Rurik almost fell down when his hammer-stroke did not meet the expected resistance, passing through the vampire as if she were a column of smoke. He stared at the spot in the wall of rubble where the creature had disappeared, and shivered. She -- he found himself thinking of her in this fashion, even though he was unsure of what her true form might be -- had a distinct chill about her that he had felt when he moved close to her, and a hint of it still lingered in the air.

He lifted up his warhammer and gave the heavy head an accusatory look, as if he were feeling that his trusted weapon had let him down. After a moment's thought, however, he lowered the hammer again, looking a bit less aggrieved. I remember now, although I paid it little heed at the time. Back in Hug Moldur, some of our Elders mentioned to us warriors that there are certain types of creatures that can scarce be wounded at all unless one is wielding a magicked -- or, in some cases, a silvered -- weapon. I suspect that this creature was of that variety.

I also recollect Boros's axe, and how it shone in the sunlight. Was it silvered, I wonder, or was it simply polished 'til it gleamed? I shall have to pay it more attention when next we meet, and see if I can tell. If he is wielding a silvered weapon, mayhaps there is someone here in Phlan who is skilled enough in weaponsmithing to apply a coat of silver to my warhammer -- although I fear 'tis beyond my means at present.

Turning to Ghere with a look of concern on his face, Rurik asked, "How are you? I saw you recoil from that creature's touch, and from the chill that I felt simply by being near her, I fear that her embrace must have been as cold as the grave."

Rurik pursed his lips thoughtfully and continued, as if thinking aloud. "You named her a vampire, and mayhaps she is. I do believe that I shall think of her as the Smoke Ghost, however -- both by reason of the color of the cloak that she was wearing, and the fact that striking her was akin to smashing through a column of smoke."
This message was last edited by the player at 11:16, Wed 30 Sept 2015.

Ghere nodded. "Indeed it was. Fortunately, my Patron's touch is... heat, and so provided some protection. Still, I can feel that chill in my bones, it will take a while to wear off."

"As for what she was, she didn't match anything that I know of. Probably not actually a vampire, unless one of them has somehow gained immunity to the sun. The closest match would be a Spectre, but they are creatures of mindless hunger. Could simply have been a mage using Vampiric Touch and Mist Form."

He shrugged. "Whatever she was and whatever face she put on her retreat, we beat her. Something to be proud of, is that not so?" His mouth quirked. "Probably not familiar with dwarves. I suspect you were supposed to run in fear from her 'overwhelming power', not attack her with such good effect."

Ghere squared his shoulders. "Speculation aside, we have work to do do we not? Collecting heads, checking the kobold's dwelling for 'livestock', such looting as there is."

Ghere set to the grisly business of taking the kobold's heads, his face calm and neutral. He had done worse in his time. Done, he tied them up in one of the kobold tunics and regarded the small pile of loot from the bodies with indifference. "We will divvy that later if that is all right with you guys, let's check their house and get back."

[Private to GM: This is the good bit, where you tell us what the loot is. Note that Ghere is not picky when it comes to loot. The most rusty knife is iron, and worth a silver a pound to a smith, armor that has been cut down for a kobold can be restored, etc, etc. Don't limit yourself to coin or jewelry.
Also, how are you working xp?]
This message was last edited by the player at 12:43, Wed 30 Sept 2015.

Torymyn shuddered as the woman disappeared. He walked over and worked his axe out of the wall. He turned to face Ghere and Rurik, "A vampire? A spectre?" he shook his head.

He then said, to them, "I am sorry I was caught flat-footed.". He paused a beat, and then walked over with Ghere towards the Kobolds, helping the human with the grisly work of securing their trophies.

As he worked, he called his thanks to Brak, "Thank ye fer the dram o' healing, good-dwarf."

Everything seems to be quiet at the moment.

Ghere feels dizzy and weak. For some reason he feels uneasy. Almost as if someone was talking about him, behind his back. He can almost hear a female laugh in the distance. Or is it just his imagination? At any rate, the warlock seems quite pale to his comrades.

Searching through the poor kobolds turns up a hoard of exactly a hundred copper coins, five rusty blades (worthless), kobold sized patchwork garments (even worse than worthless), four rope slings (worth one copper apiece), and an old chess piece made of glass safely stowed in a leather pouch on the big kobold (barely recognizable as a knight, also possibly worthless).

XP: 125 xp for the kobolds and 100 xp for the specter = 56 XP to each character.

Do you want to poke around this area some more, or retreat to New Phlan?

"Let's check their house, then we can call it a day" Ghere suggested.

Torymyn finished stowing the trophies that will prove to Boros they have accomplished something while out on the streets today.

He looks sidelong at Ghere, "Lad, ye look much the worse for wear. Ye need rest. Or maybe Brak has more o' that divine blessing to heal ya?"

He then scans around the ruins, attempting to figure out if he and his fellows could possibly fit through the openings trhough which the Kobolds had first emerged.

The cracks in the wall were quite narrow. Torymyn attempted to size his body up to the biggest he could find - and he seemed too bulky to squeeze through it.

He started tapping along the ruined wall with the haft of his axe, all around the cracks that the Kobolds had squeezed through. He grimaces, and turns back to his companions, addressing his comment to Ghere, "The bloddy lizards came through 'ere, and there's no way t'fit us through. Without proper tools, I don't think we can bring even a small part of the wall down. Where do ye suppose their home were?"

"Well, if we can't fit then they can't have dragged anyone else through there. Let's go."

Rurik considered wiping some of the blood from the head of his warhammer with a rag that he kept in his belt-pouch for that specific purpose, but decided to wait until they were back at their barracks, where he could do a more thorough job.

He nodded in agreement with Ghere when the Human said that it was time to go. "We got their heads for Boros, an' we got their loot -- such as it is -- for us. I don't believe that there's anything else to be done here."

Rurik paused for a moment, and gave Ghere an appraising look. "Yer tougher than ye look, an' ye stand yer ground. Plus, ye got a good head on yer shoulders, an' ye don't go all skitterish an' Elfy in the stress o' battle. Good on yer," he added with another nod.

It appeared that if Rurik had felt any reservations about adding a Human to the threesome of Dwarves, at least thus far Ghere was doing a good job measuring up to the Dwarven warrior's expectations.
This message was last edited by the player at 22:51, Wed 30 Sept 2015.

Ghere nodded return. If he was to be the token human, at least he was an accepted token human. "I have worked both Line and Skirmish, not my first dance. Still, I am going to allow for your shorter pace, we lost a ranged chance there because I was moving at normal pace." He shrugged. "One always has to adjust to a new units pace. Could be worse, think if you were Pike!"

Picking up the loot bag, he left the heads for Torymyn and headed back for the gate.

Brak keeps close to the others as they gather loot and trophies. He occasionally pokes at on of the corpses with the toe of his boot, examining the wounds. He crouches down next to one lifting its lifeless arm and places its palm against his own measuring for size. He examines its claws, pulls of a boot and closely examines it as well. All the while he mumbles to himself unintelligibly.

[Private to GM: Brak is mumbling in Druidic. Basically he's surveying and committing to memory what a kobold track would look like, what kind of wound their claws would leave. I don't expect it to come up really so no need for a mechanic just fluff really.]

If you come back with tools, it would take 30ish minutes to bring the north wall down and break into the area where the kobolds have their lair. Or you can leave it until after a long rest.

Ghere banged on the gate with the haft of his spear.

Still holding his warhammer, Rurik walked over and stood by Ghere as they waited for the gate to open.

He turned his back to the gate and glanced around the battlefield, eyes alert, whilst he waited.

That Smoke Ghost surprised us once. I don't intend to be caught unawares again. We'll make short work of that north wall upon the morrow.

Raising his voice, he called back over his shoulder, "Open up! We've got Kobold-heads for Boros!"

"Just so they'll know that it's us, as opposed to some cheeky Kobolds bangin' on the gate an' playin' games with 'em," he explained to Ghere.
This message was last edited by the player at 11:35, Thu 01 Oct 2015.

Torymyn watched Rurik, and then imitated the other dwarf, and took a position on the other side of Ghere from Rurik, leaving space for Brak to stand behind him, also scanning the ruins for any potential threats.

Over his shoulder, he asked Ghere, "What did that ghost-woman say ta ya, Ghere? Why'd she seem to compel ya so? Did ya know 'er when she were still among the livin'?"

"She was implying that she knew something important, but now that I think about it it was all very generic. I guess she was just pretending to parley in order to get me close enough to strike." Ghere shrugged. "What can you do? If you refuse to parley then you end up killing people who don't really need it, and that is something to be avoided. Look, risking that the person you are parleying with is the kind of dishonorable betrayer who thinks they are being clever by breaking that understanding is the price you pay to avoid becoming the kind of psycho who slaughters everyone he meets."

"It is actually rare for even the stupidest idiot to betray a parley, most can figure out that nobody will ever trust their word again." He sighed. "But it happens. The stupid we will always have with us. However, we lived, and we will know better next time. We meet her again, we cut her down as soon as we see her. Problem solved."

"As for the compel, that wasn't her, that was my Patron. There is always a price for power, and some prices are more obvious than others.

He fumbled in his pack, coming out with a bundle of pitons with a triumphant expression. "What say we go over the gate instead of waiting on their lazy asses?"

Torymyn turned to look at Ghere while he spoke.

"Aye, that makes sense. Tis always right to at least hear 'em out when they ask ta parley. I worry about cuttin' her down, though. She seemed powerful resistant to me axe.". He looked down at the well-cared-for blade hanging from his belt.

"I can understand that kind o' compel too. For me, tis a call back the clan. A desire to live embraced by it's traditions once again. I would give a great deal to have that back"

He let out a "WHOOP!" when Ghere produced the pitons. He looked up at the height of the wall and the gate then, and gulped.

"That look to be a fair climb. If ye fall, it could well kill ye..." and he looks with concern at his newfound companion.

Ghere winked. "Oh, I suspect they will take an interest fast enough when I start hammering pitons into the gate."

Torymyn barked out a soft laugh, and "Likely enough"

"Been on a few escalades in my time" Ghere said conversationally, setting his first piton all of four foot off the ground, the gate booming with each of the swift pair of blows. "People always seem to think it is about speed. It isn't." He set another piton parallel to it "If your archers are any good they will keep" two more pitons went in at six foot off the ground "the embrasures swept and if they aren't you are fucked anyway. It's" Ghere settled his coil of rope around his neck, fixed the end of it to his first piton then took a hitch round the second, led it up to his third and across to his fourth, creating two rungs of a rope ladder and handrail up the gate. "about getting all of your people safely up the obstacle at much the same time." He stepped up onto the first rung, and began setting the next pair of pitons.

Any interest from the guards yet?
This message was last edited by the player at 04:02, Fri 02 Oct 2015.

Torymyn looked on, and nodded as Ghere spoke. "Aye. Tis not the swiftest axe but the surest that cleaves deep.".

He reached out a hand and helped to steady Ghere while the human worked on the higher pitons while standing on the higer rungs of the ladder.

"That's a fine idea, building a ladder out of rope and pitons. I'll remember it."

The gate opens, slowly, just a bit. One of the guards, a short pale big-nosed fellow aptly named Shortly, peeks out to see what the fuck you are doing there. Being the guy who usually draws the shortest straw, it's his usual duty. The other guards are on top of the three-metre wall the gate is built into, well protected and ready to throw down spears and rocks should there be trouble.

"Why are you... hmmm. Nevermind." Shortly has an aristrocratic accent, which is strange, because he is a simple guardman. He is also quite good at looking unfazed by the weird things mercenaries do. "If you'll climb down from there, I'll open the gate so you can come through."

Boros is having a snack in the small square on the other side of the gate. He grunts something through a mouthful of onions and cheese, and points to a large basket labeled "Kobold Heads". Finally, he swallows and washes it down with applewine.

"Good job. Each kobold head turned in is rewarded by ten copper in the town hall. You can take the rest of the day off and get settled in. Questions?"

Ghere grinned, reversing his hammer to recover his pitons as he climbed down as easily as he had gone up. "My thanks Good Sir" he told Shorty with reflex politesse.

He nodded understanding of Boros's words, although if the man expected them to take orders from him Ghere expected a contract, paid in advance. There was no need to be uncivil though.
"Am I to take it that the city provides room and board for adventurers?"
"I would appreciate directions to this town hall and to the Temple of Tempus."

Sixty measly coppers? That's it? Rurik frowned upon hearing the bounty that they would be paid for their work.

No wonder these people have a problem with monsters overrunning their city, considering that rate of pay. 'Tis a good thing that room and board is provided, else we'd soon be naught but skin and bones. Why, with three stout Dwar amongst us, we'll consume that much in drink alone afore these Humans can say "Jack Flash". I suppose that's our fault, though, for undertaking a job without settling on the terms aforehand.

When Boros asked if there were any questions, Rurik quickly responded "Aye."

Then, evidencing a typical Dwarven sense of order and organization, he numbered his questions. "One. Is that axe o' yourn just highy polished, or is it actually silvered? And if 'tis silvered, who is the smith here in town who can do work of that quality?"

"Two. Over in the slums, we ran into a creature who, although she took the form of a Human female, could melt away as if she were a column of smoke, an' whom we could scarce wound with our weapons. I named her the 'Smoke Ghost', in part because of the color of her cloak, although we do not know her true form. She -- it -- nearly drained the life from Ghere, here -- but then simply dissolved away, passing through that north wall o'er in the slums. I feel certain that this is not the first time that she has appeared. Tell us about her."

OOC: I assume that Rolf would have shown the generic marketplace to the adventurers during the original tour of New Phlan, so I have not had Rurik inquire about that. If that was not the case, please have Boros mention the marketplace as well (to save me from having to ask additional questions). Thanks! :)
This message was last edited by the player at 14:57, Fri 02 Oct 2015.

Brak follows along, clearly a bit uncomfortable with the prospect of sleeping in doors.

He takes little interest in the loot gathered from the kobolds, "My share can go into a common fund," he counts out 4 pieces of copper, which he deposits into the first alms box he sees in Phlan.

He lets out a belch, and scratches his neck, "Positive we don't want to camp somewhere? I'm sure I can find a cozy cave to curl up in somewheres," regardless of the answer he sticks with the largest segment of the group.

Torymyn nods to his companions.

He bows slightly to Brak, "Thank ye again fer binding me wounds in battle. I'm off to the barracks."