be metal wire?" 

"I never seen one," Sharps shrugs. "But that claw we saw was a poker, not
a cutter. I feel pretty good about the net holdin' 'em until they can be stomped or whatever." He chuckled. "If they starts ta wiggle out, I got somethin' for 'em."

In reply to Sharps (msg # 181):

"Right.  I didn't think of that.  You are right, the claws are more a poke type than a cutting type.  The net just might work.  I guess the next thing is, where to set the trap and who is the bait."
Looking at Boris and Frederick.
"Are you certain you can be quick on your feet?"

In reply to Stoney Applesmith (msg # 182):

Boris nodded. "I am fleet of foot. At least for small folk."

Making your way through the town, you arrive at the main gate around high noon.  The guards seem to be going through the usual motions with no additional anxiety showing.  A quick briefing of any passing soldier indicates the captain to be in the 'main office', the small area you previously had met him.

"So how was your evening?  You seem rested."

Sharps hasn't had the relationship with the captain enjoyed by the others, so he stands silent in deference to the others.

In reply to Sharps (msg # 185):

"Thank you for noticing." Stoney says half joking, and a slight blush.

Before speaking Stoney looks around to see who is near that could hear.  Then quietly talks to the captain.
"Well we have a plan, that should work. We might need a few supplies, if you can help us out.  Sharps, please let the kind Captain know what we would need, and a suggestion where to set the trap."

"Oh, ya this is Sharps, he is the brains behind this trap!

Sharps nods comfortably with the Captain. "We met," Sharps acknowledges. "A right solid leader, no doubt. We really don't needs nothin' from ya, in actuality. What I needs can be had in the city for less than a gold piece. 'Cept information." He looks around the room. "We're goin' out ta take care'o yer nighttime problem, capt'n, an' it'd be made easier if ya just told us e'erything ya knows. There's a big bad guy an' a bunch'a little 'uns. What can ya tell us 'bout 'em?"

"Going to solve the problem are you?"

He belts out a huge laugh, half sinister in its tone.

"Well you're going to have to be a bit more precise on what you're asking about.  Big ones, little ones...you sound like the rest of the town folk now.  Information is precisely what I need and if you know something, a name, a face...something...than I need to know."

Frustration rises in his voice as he slowly stands while speaking.

"What is it you think you've found?"

"We know what you prob'ly know," Sharps says, his demeanor not roused by the captain. "Yer dead people got lots'a small wounds an' then one big wound. Small wounds made by small creatures. Big wound made by a big creature. Our friend here was chased by small flyin' creatures. We figger, let's attract the small ones an' we'll get the biggie, too. That's what we're settin' out ta accomplish." He shrugs. "You can be right helpful an' tell us about th' attacks. Or not."

"You have seen these creatures?  Cast your eyes upon them?  Then you must tell me what they are!  As for the attacks...which ones?  What is it you are seeking from me?"

In reply to The Powers That Be (msg # 190):

Boris waited, knowing if he mentioned at this juncture the Saracens they were sent to hunt down it would just confuse the situation further.

With a look of confusion cast at Boris, Sharps offers a question to the captain. "We needs nothin'. Not a thing. But, if you knew whereabouts there might have been any attacks outside the walls, that'd be a helpful thing ta know." He looks to his partners for any other input.

In reply to Sharps (msg # 192):

After returning Sharp's apparently random confused look a him, Boris clarifed, "Captain, when I arrived at the gates several days ago I was pursued by some creatures. "Saracens" as they are called where I came from. Some of them escaped back into the forest. My companions and I were sent in pursuit. We tracked them down through the swamp and another forest to the north, then slew them all. Along the way we found a mysterious village and a sinister temple, which was empty. We guessed the Saracens may have come from the temple, but cannot be sure."

"Ahhh yes, you mean our mean, yellow friends, yes?  Attacks from them are random except for caravans of course.  What magic the few traders that still wander here have to protect themselves is a mystery to me.  As some of you have witnessed, they are fast, strong and seem to know when it's time to run.  All I know is they flee into the woods just beyond the walls but I can tell you, there's something not right about them.  Not only do they fight with no fear of pain, death, mutilation but when they leave, it's as if they all respond as one.  It's not that they follow the example of one, I mean they all turn their heads at the same time and sprint off in the same exact direction.  No calls, no horns, nothing to indicate anyone commanding them.  Mighty strange if I do say."

In reply to The Powers That Be (msg # 194):

"We noted this strange behavior. There did seem to be some calls from afar before they attacked, but I could be mistaken.

"The band that attacked Port Strangefellow is no more, praise God!"

"That was but a single band my friend.  They have been spotted on the edges up and down the road.  Just waiting."

Boris seemed genuinely surprised.

"As God is my witness we did what we were asked to do. If there are more, and it sounds like there are, perhaps the local lord or knight should sally forth to clear them?"

The captain belts out a deep laugh...

"You're looking at him, or the closest thing there is.  We've tried reaching the mayor but we have had no word from his lands is quite some time.  We are truly on our own out here.
 Even the merchants bring grave news from the lands."

"Please share them stories, from the merchants," Sharps prods.

"Well it would seem that the rest of the world has fallen under the same evil we have.  Some of you are new, of this I know, so you may not be aware that we cannot leave, at least by the sea.  Did you notice the lack of boats, only a handful, and all anchored?  That fog line returns whenever we attempt to set sail and those who've attempted to navigate the fog have not returned.  It seems the sea itself has turned against us as well given the nature of what the fisherman have found.  It seems our whole land is experiencing this, at least as the merchants tell it.  The roadways have become the most dangerous with attacks stopping only the most prepared or lucky.  We've even heard rumor of whole towns disappearing and strange monsters the likes of which no one has seen before.  Islands appearing overnight off the coasts and even talk of demon worship and summoning using the old sites."

Aye, Sir Hawkmoon and myself found ourselves in an abandoned village that seemed as though time had stopped in it. I walked into a fog in my own land and awoke here  I believe it was the same for Hawkmoon. Strange happenings these are. And talk fo demon worshipping sound right for these murders.

"Indeed it is so... demon worship, I suppose I am not surprised.  This land has a weight upon it."

"I woke up in th' sand, no idea how I'm here," Sharps added.

In reply to The Powers That Be (msg # 200):

"I was on a well-known path in the forest between two towns. Although those lands are safe I heard myself being followed, by thieves or worse. I picked up my pace. When I emerged from the forest I found myself here! Aye, this is an accursed place. Perhaps we are in Purgatory? Or Hell?"

He crossed himself.

"This Mayor of yours, his lands are nearby?"

"Indeed, you are not the first group of strangers to wander into this town seemingly from nowhere.  Many left as quickly as they arrived but I would venture to say that none have actually returned.  Although I will say this, as much as I try, it is simply impossible for me to know of each person and their respective movements.  If any have returned, other than yourselves, they are keeping quiet about it."

"The mayor?  No, he is much further north.  His lands lie in the northern most region of the island.  A weeks ride or longer, especially if you take the main road."

Walking over to a small cabinet filled with various scrolls and parchments, he pulls out a large piece of parchment and spreads it across the table.

(Main Game Map)

"We are down here, the southern most settlement on the island.  He resides past the Port of Angels, here in the north."

In reply to The Powers That Be (msg # 205):

Boris looked at the map. "Definitely in Purgatory, then.

"Well, my friends, we may be stuck here an eternity. Nevertheless, we've seen how the Saracens die, and other people die here, so we will not be Resurrected to die again, like the priests say happens here. I say we work to make this town a little more of a safer refuge. So some creatures are feeding on the townsfolk? And then there are more Saracens skulking around in the woods?"

"Let's start by takin' down them flyin' things," Sharps nudges.

In reply to Sharps (msg # 207):

Stoney has been quiet during this conversation,simply soaking it all in.

"I wonder.  You said some explorers, or adventurers possibly might have returned from the fog, or adventuring?   I know you say its hard for you to keep track and they are quiet, but maybe there is one, just one that can shine some light on this subject?"

Taking a quick drink.

"Or maybe its just a dream."

"I would like to think, given my line of work, that I am here for a reason and not just chance.  That a divine hand wishes us to help this land, or prove ourselves."

Sharps nods. "Flyin' critters will always be there. Help us figger how an' why our asses got sucked inta this mess," he says to the Captain.

"If I could figure that one out I would have already put men on it.  Do you have something in mind?"

In reply to Sharps (msg # 210):

Boris replied with a shrug to indicate the cause of the mists were beyond him. "We're here because we're sinners. God is punishing us. If we are righteous then we shall be given the keys to Heaven. But I agree with the Paladin. We have been sent here to do something. I suspect the mysteries of the mist will elude us until we have solved some other problem. Or problems.

"I think it's the other way 'round. The mists will remain. Perhaps for an eternity. It's the flying imps that we can do something about."

He addressed the Captain.

"Speaking of that, we just killed many of those Saracens that attacked lo some days ago. Like we were asked. Should we not be rewarded for our efforts? At least with some kind of room and board while we solve the other vexing difficulty we are talking about? The flying murderous beasts?"

In reply to Boris Underhill (msg # 212):

Drinking while the conversations continue.
Only piping in here or there.
"No disrespect to any or all.  I think the gods use us as they see fit, for their own fun and entertainment.  Pulling our strings like a puppet. So I also agree we are here for a reason.  Be it entertainment, as pawns of one god to another, or just because a god felt like it!

"That is certainly more than fair, as I believe our original bargains included as much."

"Alright, boys. What's next, eh?" Sharps prods.

In reply to Sharps (msg # 215):

"Off to wherever the Captain decides we should be quartered.

"Then we lay a trap for, I'm guessing, some flying imps?"

In reply to Boris Underhill (msg # 216):

Stoney tips one off his wine skins upside down, obviously empty.

"Agreed, lets get some rest, then set our trap!"

Rest?  We have only just awakened. We have much to do err we embark on this mission. Good Stoney, perhaps you have indulged too much too earlier today.

Frederick says this with the straightest face he can manage. Dinen Dal hides in his pack built to carry him.

In reply to Frederick (msg # 218):

"I interpret this as the gods are thanking us and rewarding us with some hospitality.  Who are we to question the gods motives.  When will we can get a break again?  Lets take advantage and  take another day or two.  Fill our bellies with good food, and drink.  Sleep in a soft bed."

opening another wine skin, and taking a drink.

"Of course if everyone wants to get moving right away, I will oblige, and go along.  Just dont blame me if the gods decide to punish us for not accepting their subtle gifts of luxury."

((ooc: time check, please))

"A meal, a nap, then a trap then, yes?"

OOC: By this point, it is only early/mid-afternoon.

Nodding to Albion, Sharps grins. "I can have what I need created fer us at th' docks. No needs for yous until later," he outlines. "Collect yer pays from th' captain an' I'll do my thing an' we'll meet up at th' inn."

The day drags onward as you sit, ponder and argue over your next move.  Tensions are finally starting to bleed through as the reality of your situation sinks slightly further into your psyches.  Some of you retreat into silence, still others turn to food and drink.  Your search of the town and various inquiries yielded little to nothing while the captain, as helpful as he could be, only added further confusion.

Night soon takes over day, your only clue being the rabble that descended upon the tavern.  The jovial mood of the crowd belies the air that hangs just outside of the tavern walls; little comfort or distraction is found in the games, dancing and song that soon fill the room.

Slowly but surely, one by one, the inebriated patrons trickle out or to respective cots and makeshift beds.  The captain, keeping true to his word, secured you three rooms with two beds a piece.  Finally, both drink and exhaustion take each of you as well and you make your individual ways to a much needed rest.

OOC: If you have any questions or actions you'd like to take, just let me know.  If you're all set otherwise, just give me a quick d10 roll...it's for a friend.

Frederick will take his gear to the room, and ask Hawkmoon if he would like to room with him.  He had woken up here with the man and had a certain kinship with him that he did not have with the others. Plus he seemed to be an able fighting man so there was that.

In reply to Frederick (msg # 225):

Sounds good.

In reply to Albion Hawkmoon (msg # 226):

Stoney eats and drinks his fill, shares stories, and listens to towns folks.   Afterwards he retreats to one of the rooms, and tosses his gear to the floor of the bed, and snuggles in for a good night sleep.

In reply to Stoney Applesmith (msg # 227):

Boris hangs out with Stoney, then also calls it a night.

Sharps unlimbers himself in the third room.

OOC: Stoney, Boris and Sharps are startled awake by screams and shouts coming from somewhere inside the building.  Shaking off your drowsiness and confusion, you quickly deduce that the voices are those of Frederick and Albion.

In reply to The Powers That Be (msg # 230):

Stoney pops up, as quickly as he can considering what he had to drink.
"Wake up! Boris, wake up!"
Opening the door, and trying to remember which rooom they are in, he swings open the nearest door.   That is if he cant deduce where they are from the screams.

In reply to Stoney Applesmith (msg # 231):

Boris started awake, confused and disoriented. Hearing the screams he crossed himself. "Coming, Stoney! What the devil is going on?" he asked, buckling on his sword. He then opened his door.

"Someone's in trouble, where?"

Sharps is out, too, sword in hand. He's not talking, just listening to the sounds and their sources.

In reply to Sharps (msg # 233):

"Let's go!" He wasn't sure where he was going, but assumed someone got attacked in their room at night.

Once the initial fright and pain have been dealt with, Frederick tries to do a fast weaving of mana, hoping to flings mana darts into the little beastie.

((ooc: what little beastie!))

In reply to Sharps (msg # 236):

Stone is in the hallway trying to figure out where the screams came from.
"I dont know where the screams came from." He says to those in the hallway.

Deciding to not wait further, Stoney, Boris and Sharps crash through the door into Frederick and Albions sleeping chamber.  Giving your eyes a moment to adjust, you take in a truly unpleasant scene.

Hovering just above Fredericks chest is a winged, reddish-pink creature, about the size of a cat.  It's limbs are humanoid and end with slick, black talons and claws.  It's eyes are completely pitch and it grins with rows of tiny dagger-like teeth.  In it's hand sits what looks like a shaving razor.  Looking about you see several of the creatures in the room...

(There are 6 of the creatures present in the room.  One flies near Albion as another approaches him on foot.  Two more are tearing through any backpacks or belongings in the room and the final one sits upon the window sill watching the entire affair.)

In reply to The Powers That Be (msg # 238):

OOC:  Teach me to not check in for a bit, won't it?

So, asleep or not.. Hawkmoon has a 10 foot protection from Evil around him that should make life a little unpleasant for these creatures, and help out both himself and Frederick.

Albion rolls to his feet, his hand reaching for his blade instinctively and wishing it were a Holy Avenger.. well, it would have to do.


Roll for attacks?

Boris was first through the door.

Deciding that he was not as skilled a swordsman as his companions Boris decided to go for the one at the window. If he didn't kill it maybe he could at least drive it off! The one with the razor at Frederick's throat deserved someone with more skill to strike it so they wouldn't hit Frederick by mistake.

Using his shortsword he grabbed his sword and swung two-handed at the one sitting on the window sill.


AC: 5 (Leather plus Buckler with +2 DEX Adjustment)
HP: 36/36
Weapon: Short Sword
THAC0/WS/Damage: 18/3/1d6, 1d8.

13:15, Today: Boris Underhill rolled 15 using 1d20.  To-hit.
22:39, Today: Boris Underhill rolled 8 using 1d8 ((8)).

This message was last edited by the player at 05:39, Tue 04 Aug 2020.

Well I guess we are attacking!

Hawkmoon grabs his bastard with both hands and swings at that little sh*t like he wanted to launch him into space.. by the edge.

17 to hit, 8 damage small target

16:27, Today: Albion Hawkmoon rolled 17 using 1d20+3.  Attack that close one!

16:28, Today: Albion Hawkmoon rolled 8 using 2d4+2.

Sharps takes a swing and slices one badly.


20:44, Today: Sharps rolled 10 using 1d7+4.  Sharps damage.

20:43, Today: Sharps rolled 18 using 1d20.  Sharps sword attack. THACO 12

In reply to Sharps (msg # 242):

Witnessing these flying little demons, Stoney charges forward to swipe them off Frederick's chest.  While charging he yells, "By the gods, you will not take another life while I am standing!"



Hit AC 3 for 4 damage
09:50, Today: Stoney Applesmith rolled 4 using 1d4+2.  dmg.
09:50, Today: Stoney Applesmith rolled 15 using 1d20.  hit off chest.

The winged creatures move with blinding speed.  The one on the window sill saw Boris coming a mile away and simply floated effortlessly out the window, just far enough to avoid his sword swing.  His jaw almost shaped in mocking fashion as it's shark-like eyes stared him down.  Hawkmoon swings wildly but the beast dances around his blade with ease.  Despite being awakened so abruptly, however, he still manages to avoid the combined attack of the two on him.  Stoney manages to chase the one assaulting Frederick higher towards the ceiling but his swings did little more then prevent further damage.  This however gave Frederick the chance he needed and streaks of lightning shoot from his fingers, slamming into the hovering beast.  The most acrid smell fills the air as the creature unleashes a deafening shriek before collapsing to the floor.  Sharps dashes toward the remaining two who had been tearing through things when they entered.  As he closes in they lift into the air and hurtle towards him.  With only seconds to react he randomly picks one and lays into it; a wing and half a leg take sail through the air, landing with sickening wetness upon the wooden planks.  The creature is still alive but flops around the floor, howling in either rage or pain.  The second one was more fortunate and found it's target as several of it's talons tear through Sharps left bicep (-3hp).

((ooc: Round 2 yet?))

Yes, of course, my apologies on not stating that the next round can start.  By all means, let me know what ya'll be up to this round. :)

The creature scores a hit on Sharps' left arm and the seasoned fighter takes the damage without pause. His voice, however, shows how truly angry this has made him.

"Oh, black chicken's got teeth, eh?" he growls. Sharps trades his sword from his right to his left and raises his right hand, casting a magic missile spell at the beast flying outside the window, just out of Boris' reach.

"Now I'm gonna have ta eat every fucking chicken in this place," he curses, motioning the still-bloodied, nearby flying foe to bring on the next attack.


15:53, Today: Sharps rolled 3 using 2d4. Each missile is a +1 and total damage is 5 points.

Frederick reaches up over his bed and grabs a bit of spider web he had noticed prior to going to sleep.  He mumbles an incantation and the outside of the building on the side where his room is located is covered in a thick, sticky spider web.

That should make their escape harder. Kill them all!

In reply to The Powers That Be (msg # 244):

Boris hits the closest creature with his sword, again missing completely.

AC: 5 (Leather plus Buckler with +2 DEX Adjustment)
HP: 36/36
Weapon: Short Sword
THAC0/WS/Damage: 18/3/1d6, 1d8 (2 hands).

21:25, Today: Boris Underhill rolled 1 using 1d20.

Rolling for next turn initiative:

12:23, Today: Boris Underhill rolled 8 using 1d10.  Turn 3 Initiative.


This message was last edited by the player at 19:25, Wed 12 Aug 2020.

In reply to Boris Underhill (msg # 249):

Stoney swings at one of the fliers.
"Come on and fight me you little buggers!  Stop flapping your wings!"



Hit AC 6  if hit 3 damage
07:30, Today: Stoney Applesmith rolled 3 using 1d4.
07:30, Today: Stoney Applesmith rolled 12 using 1d20.

Yah, a natty 1.

The great warrior...


19:50, Today: Albion Hawkmoon rolled 4 using 1d20+3.  Attackin again!

In a flash, light streaks outward from Sharps, striking the only winged creature not in the room.  The bolt sends it reeling backwards; it shrieks and howls in anger as Frederick's web closes in and seals the only chance it would have at retaliation.  Hawkmoon and Boris charge in but, in their respective haste, did not see one another and collide soundly together (Dex check at +2 please).  This leaves Stoney who spins around and presses the attack forward, swinging wildly as the beasts flutter frantically about.  They can neither reach Stoney nor can he land a hit.

There are three in the room still flying around.  A fourth lays on the floor but is heavily injured from Sharps and could probably be stepped on at this point.

Hawkmoon oofs and tries to give Boris a way to the little.. um.. beings.

14:32, Today: Albion Hawkmoon rolled 17 using 1d20+2.  Oops.

OOC: My bad on being unclear...add that 2 to your dex, or subtract it from the roll.  Either way you look at it, it's a positive in your favor not against.  Neither of you really had the time or room to build up speed so it's not like two linebackers colliding.

In reply to Albion Hawkmoon (msg # 253):

"God's Hooks!" cried Boris, trying to avoid Albion.

00:19, Today: Boris Underhill rolled 13 using 1d20.  DEX Check.

Passed.

In reply to Boris Underhill (msg # 255):

Stoney swings wildly again.  Hopefully not hitting any of his companions in the volley of hammer swings.

"Stop moving you flying chickens!  Step on the injured one, someone!"


08:49, Today: Stoney Applesmith rolled 8 using 1d20.  wildly swinging .

Frederick weaves the mana again with a simple chant and points at one of offensive creatures. 3 darts of mana fly from his fingers and strike the disgusting beast.

In reply to The Powers That Be (msg # 254):

Recovering his balance, Boris attacked again, swinging his short sword.



AC: 5 (Leather plus Buckler with +2 DEX Adjustment)
HP: 36/36
Weapon: Short Sword
THAC0/WS/Damage: 18/3/1d6, 1d8 (2 hands).

14:36, Today: Boris Underhill rolled 15 using 1d20.  Attack with Short Sword.
14:36, Today: Boris Underhill rolled 8 using 1d8. Damage
14:37, Today: Boris Underhill rolled 5 using 1d10+3.  Turn 4 Initiative.

Sharps takes one of the vile fliers down with a perfect bastard sword stroke. "She how much fun we're all havin'?" Sharps calls out, looking for additional targets.


Sharps: THACO 12

19:50, Today: Sharps rolled 7 using 2d4+3.  Sharps damage.

19:49, Today: Sharps rolled 9 using 2d4+3.  Sharps damage.

19:49, Today: Sharps rolled 24 using 1d20+4.  Sharps bastard sword attack 2. Natural 20!

19:48, Today: Sharps rolled 8 using 1d20+4.  Sharps bastard sword attack 1.

The chaos and confusion is over in a flash.  As Frederick takes another beast down in glowing flames, the final two are pushed in towards Sharps who brings them down with such force that they are easily dispatched without further energy.  The final beast, still fluttering around outside the building, howls in fury at the group.  Knowing it cannot possibly take them by itself, it flies off into the dark sky, heading northward.  A moment of deathly calm and quiet overtakes the room.  This, however, vanishes quickly as the sound of footfalls fills the air.  You soon find the tavern is now wide awake and several guardsmen have entered, weapons drawn.

In reply to The Powers That Be (msg # 260):


To the guard as they enter.
"Glad you are here!  The last of the flying beasties flew out the window, heading north! Please secure the area, so we can investigate, oh and please grab us some drinks.  Adding the puzzle together might take some time, and is thirsty work!"

Then Stoney tuns to the scene, and rubs his chin as he tries to take note what he is seeing, and why it happened.

Hawkmoon did a fair job of being out of the way after the initial issue with swinging a big sword in a small room.

"Would anyone care for me to lay hands on wounds?"

"Not yet, fer me," Sharps replies, his still-dripping wound ignored for the moment as he kneels to get a closer look at the winged freaks. "I scheme better when I'm nursin' a bit o' pain."

In reply to Sharps (msg # 263):

"Sharps, there will be plenty of time to bleed, after we have a drink.  If you are really going to complain, come over and I will ask for some divine inspiration to help your wounds."
Stoney says jesting, to tease Sharps.  But if sharps needs it Stoney will atempt to pray to the gods for healing.

Frederick looks down at his chest then up to Hawkmoon.

I do believe I could use your assistance Hawkmoon.  I appear to have been lacerated by one of those dreadful beasties.  Using a razor knife no less.

Hawkmoon will move to Frederik and lay his hands upon him, causing the wound and the warrior's hands both to glow with a bluish light, and unless his abilities are nulled here.. healing 10HP.

In reply to Stoney Applesmith (msg # 261):

"I'll try and follow it!"

Boris bounded out of the room, down in the hall and into the street. Moving as fast as he could he attempted to follow the creature.

"Good idea," Sharps says. "Someone should go wit him."

When Boris announces his intent to try and follow the creature Frederick speaks to Dinen, both verbally and thru his link with the familiar.

Dinen, go with Boris and let me know if there is trouble.

Dinen Dal comes out of his hiding spot under the bed, happy to not have to defend his master. He was just about to when the rest of the party showed up. Dinen nods to Frederick and takes off after Boris, trailing hims slightly but having no problem pacing him.
This message was last edited by the player at 05:31, Tue 15 Sept 2020.

In reply to Frederick (msg # 269):

"Now back to the task at hand."  Stoney says with confidence, that he can solve this puzzle. Years in the abbey studying has given him confidence in matters of the unknown, even if he doesn't know more than the average person.
Inspecting the remains of the little flying creatures, and their claw marks.  Looking at the wounds on individuals that were attacked.  Trying to glean any information on what the creatures are, to see if they are controlled by a master, or are like rats, and just attack out of opportunity and group confidence.

Smiling, Sharps nods in appreciation and admiration to Frederick.

Frederick sits on the edge of the bed and rubs a hand over his chest.  Healing powers always amazed him, especially for a paladin. There's was not a weaving of the mana but a gift of faith given them by their God. It was somehow more pure and soothing than when the cleric wove the mana in the method taught by worshipers of the greater powers.

Frederick watches the others investigate the creatures and speaks up.

Odd, wouldn't you say, that they use tools? Rather than slice me with its vicious little claws it choose to slice me with a razor. Maybe the razor can tell us something.