With two arrows, Slove pinned the thug to the wall, killing him instantly. [#5 slain]

After the shocking deaths of their mages, two of the thugs, and even their pet bulette, the most terrifying weapon in their arsenal, the remaining goons had no stomach to stay and face the wrath of the golden-hued dragon warrior with nothing between her greatsword and lopping off their heads. No amount of pay or threats were worth that. With an unheard cry of fear, they threw down their crossbows and turned and ran, out into the rain-streaked streets. [Thugs #1 to #3 withdraw to the right]

Orophear still lay unconscious in a puddle in the road, stricken by the first poisoned bolt.

*

Having heard a fight and spell-battle, Kaijn ventured upstairs. He found Tseran, Angel, and a corpse...

Under his grey hooded cape, made of a strange material that hadn't absorbed any water from the rain, the mage wore studded leather armour and a sheathed dagger, not of especially good make. In his pockets, Angel found two grubby gold pieces and three unmarked potion bottles, two of them still full.


OOC: At this point, I call the battle basically over, unless you'd like to hunt down the last three thugs.
This message was last edited by the GM at 07:47, Sat 21 Apr 2018.

 Tseran can hardly be described as 'rushing off' since he walks a grand total of no feet at all in order to turn and forge his flame-spears, tossing them out of the window he was stood in when Angel came to the rescue and his mental barriers are very nearly as resilient as ever - trying to drive a thought through them is like shouting across a crowded room - but he's quite able to snap back "The matter was well in hand. The oaf was about to experience applied evocation and would shortly thereafter have taken a short, and exceedingly discomfiting journey providing him with an opportunity to reconsider his choice of magic!"

 Here, it is likely worth noting that the nature of the spell he was struck by might not have taken his intelligence down to the merely normal, but it might have done a number on his charisma... Or was he always like that?

Slove walks over to the bulette.
He turns to Aerin of Damar.  Drawing in a sharp intake of breath.
See in this smelly town of filth, even this large controlled monsters find me to ugly and dones not want to eat me.
He shakes his head.
The few friends I have our forged from battle and partaking of a tankers of dwarven beer.  I will buy you a drink if you like in next inn when we have time and trade stories of battle.
It does not have to be dwarven beer however.  That I know is an acquired taste.

The elf then goes back to standing by the walls with his bow ready to protect the group.


OOC:
Ah modern day multiculturalism.
An elf offering to buy a dragon blood a dwaven beer!
and swap stories of battle.

In reply to Tseran Tal'chiar (msg # 343):

OOC: Her back to the stairs, Angel is not aware that Kaijn has ascended and has spotted her with Tseran.

"Yeah, yeah, you had everything under control," Angel quipped back in a patronizing tone, not even bothering to look at Tseran as she pocketed the coins and the potion bottles. "We're just lucky you allow the rest of us to bask the glory of your presence, right?"

Standing then and facing the irritable elf, Angel looked at Tseran for a few long moments, even cocking her head to one side as if studying him like an odd curiosity. "So what'd he hit you with?" She asked, ever the careful observer of others' behavior and intuitively sensing that something was off about the mage. "I mean you've always been an arrogant prig, but you seem more 'prigy-er' than usual. Are you okay?" She asked, and if Tseran was as careful an observer, he just might have detected an undertone of genuine concern with the query.

The Rashemi saw the bolt that eventually ended the servitude of the creature, and its life, with some satisfaction. Kaijn seemed to have found his wits again, she wasn't sure what it was with the other elf, but there was one companion down. Quickly she moved over to pick up his body from the middle of the street and carried him into the building that Kaijn had vanished in, out of the darn rain. She was no healer and waved for Slove to come over.

When the elf gave his speach about his ugliness and inviting her for a drink she looked at him, rolling her eyes. "The immediate threat is gone, but one of our companions is down and all you can think of is getting a drink? - I think I heard you have some talent with healing, find out what happened to him and how we can help him." the dragonkin said, clearly not a happy camper at the moment.

Slove moves to follow Aerin.
Seems I miss that one of us was down.  To many people and to many group over last few years.  Nothing stable.

He checks over Orophear to see what wrong with him.
Anyway I am hunter not really a healer.  I can cast a basic healing spell and put bandage on someone on good day.  It more skills I accidentally learn while studying one of best hunter ever than a calling or wish to be healer.
Anyway I try and do my best.


OOC:
23:31, Today: Slove rolled 18 using 1d20+2.  Heal check.

Aerin huffed, then realized Slove was not a soldier, one whose life and death depended on knowing his comrades well, lest they killed their own accidentally. Her time at the mercenary company had taught her that. "Understood. Find Maelarra and quick, we can talk about that drink later." the dragonkin said, highly worried about the life of her friend. Even though she didn't know Orophear as long as Arrazin, but he had always had her back as she had his. For all her strength and armor she felt powerless to help the elf "Don't leave us like this, stay with us!" she said in a commanding voice, as if it would keep him alive.

Lifting up the stricken Orophear in her powerful arms, Aerin carried him out of the rain and into the shop. She swept off a table to lay him on.

Slove carefully examined the body, his skills as a hunter proving to be just as important as his skills as a healer – after all, a poisoned or drugged arrow at an unsuspecting prey was a common hunting technique, and it was no different here. Orophear was conscious but unmoving, only able to move his eyes and take short, quick breaths. He seemed to be paralysed, the tension in his muscles causing agony. Heat was growing on his brow, indicating fever. At the crossbow wound, where the bolt was still protruding and blood welled, he noted an oily residue on the bolt, with a pungent smell – surely a poison or drug.

Orophear couldn't respond to Aerin, of course, but his twitching eyes seemed to show understanding of her words.

As it was, Lady Maelarra soon joined them, fashionably late, coming through the front door, with her servant Tamae close behind. The door that had been locked previously. 'What have you been doing? I was waiting for ages at the leather shop, then saw the door open... By the goddess!' She hurried over to examine Orophear. 'What happened?'

The dragonkin rolled her eyes at Maelarra's words, she had 'conveniently' missed being sprung upon by cutthroats and a bulette. But her professionalism when it came to talking with a medic in the field, took over and she explained in quick words "He got shot with that bolt. Probably covered in poison or other paralyzing agent. He can move his eyes but the rest of his body is not responding." she said, showing the Waukeenar the bolt, so she might take a whiff, helping her to identify what it was.

 "The glory of my presence has been considerably augmented by my ability to get a bath I did not first have to contest with an Alligator." Tseran snaps back, more or less automatically although that in itself is a tad off because he's never really been one to blow his own trumpet - or rather, he's never been one to blow that trumpet. Intellectual pride he has in spades of course, but arrogance about his appearance? He'd be the first to snort and dismiss the possibility that it even bears considering when set against the significance of the mind.

 Mind you, he has some justification in that since he can't burn a hole through a Bulette by weaponising the power of his dimples.

 He makes a dismissive wave of his hand at the question however, looking less petulant about it than he is irritated at the deceased wizard, answering "Some petty impediment or other, unlikely to last long. It hardly matters however, we should be leaving as swiftly as we can. I suspect that the others have forgotten how seriously the locals take displays of Arcane power and as puissant as we may be, the City Guard is rather beyond our capacity to engage." and starting towards the steps.

 ---

01:09, Today: Tseran Tal'chiar rolled 1 using 1d20.  Spellcraft (+14).

 Ahhhh, there's the old Tseran luck back in play.

In the aftermath of the spell-battle, the silence spell might actually have worked in their favour – it had muffled the strange sounds of all the magic and psionics hurled about and, for the time being at least, no alarm had been raised. Perhaps they'd be lucky and not find out what happened to mid-level mages in this wretched city.

On the other hand, these thugs had some powerful masters, ones who could field illusionists and semi-trained bulettes, and they'd very quickly be alerted by the survivors...

*

After hearing Slove's report, which confirmed Aerin's estimation, Maelarra conducted her own examination. Seeing the proffered bolt, she didn't sniff it directly but waved its odour toward her nose. It was a standard alchemist's technique for dealing with potentially poisonous or overwhelmingly pungent or chemicals, but it didn't half make the priestess look prissy. 'Definitely poison, but it would take an expert to identify... But it's not the only problem. Look at his fever, there's an infection – the filth of this city has contaminated the bolt, and now his blood. We'll need to take him to the temple of Selûne. First, let's get it out, stop it making things worse. Tamae, my medical kit.'

As the servant retrieved the kit from her haversack, Maelarra rolled up her sleeves and washed her hands. 'I did a workshop under an Ilmatari healer. Very skilled, when she was sober...' She returned, examining the wound and bolt more closely. 'The head is barbed, we can't pull it out without dealing more damage. Aerin, I need you to push it through...'
This message was last updated by the player at 08:43, Thu 26 Apr 2018.

Kaijn was surprised to see the woman in the room. His hands went into his robes and grabbed hold of some magical ingredients. Last time his magic incapacitated this woman and he was sure he could again if she became aggressive. He quietly watched the exchange before addressing the psionic.

"Am I interrupting something?" he asked softly, his green eyes gleaming from under his hood.

Angel was an astute observer, especially of others' behavior, and she knew, despite Tseran's protests to the contrary, that whatever had been inflicted on him was more profound than he was letting on. She could help, she knew, take it away with her gift. It would affect her in return, of course, but maybe that little sacrifice on her part would be a step towards making amends with Tseran. How strange, some distant part of her mind thought, that she would be considering sacrificing her own well-being for an elven mage of all people. If her grandmother and father could have seen her, they would have condemned her for the weakness of such benevolence... and in the end, maybe that's why she decided to do it. She opened her mouth to make the offer, but another voice spoke up behind her first...



... she started at the sound, cursing herself for a sympathetic fool for letting anyone sneak up on her like that. Realizing it was the wizard who had earlier frozen her with magic and ruined her past plans, the copper-haired she-elf narrowed her eyes dangerously and her hand twitched toward her rapier... but she restrained herself from drawing it and waited to see what else the green-eyed human would do.

[Private to Tseran Tal'chiar: I do not trust them, Tseran. She sent to the elf through her telepathic ability. Allying yourself with these adventurers is like holding a snake by the tail, and sooner or later it's going to bite you. Come away with me! We can leave this stinking city together!   ]

Aerin rolled her eyes when Maelarra began talking about her workshop participation. The dragonkin was of the opinion a medic should concentrate on their work, rather than talk talk talk, but when asked to get the bolt out she stepped up to Orophear.

Carefully she held the bolt in position before breaking off the feathered end of it, so it wouldn't catch in the wound. "Alright my friend. I will push the bolt through on a count of three. Got it? One... " and then she flicked against the end, easily shooting it through the other end of the wound.

Quickly she grabbed one of her stabilizing patches in case Maelarra couldn't deliver what she had so eloquently spoken of.

ooc: Stabilizing patch magically stops bleedings.

 As is usually the case, trying to drive a thought past Tseran's mental discipline is like trying to drive nails with a thumb - something that's only gotten worse the more time he spends working upon mastering his art - and he does nothing to make it any easier, which is almost certainly a clue to how the professional seer, diviner and all-around unveiler of secrets feels about secret speech...

 ...on the other hand, it's also a clue to his inner thoughts that when an enemy mage appeared, he was prepared to defenestrate them with a wave of kinetic force... When a Bulette appeared he harried it with lances of fire and ice... And when Angel appeared, he harangued her with the sharp edge of his tongue instead.

 Patently, despite his prickly nature he still thinks that the woman - who lies as easily as she breathes in his opinion - is at the very least no actual enemy but his response to Kaijin's question is still the sort of expression that suggests he's just been accused of harbouring indecent aspirations towards a Drow and a quick "Seldarine's tears, no... Rally the others... We need to leave, now." that sees him ensuring that they have the papers they found and hastening to the stairs, pausing at the top of them to snap at Angel "You're here, you might as well come along. Try not to provoke another riot."

 Ahhhh, he's a charmer that one...

 But hey, it's an actual invitation, right?

Maelarra talked because it was in her nature, and because explaining things now saved answering irritating questions at less opportune moments later. But mostly because it was in her nature. Whatever people thought of the noble priestess, they surely couldn't deny she was willing to get her hands dirty, or bloody. She deftly removed and cut away Orophear's clothes and armour to expose the wound, and invoked a cantrip to magically cleanse the area of dirt.

Standing ready, as soon as Aerin pushed the bolt-head through Orophear's shoulder, she quickly poured fresh water from a flask, washing out the wounds, then inspected the hole and bolt for broken-off fragments. Satisfied, she called upon various deities of healing, and laid her hands on the entry and exit wounds, releasing divine power. The bleeding stopped, the wound sealed, leaving an ugly scar. Her spell wiped the area clean.

'Now, Moonsilver House, near the docks. We can wave down a cart to take us.'

Aerin hadn't realized it, but she had held her breath while Maelarra was treating the wound, and only exhaled when she ordered a cart to the docks.

Not one to waste any time, the dragonkin left the building with purposeful stride, hailing the next suitable cart. She ignored any protests of the driver, grabbing the reigns with draconic might as he tried to evade her. "Your cart is required on official Procampan business. You get it back at Moonsilver House together with a sizeable reward for your service." Waving to her companions she motioned for them to bring Orophear while she made sure the driver didn't take off.

In reply to Tseran Tal'chiar (msg # 356):

After Tseran spoke, Angel chewed her lip in indecisiveness for a few heartbeats...

Did she really want to get mixed up again with the very people that had gotten her thrown in the Duke's dungeon earlier? But Tseran had invited her this time - kinda - which was much farther than she had gotten with the mule-headed elf previously. If she refused now would she ever be able to make anything up to Tseran?

...In the end that was the deciding factor, she owed Tseran and she'd promised herself that she would make it up to him -- and she was determined that this time she'd actually keep her promise.

Pausing long enough to take the gray cloak from the fallen mage (and remember his face too - just in case), Angel wrapped the cloak around her shoulders, drew up the hood to enshroud her face and followed Tseran down the stairs.

The driver spluttered protests as Aerin commandeered/hijacked his cart, but there was nothing he could do to stop the powerful dragon warrior except grumble about pompous Procampans. And Lady Maelarra was as pompous as they came. She commandeered a second cart, reasoning rightly that all of them aboard one would make it much too slow, and time was of the essence for Orophear.

Curiously, as Angel stepped outside, her dull grey cloak faded easily into the background of Calaunt's dull grey stone buildings. It became all too easy to overlook her.

However, the bloodstained sword-hole in the back was a bit of a give-away.

*

After a hurried journey across the city, they soon came to Calaunt's docks district, not too far from where they'd disembarked the Nimble Naiad only that morning. Calaunt, they were learning, was a city that of many smells. As soon as they'd gotten accustomed to one stench, it found another one to assail their senses with. Here, by the docks and closer to the sea, it was fish, both fresh and rotten, alongside brine and salt. Evening had fallen now, the rain had drizzled to a halt, and a waning gibbous moon and a few stars could be glimpsed between dirty clouds.

Moonsilver House, the temple to Selûne the Moonmaiden, was a large temple complex, built of sturdy grey stone with silver adornments and great domes that gleamed under the light of the moon, calling to mind the moon itself. The Selûnites no doubt ministered to the sailors and navigators, and to the women and goodly folk of this villainous city. Many of them were coming to prayer now. They gave the cloak-wearing Angel fearful glances, moving hurriedly away.


OOC: Let me know your plans, who goes in and who stays out and how you approach the temple.

Now Maelarra Hlartrym has arrived Slove lets her take over dealing with problem.
Slove is not much of healer but what little he can do he does.
Able to back her up with small healing spells if removing arrow inflict additional wounds.
Slove is happy to help Maelarra Hlartrym into the temple and follow her direction.
His strengh is also useful in carrying Orophear.  The elf maybe small but few normal elves could match his strength.  Only Aerin of Damar in group maybe.

OOC:
Sorry for delay in posting.  Real life and work.

Aerin's hand went straight to her sword when she saw the gray cloak of the mage exit the building but soon enough realized it wasn't the same mage wearing it. Noticing the fresh hole and blood stains on it, the adventurer figured Angel's rapier was probably the cause for the stain and gave the hooded woman a curteous nod. The draconic warrior reasoned that Tseran and Kaijn would be capable enough, should she try anything nefarious.

Urging the horses to the fastest speed possible, given the many people in the streets, the Rashemi didn't bother thinking far beyond the target: Moonsilver Hall. When they arrived, she picked up her paralyzed elven friend and carried him inside, hoping Slove would clear the way towards the next priest for them. With her shining, dragonscale armour and many weapons, she cut an impressive figure. Adding in her purposeful stride and an expression that would send most ordinary people scurrying out of the way, she made her way in, expecting Maelarra to procure the priest they needed.

 Dungeons and the business of how one came to be arriving in them is something that Tseran would probably have Things To Say regarding - a prospect that's less appealing than the dungeons themselves - but in the absence of an audible complaint he instead simply confines himself to a pointed "We should leave, swiftly... And yes, I know but she's coming with us. No, I don't know why. No, it's probably not a good idea. Yes, she's coming anyway." as he sweeps along to join the wounded in the wagon, gradually recovering something of his equilibrium on the journey - at least enough to recognise the discomfort being displayed by the people on the street before the temple, which leads him to muse "I suspect that the robe you're wearing serves as a uniform for the petty wage-mages of the local government. As such it will draw considerable attention." to Angel, letting the professional adventurers go about the business of carrying the wounded.
This message was last edited by the player at 15:07, Sun 06 May 2018.

Aerin carried the stricken Orophear into the temple, as Slove cleared a safe path – his face alone could do that – and Maelarra circled around to flag down a cleric who could help them.

The priest guarding the door, a bear of a man with booming voice, quickly looked them over and guessed the issue. 'You better come with me.'

Marching inside, they were awestruck by the grand sight within: a wide circular hall under a great dome, the interior painted with the phases of the Moon, the orbits of the Tears, and its courses across the sky, guided by the benevolent hand of Our Lady of Silver. At one end, she was a dark-haired, dark-eyed little girl; at the other, she was a matronly middle-aged women, with steel-grey hair and steely eyes.

They also struck by, of course, the smell. The pungent aroma of sour milk was faint but unavoidable inside the temple.

The gathering faithful assembled in great circles around the hall, sailors mingled with seamstresses, alewives with astrologers, laundresses and a few lycanthropes, mystics and magic-users, expectant mothers and eccentrics, fortune-tellers and freaks, all swaying and singing softly together. These circles were centred on the moonstone-studded, silver-inscribed altar standing upon a high multi-level dias. Silver-robed priestesses and priests had begun to dance around it, led by the Moon Mistress. It was a soul-stirring, wondrous scene. This might have been the most beautiful, joyous place in this otherwise drab, miserable city.

They hardly time to sightsee, however, given their urgency. The big priest led them through a side door and a corridor, and into an adjoining sanatorium. It was clean, tidy, and didn't even smell. Here, patients – elderly, sick, or crippled – rested on beds, nurses provided treatment and food, and a priestess led prayers for those who couldn't leave to join the dancing outside.

They were taken to a private treatment room. 'Lay him down there.' the priest directed Aerin to lay Orophear on the bed. Healers and priests quickly saw to him, applying a poultice to the wounds and making prayers to the Night White Lady to remove the poison and sickness.

'We were accosted by muggers.' Maelarra had explained on the way, choosing to go with discretion, but the priest didn't seem too convinced by this. 'Orophear was struck by a crossbow bolt; we suspect it was poisoned, causing paralysis, but I suspect there's also an infection. We've removed the bolt, washed out the wound, and applied healing magic to stop the bleeding.'

'You've done well,' the healer agreed, looking up from her work. 'We can treat the paralysis, poison, and sickness, but he will need time to convalesce. One alone, he might have recovered swiftly, but all three together have taken their toll. It will take some days.'

'Don't worry, your friend will have a place here in the sanatorium of Our Lady of Silver until he's recovered.' the big priest promised.

*

Angel, Kaijn, Tamae, and Tseran had for now now been left outside with the cart driver. The man gave the grey-cloaked Angel a wary glance then asked the others 'I heard there was a reward?' He'd removed his cap in respect, and was twisting it anxiously in his hands. 'Only I'm late on a delivery, you see, and need to feed and change the horses now, otherwise I wouldn't ask, being a good citizen and all...'

The mage walked with the group to the temple. He had not known the wounded elf for that long but hoped that the priests could take care of the fallen man. What he was more worried about was the addition to the group. The new female elf.  She had once before attempted been defeated and now she was suddenly part of the team.

The cart driver interrupted his thoughts and Kaijn deftly produced two platinum pieces from a secret pocket in his robe. Giving them to the man he whispered "Do not talk about this to anyone."

When the man had scurried off with his cart he turned to Tseran and Angel.

"So, a few hours ago we fighting each other, yet now we seem to be getting a long? Care to explain in further details?"

 Tseran is by this point massaging his forehead with forefinger and thumb, but he does his best to explain matters in his quintessentially less than glowing terms, "The young lady is a deceitful, impetuous, impulsive individual who lies as readily as most people draw breath and we have crossed paths before." before honesty (and as best he can, Tseran is always honest) compels him to add "But while I would not trust her with my lunch, I would trust her with a knife at my back. She is erratic, not malicious. Her gift for deception, when channeled is..." - here, the diviner utterly dedicated to discerning the truth chews in his words for a moment, looking for a suitably neutral term - "... remarkable. Since she has decided for reasons of her own to shadow us, it would be by far the better choice to have her do so openly than to invite another incident like the one at the tavern."

 So, that's what 'damned with faint praise' sounds like!

 ---

 OOC: Angel is of course, excellent but Tseran is her polar opposite and still grouchy about being ass deep in alligators. ^_^