Saliq felt very weak. Mercifully his memory of recent events was extremely clouded as he allowed the acolytes to help into a bed. He did have a vague knowledge of what had gone wrong and that awful battle with the undead but then... only flashes. Perhaps his mind was protecting him from the horror by blocking out the memories.

"The others?" He asked, his voie more of a croak. "Are they alright?"

Pale moonlight... A soft, warm breeze... Silence... Peace...

Then all was nothingness... Cold, black, nothingness...

Inas woke with a start. He was cold and wet, and naked as the day he was born. He tried to sit up but couldn't, the muscles in his arms and legs felt weak as a kitten. He tried to look around but all was blurry. There were other figures there but he couldn't make them out, friend or foe he was not sure. He tried to speak but no words came out, his tongue felt swollen yet dry.

He lay back down and closed his eyes again, silently praying for the moon to return.

Aldo Rathmus arrives at a moment of clarity, a lifetime of clarity. A new breath catches in his lungs, salt water in his mouth and eyes, and he arrives into the cold, naked, not for the first time. Clarity, and awareness of every scar, memory of the wounds that caused them, without a need to look upon them with his eyes or trace them on his body with his fingers. Every act of kindness, of indifference, of spite ... it's all laid out before him. And it's okay.

His body whole but exhausted, he waits, content to breathe and remember. Without anxiety or hope, he wonders briefly if the memories will hold, or if they will slip away again as so many have before.

In reply to Aldo Rathmus (msg # 106):

Having witnessed the exultant power of Melora's grace, Eagle is in a cheerful mood as he slips away to let his friends recover their senses. Travelling back to the golden temple, his joy is short-lived, as it becomes apparent that Norion has left this world.

Eagle suddenly feels tired too. To the temple of Erathis he gives the all seeing eye of Ioun, a sapphire of beauty, antiquity - and some value, while to the temple Melora's he gives the 3000 platinum pieces, and the 9,000 gold coin from the  the silver goblet set, and the golden headband.

After this he retires to Godshome park for a few days while the others convalesce, where he sets about writing a ballad of Norion on his guitar, and shares tidings with the druids of the park.

The days of recovery are long and restful for Rath. The lack of pain is new for him, but the fatigue is worrisome, though eventually that fades and his old strength returns to limb and heart. He visits his friends, Saliq and Ben, Eagle and Inas, but he has little to say. There is a bright calm about his eyes that this company has not seen before, and his typical smirk is subdued.

Rath bids farewell to Norion Ironaxe privately. He honors the warrior's request to shed no tears, but he is quiet and sits with closed eyes for a long, long time before leaving the body to its caretakers. For his part, Rath has no doubt that Norion has won release from the Raven Queen's realm to enter the Hall of Moradin.

It's a fate that Rath is not yet ready for; and Fate is not yet ready for him, apparently.

Rath bathes thoroughly, buys a good shave and haircut and a new set of clothes and shoes, and he puts on his pendants -- that blue sun of Pelor, that lucky coin -- and he steps out into the streets of Stormhaven unarmed and unarmored. It's a damn strange feeling, and he buries a trace of apprehension under a confident stride along unfamiliar streets, aiming for sections of town he knows better, far from the temple of Melora.

There was a time when passing guards on the open street would be a cause of concern, but it's unlikely the guards will recognize this clean young man as the ruffian he had been two years ago. And, if he were to be recognized ... well, Rath is prepared for consequences.

There are always consequences.

Soon, his feet carry him into sketchy neighborhoods, and he looks with fondness on ramshackle buildings and sprawling ghettos -- well, no, not fondness at all, but with some feeling of memory he can't identify. Definitely not fondness.

He finds the place, and he loiters for long moments, walking slowly along the curbs to and fro, building up the courage, figuring out the words, before shrugging, smirking in amusement as his own reluctance, and stepping resolutely to the front door of the house. He knocks firmly and waits for the answer.

"Afternoon, Ma'am," Rath nods solemnly. "Guessing you don't recognize me. Rath." He has to wonder what thoughts that puts in the old woman's head. "Aldo Rathmus. Monvo's old ... friend. Don't close the door!" He pauses, hand raises to keep that door open. "I got news of your boy you need to know."

A wrinkled, frizzy-headed woman stabs her gaunt chin through a narrow crack in the doorway, her clear gray eyes looking suspiciously at the stranger. She is guarded in demeanor but hears Rath out. Upon hearing his name, it is clear she recognizes the man, though his appearance is much changed since she last laid eye on him. Those were leaner, meaner times and the man that stands before her now is a man of accomplishment. The same could not be said of his younger self.

She opens the door enough for her entire face to be seen now. "Is he in jail?" she asks matter-of-factly. "Aint nothing I can do about that. If he is, then he probably deserves what's coming to him," she says defensively. "Might do him some good!"

This is a woman who has suffered much disappointment in life. The way Monvo turned out is just the icing on the cake. Little does she know the news Rath is about to deliver.

Death had been a sweet release for the dirty little man who once walked the earth and answered to the name 'Ben Scritos' with a nervous glance over his shoulder and a neurotic need to know where all the exits were.

His life had always been one of small victories and catastrophic failures, his death had simply been the pungent punchline of the bad joke he knew himself to be the butt of, but never really saw the humor in.

The faint scent of ruby and grey, the subtle sound of a sunset...

The first call back to life, he resisted.

"I will be your whipping boy no longer Avandra. Luck favors the bold, you promised, but when was luck ever my friend?" He spat out the word luck, that foul, fickle bitch to whom he had dedicated his life. That bitch which had <u>cost</i> him his life.

He moved further away from the land of life, the taste of entropy sweet between his teeth, soothing as he sucked it's cold sweetness down into his lungs. His anger would sustain him in the darkness between the stars for many years, of that he was certain.

A shadow flitted between him, the subtle difference of black on black lost on his eyes, but not on his heart.

The flutter of wings... what was that oddly flavored image in his mind? Bethany?

He hesitated, glanced over his shoulder, paused a moment longer, then began continued his journey.

Again the sound of wings, the flavor of darkness shifted, took on tone, texture changed tense forward, then back, the sideways. Confusion filled his mind, and found himself forbidden the escape he thought he had wanted.

Avandra has forsaken you, but I never shall, Ben Scritos. Return to me, be my agent in the lands of men, chose the soothing darkness of the Raven Queens embrace.

He struggled a moment longer, then surrendered to the will of the Goddess, but more importantly to Ben, he surrendered to the will and wishes of his sister. She who had risked everything to bring him back, she who had bargained with a goddess to give him this second chance, his sweet Bethany.

Sure she had a stick up her ass, but blood was blood, and his began to surge thru his veins once again, warm, vibrant, and dark...

After Saliq had recovered sufficently, he bathed and barbered and dressed accordingly to set out into world.

As was his habit when seeking out news in low places he use his illusions to take on a different form and avoid leaving a trail. A simple Change Self spell and he became a blonde haired half elf maiden named Liessa, and as 'Liessa' he entered several taverns to listen to some of the gossip on what had taken place in Stormhaven during their absence.

Returning from his expedition (and returning to his real form) Saliq thoughtfully made his way to the Temple of the Moon near the Bazaar. Here he prayed for Miralla (whose death he had be saddened to learn of) and prays to Sehanine for advice.

"Oh great silver eyed goddess I, your humble servant, offer myself to your mysteries and wisdom." After long moments in prayer before the beautiful statue of the divine patron of the moon and autumn, trickery and illusions Saliq got to his feet and left to find the others.

His sorrow over losing Norion was still very sore and he resolved to find some way to honour the dwarf. He also spared some thoughts for poor Bruno, and hoped than unhappy soul had found some peace.

The next few days saw Inas recuperating at the Temple of Melora. While he generally hated city life, he found the quiet comfort of the temple soothing to his aching body. The acolytes tended to his weakened body, and helped lead him in prayer to comfort his damaged soul. Recent events had taken a toll, but the priestess assured him that he would make a full recovery, in time. They cared well for him and his strength began to return.

To aid his recovery he spent time practicing his art, sparring with some of the temple guards and firing arrow after arrow at straw targets in the courtyard.

Eventually he left the temple for the first time. A mundane shopping expedition, but one that filled him with dread. He had never felt so weak, so helpless. His clothes and armour had been left torn and tattered beyond repair by the ordeal with the ghasts, and now he was out in the big city in donated clothing. With no cloak his scarred face was bared for all to see. He tried to look inconspicuous, but couldn’t help notice every sideways look from a passer-by, every pointed finger from a frightened child.

He headed to the market, concentrating first on clothing. His first purchase was a cloak, a simple brown affair of reasonable quality that included a cowl to cover his head. Stepping back out on the street he felt less vulnerable, less naked. With more confidence that he had felt in days he continued about the market, buying full sets of clothing including trousers, simple shirts and tunics, undergarments and socks. He also treated himself to some new calfskin boots and soft leather gloves.

Resplendent in his new clothing, complete with spares of everything, he headed to the artisan's quarter to look for new arms and armour. Finding a decent fletcher he purchased a dozen arrows to top up his quiver. He asked around and located a decent smith with a solid reputation, a Dwarf named Melchort. He tried on several sets of armour, finding some that fitted him well. Before deciding on a purchase he asked of him, "Master Melchort, this is certainly fine workmanship, your reputation is well-founded. Pray tell me, how much would a set of your finest banded mail armour set me back."

Okay, I have deducted 25gp to cover arrows and clothing. Can't be bothered to calculate the real cost but that should cover everything I have bought plus sundries over the next few days until we are recovered enough to go adventuring. Shane, please advise if you want me to deduct more.

I am asking Melchort about the costs for high quality banded armour. Shane, please advise on additional costs for each -1 to AC for better armour. Thanks.

Rath nods seriously. "Was a time it might have," Rath agrees, although of course Rath knows nobody that jail did good for. "Monvo died, Ma'am, some days ago."

He takes a deep breath. "What you got to know is, he changed, at the end. Look, Monvo wasn't no shining paladin, and he wasn't no hero. Not saying that. But he turned a bit from that crooked path, see? He stood with his friends, and he stood brave, and he fought for what's right, maybe for the first time," Rath lies. "And he helped some folks who really needed some help."

Rath has trouble looking straight at the old woman, but he manages to do it. He scratches his neck. "That don't maybe make up for all the wrong your boy did. Ain't about making up for stuff. You just need to know he turned a bit, there at the end, and helped some folks. That's all I came to say, Ma'am."

Monvo's mother receives Rath's tidings with a stony, ashen demeanor that is soon overcome with deep sadness, terminating in a glacial tear that hangs on the folds of her jowl. These words were comforting to her but could not take away the sting of a mother's disappointment of what could have been. Monvo could have had a promising career in the Watch, maybe even one day rose up through the ranks. He certainly had the physical makings. But it wasn't to be.

Speaking in a faint tremble, she replies "Thank you Son. It does my mind some peace to hear you speak kindly of my boy, that some good came of him in the end, when it mattered."

She will of course also wish to know where his remains are disposed of and will be somewhat saddened to hear his final resting place is not in Ravenskeep. It would be quite an effort, and an impractical one given her means, to visit his gravesite to say whatever need be said, but at least she knew he was seen to properly.

Not knowing what else to say she will carefully prod for any further details about how he died, but she does not make a huge effort to poke very deeply. It was probably best she just know he did well in the end.

[Private to Aldo Rathmus: Nice Post. Going to throw some bonus XP your way (+200 XP)]
This message was last edited by the GM at 19:31, Fri 20 Feb 2015.

Ben's rebuke of Avandra and affirmation of The Raven Queen does not go without the smallest of portents. The weather turns gray and overcast for several days, casting a dark pall over the dirty city as a fine, warm mist descends from the skies. It is not enough to soak through clothing, but enough to keep one damp and uncomfortable.

Also, while striding through the streets, a new perspective on his lot in life, the bottom of his boot wears through. Nothing a cobbler can't mend, but a nuisance nonetheless.

Perhaps while en route to see to his boot, Ben happens upon another curious portent: a group of armored men wearing the black and green coat of arms of Lord Myron. Between them, Ben spies a pale, thin immaculately dressed nobleman with a distinctive forked mustache and beard. The man carries himself imperiously as though he is above the dredge and muck that surrounds him. The nobleman spits out a verbal lashing at a young boy who had been loitering around a lacquered black carriage and, when the boy scampers off, the nobleman enters its plush interior.

The carriage also bears the coat of arms of Lord Myron. The drover leaves no doubt as to whom the man is, "All clear for Lord Myron!" he yells at a throng of people blocking the carriage's path.

[Private to Ben Scristos: Nice Post above. Bonus XP (+200)]
This message was last edited by the GM at 19:31, Fri 20 Feb 2015.

News of the Horned One's demise has reached Stormhaven and Saliq hears several differing accountings of the particulars, each of which is more fantastical then the next. The most important detail that is not lost in the retelling is the names of the bold heroes who bested that villain. On this fact, all agree: adventurers from Stormhaven!

But the main item of interest is talk of a power play within the noble courts, to wrest control of the city from the hereditary ruling aristocracy, The Thyrandas Family. Apparently the Talas Family has amassed enough power and riches to make its case and has secured the support of The Mercenaries Guild, whose ranks are swelling from a recent campaign that brought back fresh 'recruits' from The Empires of the Shifting Sands. Swarthy men wearing The Mercenary Guild's livery, a mailed fist, are seen all over the city now and there is a palpable feeling that something big is stirring. The Stormhaven Watch also seems to be on edge as a result of these recent tidings.

Monvo shrieked. He broke and ran, fleeing the darkness and the dark-cloaked demons as they tore into Bruno and Eagle, unseen but not unheard. The noises were unwholesome, grisly. Monvo ran, sprinted, raced away, sparing a panicked glance behind ... .

Rath spared a glance himself, at Monvo running full tilt from the fray. There was a dark cloud in the sky, a sphere of abyssal darkness, and with no hesitation the cloud dived straight for Monvo. He was engulfed. Rath heard the scream, first of fear and then of agony, and he heard the wet, hacking noises from within the dark cloud. Rath tightened his grip on his trident, and turned back to his nearer foe. His heart was cold to Monvo's fate.



Rath shakes his head slowly. "Don't know, really. I didn't see it happen." He shrugs and bows a little. "Pelor shine on you, Ma'am. I'm thinking He owes you that much. A little light in the darkness."


And with that, Rath moves away, with heavy heart.
This message was last edited by the player at 04:51, Sat 21 Feb 2015.

The temples of the Raven Queen were Ben's first stop, to make formal his dedication to her cause. His sister at his side goes some distance with the priests with, as does his small donation of ten gold to their coffers.

He purchases himself whatever fetishes and symbols of the temple common folk might buy, and lights a dozen incense for those who died at the keep of the Horned-One. (Though naught for Monvo, the loud mouthed thug.)

His plan, once he purchased himself some new boots, and a new set of leather armor, was to find a trainer in the use of broad swords, and an artist to tattoo the emblem of his new goddess on his body, however the sight of Lord Myron distracted him. As the fop entered the building Ben spit into the mud while thinking dark thoughts, then he took a moment to ascertain the name of type of building the man and his entourage had entered.

he had hoped, in some vague way, that their actions outside to city walls had worked against the interests of the family Talas in general and lord Myron in particular. It did not appear to be the case... was the establishment one he could follow the lord into?

Master Melchort the Armorer is delighted to hear of Inas' interest in his best suit of armor and moves the human ranger to a well-crafted suit of polished banded mail set over a chain shirt. The mail is a bit lighter than expected and seems to fit reasonably well, but will need a few modifications to get the fit just right. Admiring the tall ranger in his mail, Melchort coos, "Now there is a set of armor fit for a dashing young warrior!"

Melchort says the banded mail can be Inas' for the price of 120 gold.

"Of course, if money is of concern, you could always opt for something fit for the rank and file, but something tells me you are a man of consequence!"

OOC: The suit is finely crafted and slightly lighter than a standard suit of banded mail, but has no bonuses to AC.

In reply to DM Storm (msg # 119):

Inas tried on the armour. It was certainly lighter and well-fitting, and looked to be finely crafted. However, the price was high and presently beyond his means. He considered his options.

I only have 110gp left. Unless he is prepared to haggle or I can obtain the remaining funds from party treasure then I cannot afford this.

Questions:
- What game effects would this armour have?
- Can I order some armour that does have a better AC rating? If so, what price would that be?

OOC: The armor feels nice on Inas and is certainly beautiful to behold, but it does not have any noticeable mechanical advantages.  It is still a fine suit of banded mail though.

PCs will generally not be able to buy magic items in this campaign, except for the possibility of expendable items like scrolls or potions. Magic items can be created, upon reaching name level, per rules outlined in the DMG, but that's about it. There is always a very small chance of finding some magic item for sale somewhere within the city, but this will require extensive research, time and resources.

In general, you won't be able to buy magic items though.
This message was last edited by the GM at 08:54, Sun 22 Feb 2015.

OOC The kind of research Ben excels at???

In reply to DM Storm (msg # 121):

I was meaning finely crafted quality gear rather than magic. I'll assume for now that I can't order/afford better.

"Master Melchort, this is indeed fine craftsmanship but a bit beyond my means at present." He pulled out his coin purse and placed 110 pieces of gold on the counter. "This is all I have, will it suffice?"

Prior to calling his meeting at the Rusted Nail went out and bought himself a new set of clothes; a fine kaftan and turban in the style of his homeland. He could hardly work with the great and good in rags.

---

OOC: Deducting 50 GP for high quality clothes. Hopefully that will cover the outfit.

Master Melchort draws a deep, audible breath in through his teeth. "Ah, but 120 was already barely a profitable margin for all the toil that went into this suit of mail. But I tell you what, I can let it go for 115 gold, on account of knowing it will be put to good use, by a warrior worthy of its wear!"

In reply to DM Storm (msg # 125):

"Alas, even at that price my purse is lacking. I will have to revert to a suit of your more mundane but equally well-made armour."

He selected an alternative suit of banded mail. It was also finely crafted but not as elegant as the other. However, it would suffice. After a brief discussion he handed over 90 gold coins and bid the smith a good day.

"Tell you what," the dwarf chimes in while Inas is examining the lesser suit of mail. "How about we agree to 110 gold and you come back when you are ready to purchase a shield befitting that suit. I can craft one that will match, maybe with your coat of arms etched into its face?"

In reply to DM Storm (msg # 127):

"Agreed." He shook the smith's outstretched hand to seal the deal. "I have no coat of arms, a simple device of neutral colours will do me just fine. I will return in good time when my purse is full again."