In reply to DM (msg # 263):

No need for them to know how many people are coming down the stairs... Thorfire dons the dark vision glasses, looks at Therarak and follows the elf and cat man quietly down the stairs.

10:41, Today: Thorfire Shortankard rolled 16 using 1d20+10, rerolling ones with rolls of 6.  Stealth.

In reply to Thorfire Shortankard (msg # 266):

Therarak sees Thorfire melt into the shadows and follows his Halfling companion.

10:43, Today: Therarak Gemfinder rolled 19 using 2d20+2, dropping the lowest dice only with rolls of 17,13.

In reply to Therarak Gemfinder (msg # 267):

"So we are doing this quietly? Fine. But remind me to tell you all a tale of a friend of mine from Stoneport. Fellow by the name of Leroy. Leroy Jenkins. Good man. Died a terrible death, but a braver son of a bitch never existed."

10:06, Today: Lazaret rolled 19 using 1d20+5.  stealth.

In reply to Lazaret (msg # 268):

How did he die?  Did you talk him to death?!?  That would be a terrible way to go

After several flights of stairs, the passageway continues for another hundred feet, then another hundred, then a hundred more, all the while slanting slightly downward. The air is cool and earthy. While not particularly pleasant, the absence of the rotting stench from the chambers above is welcome.

Aided by their darkvision, the adventurers can make a descent pace in the shifting tunnel. They travel over half an hour before they finally reach the end of the passageway. It stops after opening into the side of an enormous rift in the earth. The floor itself ends after jutting out some ten feet into the opening. From there, it is another 50 feet to a sheer cliff face, which stretches up and down as far as their darkvision can see. The rift extends beyond their vision to their left and right, as well.

In reply to DM (msg # 270):

"I don't know about the rest of you, but I came North to see mountains. Plenty of time in the after life to explore tunnels and caves, right? I say we barricade that door again come back some time in the distant future. The good folks of Westbank are surely going to have a parade for us when we show them Sister Gwendelon's head. Hate to keep them waiting."

”Yes. I am not sure I want to go picking a fight with what might lurk down here. Westbank awaits.”

On the road again...

In reply to Celador Qiris (msg # 272):

Thorfire and Therarak join Laz and Celador on the road to town.

In reply to Thorfire Shortankard (msg # 273):

OOC - 1980's montage to Polly's Puffy Pillow and Level 5!

It is midday when the heroes depart the cave and return to the outdoors. The crisp autumn air is a refreshing break from the stale rotten stench they've been breathing for the past couple hours.

To the party's delight, the horses are still there and look much better than the battle worn quartet does. With some shuffling of packs, the newly acquired gold and treasure (including the head of Sister Gwendelon, as well as some of her writings), are distributed evenly among the steeds and the return trip to Westbank begins.

They make their way back to the bridge and then head south for Westbank. Before long, the sun begins to set and the heroes make camp slightly off the road. There is an occasional stir in the night, but it passes without event.

The next morning, they break camp one final time and complete their journey to Westbank in the early afternoon. A few people smile at the heroes as they approach. Others look the other way. It is clear to the group that they are now recognized by just about everyone in town.

And as always, the crow perched atop the statue of Staal Stronghammer caws at them as they approach the park in the center of town.

OOC: It's time to level up!

The heroes reserve their usual rooms at the Stronghammer Inn and then head to the Trollip and Troll for a well deserved meal. Mattis Bumbleford has really outdone herself this evening with a hearty stew and fresh baked bread that hits the spot.

As they finish their meal, a young messenger enters the tavern, scans the room, then approaches the heroes at their table. "Mayor Naar wishes to speak with you tomorrow morning," he informs them. "He has asked me to request that you meet him in the constable's office at 8:00am."

The messenger, waiting as patiently as he can, shifts his weight uneasily from one foot to the other.

In reply to DM (msg # 276):

Reaching into his pouch, Thorfire flips the messager a silver piece.  Be a good lad and tell the mayor that we will meet him in the morning...and I have brought him a special gift.

"Yes sir," the young lad smiles widely as he takes the payment. "I'll let him know right away." With a nervous bow toward the group, he hustles away.

The rest of the night passes by uneventfully. The heroes are undisturbed by the rest of the tavern's patrons and they enjoy what turns out to be the first truly relaxing evening that they can recall. After a satisfying meal and a few beverages, they retire to the Stronghammer Inn where they sleep soundly.

Each of the quartet wakes the next morning fully refreshed and feeling better than ever (OOC: 5th level!). After a quick breakfast, they head to the constable's office to discuss their findings.

The office is tending to everyday business when the heroes arrive. Enoch is seated at the desk, behind a stack of papers. He looks up long enough to sneer at the party, then returns to his papers with a grumble and a shake of his head.

Taylin Naar and the young guardsman Tyus sit across from each other at a 2nd table. The Mayor stands when he sees the adventurers arrive. "Gentlemen," he starts. "I'm glad to see you are all in good health after your journey. But no sign of the escaped fugitive, Malik... did you not find him?"

In reply to Taylin Naar (msg # 279):

"We found him. Indeed. The fool returned to the same cave system where we apprehended him the first time. He was up to quite the nefarious business. More necromancy. A religious thing for him, but I'm afraid we have little proof of his...is apprehension the right word for what happened? What would you call it, Celador?"

"I would just say that he will no longer be a threat to the good people of Westbank. If you want his body, just send a crew to the cave with some buckets and a mop or two." Lazaret smiles even more than usual. "I'm quite the sorcerer sometimes. These paws have more magic than I even know." He gestures with his hands as if casting a thunder spell. "Boom! It was quite remarkable. And rather disgusting now that I think about it."

"But I am afraid we have some rather shocking news for all of you. Mr. Mayor, you will want to sit down for this. Enis, you should sit too. Good man."

Lazaret composes himself for a moment before continuing.

"Marik the Necromancer, or as I like to call him now, Stuff on the Floor, was not working alone. He had a boss. One who pulls the strings. A most wretched fellow, felless? How do you describe a fellow who is not a fellow, but a female fellow? Femmow? Celador? Do your people have a name for such people?"

Lazaret looks nervously at his friends and then pulls it back together.

"Mr. Mayor Naylin Taar, the necromancer's boss was none other than the formerly good Sister Gwendelon. I know, right? Who saw that coming? Anyway, she was clearly not pulled away to some business in Alaska. She didn't even worship Pelor! I mean, she worshiped Llolthallalla of all gods.

"Picture this. We are in the cave, I've just killed Marik and like twenty of his zombie goons and then we see another hooded man about to raise some more undead. Celador is all like 'pew pew' and shooting arrows. Thererak is lobbing fire vials and being his weird little self. Who knows where Thorfire is - probably hiding somewhere - he likes to do that. A lot. Anyway, the hooded man lowers the hood and it's Gwendelon! I was shocked. How could she be such an evil prick? I mean, she was a little harsh at times, but raising the dead and threatening to destroy the town? Come on!"

Lazaret is now rather excited and begins acting out the final battle in great detail. Most of the violent acts are performed on Enoch which serves only to delight the Tabaxi and, probably, no one else.

"And that's what happened. Oh. And we brought you this."

Lazaret grabs the bag holding Gwendelon's bloodied head and tosses it unceremoniously to Enoch who instinctively catches it.

"Avocation?" chimes in Celador.



Celador shudders at the memory of the incident.




Celador pulls over a chair for Enis.




"Malik" Celador interjects.



"We do, but the translation is rather rude," Celador replies.




"Not me."




"Malik"



Celador reenacts the pulling of a bowstring and the firing of arrows.



Celador shrugs.



"Truth. All truth. I would find it hard to believe myself if I wasn't there." Celador offers as a final testamonial.


I guess that is my way of saying that Celador assists Lazaret in his persuasion.

The mayor's attention bounces back and forth between the tabaxi and the elf as they describe in their own unique way the events of the past few days...

OOC: Lazaret, make a persuasion roll with an extra +2 (for your fabulous loquaciousness) and also with advantage (for Celador's thorough assistance).

In reply to Taylin Naar (msg # 282):

Thinking this might not go well...and living up to his reputation, Thorfire quietly prepares to hobo kill the mayor.

13:16, Today: Thorfire Shortankard rolled 27 using 1d20+10, rerolling ones.  Stealth (Hide in Plain Sight).

In reply to Thorfire Shortankard (msg # 283):

18:11, Today: Lazaret rolled 21 using 2d20+11, dropping the lowest dice only with rolls of 4,10.  Persuasion.

That was close.

The Mayor, declining to sit even after Lazaret's invitation, listens and observes the tabaxi's tale as it progresses. Enoch fends off Lazaret's pantomime blows with a combination of annoyance and disgust, but refrains from striking the bard outright.

As the story reaches it's conclusion, both the Mayor and elder guard look dumbfounded at the notion that Sister Gwendelon was at the root of the disturbance. Enoch opens his mouth to refute the claim, but the thud of Therarak's satchel on the desk in front of him silences his protest. Instead, with a disgusted sneer, he opens the pouch.

When he sees the contents, he flips over backward in his chair, falling flat on his back. "Pelor's golden beard," he cries. "What have you done?" He scrambles for his sword, drops it, then fumbles pathetically on hands and knees before eventually rising to his feet with sword in hand. His eyes shift back and forth nervously as he tries to determine whether the three adventurers in front of him (Wasn't there a fourth? Where is that halfling?) require arrest and if so, how in Pelor's name he and the Mayor are going to achieve that.

Seeing Enoch about to bite off a great deal more than he can chew, the Mayor interjects. "Hold, Enoch," he advises. "You'll only get yourself hurt."

Enoch lowers his sword but not without protest. "You don't actually believe them, do you?"

Taylin Naar sits on the corner of the desk with a heavy sigh. "Think about it, Enoch. The hangings - what did we do with the bodies?"

Enoch gives the Mayor a blank stare.

"That's right. We didn't do anything. Gwendelon had them taken away. Convenient. Did we ever ask where? Of course not. We were just happy that we didn't need to dispose of them ourselves. And all those mysterious trips to Alaka? To see the council that nobody, including Brother Walword, had ever heard of? There's no such council in Alaka. She never even went to Alaka. She went to some mysterious cave to carry out a perverse ritual on the bodies she was collecting at the gallows in Westbank.

"But it started to unravel when young Kevril and his friends spotted the hooded man at the bridge. She thought she had silenced them all, but she didn't know Kevril was hiding. When the lad got back to town, his story spread. She had him jailed him on a trumped up charge and assumed knowledge of the location of her secret cave would die with Kevril. But then these four found it. "

The Mayor's eyes brighten as the puzzle pieces all start to fit. "So she had her lackey dress up as the hooded man that Kevril identified and accompany the four back to Westbank, playing the part of their prisoner. Then she let him escape, kill Morlough Merris, and tried to pin that crime on these four, but the secret was spreading and her story wasn't holding water. Too many people sensed something was wrong by then. Mattis Bumbleford, for one." He winks at the elf.



Finally, he fishes into a pocket and removes a small piece of parchment. "So now it's time for my confession. After you left for the north a few days ago, I picked the lock on the constable's office here to conduct an investigation of my own. Everything was in order at first glance, but stacked away in the back of one of her many religious texts I found this paper. The writing is hers, but the script is nothing I could understand. So I took it to Brother Walword. He recognized the writings and the diagrams immediately. The eye in the left palm symbolizes Vecna, a legendary lich with dreams of godhood."

The Mayor shakes his head in disgust, partially at Gwendelon for her countless evil deeds and partially at himself for not detecting them earlier. "It seems that Gwendelon's true allegiance was with Vecna, not Pelor. Sister Gwendelon was nothing but a lie. Her life here was a lie. Nothing more than a carefully orchestrated ruse to get bodies for her own  grotesque rituals. And it all worked until Kevril Moonstone spotted a hooded man on the road and the four of you believed him."
This message was last edited by the player at 04:47, Thu 28 June 2018.

In reply to Taylin Naar (msg # 287):

The party makes their way to the tavern for a well earned dinner. Lazaret sneaks off to visit the library and return an old friend.

"Bobbin? Bobbin?" Lazaret whispers to the seemingly empty shelves. "I wonder where the odd fellow is."

Hearing no reply, Lazaret reaches into his pack and retrieves the strange grey stone and pouch of dirt. He places Cornelius gently on the table and sprinkles some dirt nearby. Taking his water flask, he pours a few drops onto the dirt and pushes the rock closer so he can eat. "You were a fine travel companion. And a brave fighter. Be sure to tell your friend about your adventures and all that you saw. Perhaps Bobbin will write of our deeds and the story will be passed down to those who visit this library."

The Tabaxi turns to leave the library then returns to the stone on the table. He pats it once or twice with his paw then places a handful of coins and odd gems on the table. "Your share of the loot."

Laz wipes a tear and heads out to rejoin his friends at the tavern.

In reply to Taylin Naar (msg # 287):

Realizing the mayor believes Lazarat's tail...tale...story...he calmly pokes Enoch in the ribs.  Boo! and proceeds out of the door with his companions.

"Don't feel bad Mayor Naar, Sister Gwendelon was a crafty witch and no doubt fooled many people. Simply be grateful that through some divine fate that the four of us happened upon your town and could put our brains and our brawn at your service.

You might be thinking that you'll need to empty the city coffers to reward us for saving your sleepy hamlet. But I think I speak for all of us when I say, that your thanks is all we need. Your thanks, and maybe some of the tasty meat pies and stews of Ms. Bumbleford. Yes, thanks, meat pies and stews...and a few pints of ale.

That should do it. Pies, stews, ales, thanks..and some luxury accommodations for the rest of our stay here in Westbank. (he keeps thinking) And use of the stables, yes, if we need to save the city again we should have horses.

Let's recap; A soft bed, a cold ale, a fast horse, a hot dinner, and warm thanks. That should just about do it. A few pieces of gold would be heartily appreciated too.."

Celador smiles, casually salutes the mayor and the deputy and heads out the door.

"if you need us, we'll be at the Trollip and the Troll."

As the heroes prepare to leave, the mayor stops them for a final request. "I hope you'll find it possible to keep quiet about Sister Gwendelon. Even though it turns out she was evil to the core, I don't think the town of Westbank is ready to accept that fact. Instead, he offers a slightly different version of the facts. "She was killed by the evil necromancer, the hooded man, and beheaded for her beliefs." As he explains it "For the people of Westbank, Gwendelon wasn't a person so much as an idea. A belief in order and good. That idea, at least in the form of her person, died when she evolved into the dark one that Kevril named the hooded man. From that point, the good Gwendelon, who brought law and order to our fair town, was dead. So in a sense, the hooded man killed the Gwendelon."

He nods to the heroes as they depart, "I wish you well on your adventures, wherever they lead. Know as long as I am mayor, you will be welcome here. Now if you'll excuse me, I need to find a new constable."

And so ends the tale of Sister Gwendelon, an evil necromancer who hoped to gain the favor of Vacna by rallying an undead army and storming the village of Westbank in the far northern reaches of civilization. While well established in the town herself, her undoing came in the form of a fifteen year old who saw too much and a quartet of outsiders who had the audacity to believe him. Ultimately, she was stopped while applying the finishing touches to her army. For the heroes, the mayor's support (although unofficial) is enough to send them all to the Trollip and Troll with their heads held high.