Pleased they managed to keep the wizard from stealing Pearl away, Dante rather envies the guard who took a sap to said wizard's head. He'd always known wizards were dangerous, but hadn't expected that they could be annoying pests, too.

The subsequent events were interesting, and he answered the questions put to him with his usual blunt honesty. The news that their search for Pearl had uncovered a ring of smugglers was definitely food for thought. To the question of assisting the city further in clearing it out, he nodded. "We are part of a larger group, but if we are here and not otherwise contracted, I, and likely anyone else available, would be willing to assist."

The medal was an unexpected reward, something he was not quite sure what to do with, but Prreet's satisfaction with getting his own medal was oddly endearing. Dante's opinion of the magistrate went higher, on a personal level, for that simple consideration.

As they left the offices, Dante eyed the sun's height and told Farian, "After we notify La Dorva ilk'Vale, I will have to leave you. I'm due at the Grove at sundown."

Surprised by the newcomer, Lantamori slashed wildly back at the Derro as she tried to avoid being caught between the two.  One on one, or one on two, wasn't her strong point and she hoped the others could break through quickly.

OOC: Lantamori rolled 8 using 1d20+6 with rolls of 2.  Silver Dagger Attack.

"I will be happy to deliver the news on your behalf - I wouldn't want you to be late!" Farian offers. "But perhaps it is better we do so together. Let's hurry so I can perform my dusk prayers on time as well!"

The Adventurers' Guild



Narthian and Thunder can quickly bring down a too-slow water buffalo, from where Sir Aberlayne will cut a quick chunk of meat to sear for herself (giving Valiant a careful measure of grain in slow portions) so everyone's hunger can be assuaged.  Everything hungrily eaten, the four can repair back to the Guildhall, where Guildmaster Karaja will look up what the rest of the Leafblade Company is up to.

"Lantamori met up with a few temporaries to deal with a missing person, Averdante and Farian went to deal with a missing skeleton.  Gather there were some complications, but they should be back soon," she'll say, consulting her notes.

OOC: Team Skeleton and Team Mushroom are a bit behind the rest of y'all, but we'll resolve that fairly soon.

--

The Supple Hourglass

Averdante and Farian quickly take themselves to the merchant's district and back to the Supple Hourglass, where La Dorva ilk'Vale is waiting behind her counter, polishing a glass ornament.  When the two of you come into the shop, she puts it down upon a cloth, her expression one of hope.  "I say, have you had any luck?"

--

The Derro Caves



Lantamori's attack goes wide, and the derro retaliates with a slice at her arm.  The wound burns, and Lantamroi can see something smeared along the blade, but she doesn't feel any other ill effects.  Yet.  The old woman at Lantamori's back shouts out a word, and Lantamori feels a welter of doubt shake her. 

Even as that happens, Pelskin appears in the doorway, spattered in dark blood, and stabs Lantamori's derro in the back, making him gasp with pain.  "Thulon's working out some anger, methinks!  Ooolorn's coming!  Get after this one, quick!"

"Yes! By the skill of Averdante and Prreet we were able to prevent Pearl being smuggled out of the city!" Farian presents the receipt and explains the tale, looking for Averdante to fill in his own comments where her knowledge of his movements is incomplete. She also returns the bits of left over construction material. "These were most helpful!"

With Pelskin's distraction, the elf stabbed the Derro with the silver dagger, but it's blade caught on a buckle producing much less damage than it could have.

OOC: Lantamori rolled 18 using 1d20+6-1 with rolls of 13.  Attack Derro with Pelskin Flank.
Lantamori rolled 4 using 3d6+d4+1-1 with rolls of 1,1,1,1.  Sneak Attack Damage, Silver Dagger.

Obligingly filling in where needed, Dante otherwise let Farian tell the story -- although when he did speak, he didn't stint on sharing how much aid Prreet had been. He could still feel the cat's contented satisfaction with the medal now tied around his neck with a bit cord. Later, Dante had promised Prreet, he'd buy a ribbon, or perhaps some colored leather cording, to display it more attractively.

The Derro Caves



Lantamori's dagger makes a shallow wound, but pins the wounded derro long enough for Pelskin to finish what she started.  He makes a strangled gasp as he falls, the jagged blade tumbling from his hand.  Behind Lantamori, the young half-orc, seeing rescue at hand, heaves himself up and headbutts the old woman, making her screech with rage.  In the doorway, Ooolorn arrives and stretches out their tentacles.  There's a flash of bright light in front of the derro's nose, and she looks somewhat dazed.

"Thulon's getting the last of them.  Quickly, get her before she recovers!" Ooolorn burbles.

--

The Supple Hourglass

La Dorva smiles in relief, takes the parts and the paperwork from the magistrate back, and clasps both of your hands in turn.  "Thank you both for your diligence and care!  It was such an odd case that I wasn't certain anyone was ever going to help me.  Please, here is your reward," she says.  She'll lift a small wooden coffer atop the counter and unlock it.  Inside is neatly labeled bags of coin and four smooth blue stone the size of a child's palm.  "Five hundred gold and four stones of far-speech.  These two here are paired, and these two here are paired.  If you have one, and your companion the other, all one has to do is say the command word."  She writes down the word "dorva-vale" and puts it in the coffer.  "Then a chime will sound, and you can speak for a minute and the sound will come from the stone, no matter if you are up to a hundred miles apart.  Quite useful when scouting, aye?"

Triumphant Return

After their travels to various religious sights, Narthian and Thunder, Sir Aberlayne and Valiant, Bruenor, Volsh, Haazheel, and Dellas all return to Port Lyalee.  As you do there is a bit of excitement running through the crowds, and from general gossip from the guards and people on the streets, you hear that there is a sensational trial about to happen for a wizard who was caught in some dastardly doings that will taking place in the next few days.

OOC: Due to the fact that time is weird, you guys are several days ahead of Lantamori, Averdante, and Farian, but they'll catch up quickly.

"We are glad to be of service. And doubtless these stones will be of huge service to our company! We do have members that tend to wander." Farian takes one set of paired stones, leaving the other for Averdante. She'll split the cash with Averdante later. And finally, report the completion of the mission to the guild master.

"I hope you have no further trouble of this sort," Dante tells the shopkeeper politely. "I'm pleased we were able to help." Accepting the other pair of stones, he adds, "Thank you."

Outside the shop, he tells Farian, "If it's needed, in the morning I can confirm with the guildmaster that we did, in truth, resolve this matter. I'm glad Prreet and I were able to help with this. I will see you back at the guildhall later, but right now I must head to the Grove."

With a nod of farewell, he heads off to meet with another priestess, for an entirely different manner of work.

Acting quickly, Lantamori threw her dagger at the remaining stunned Derro.

OOC: Lantamori rolled 19 using 1d20+8 with rolls of 11.  Thrown Dagger.
Lantamori rolled 4 using 1d4+2-1 with rolls of 3.  Silver Dagger Damage.

The Derro Caves



Lantamori's dagger strikes true, as does Pelskin's slingstone, and the young half-orc's slightly unsteady headbutt.  The old woman drops like a stone, collapsing over the altar and her victim, and the young half-orc sags back down in his bonds, eyes nearly crossing from the strikes.  Thulon appears in the doorway, cleaning his axe blades and looking satisfied.

"Crazy wretches never do know when to quit.  Oh-ho, you got the Mother Priestess!  Nice work!"  He goes and unsnaps the bonds from the half-orc and uses a couple of them to bind the old woman.  "Not dead yet, but on her way out.  I won't shed a tear."

The half-orc gasps out, "Shesh gonna killme. Wanna drag me t'dark little bit ata time. You shave-saved me!" he says, slurring his words.  Then he abruptly turns over, is violently sick on the far side of the altar, and passes out.

"Oh dear," Ooolorn says, and burbles over to him.  They put a tentacle on his face, and sort through some floating objects inside the water elemental before coming out with a jelly-like sphere that she squeezes between his lips.  "Healing potion.  Anyone else need one?"

--

Church of Ehlonna

Averdante and Prreet make their way to the Grove of Ehlonna as the sun westers and find Grove-Warden Shallan waiting for them, her large rabbit at her feat.  She has an array of tools of the arrow-maker's art arranged before her on a workbench that seemingly has grown from the wall, under an area that is somewhat open to the sky and will allow the moonlight to shine through.

"Welcome, fellow seeker.  You have a satisfied air about you.  A good hunt?" She smiles and pats at the mossy bench beside her for Averdante and Prreet to sit.  "We will have to work to finish preparing everything by the time the moon's light comes, and then we can begin our prayers."

Shallan will show Averdante how to cut and place the glass heads so that they don't shatter, the special kinds of silver fletching and wire used to feather the arrows, the special silvery stones used to hone the shafts straight.  The two of them work diligently and well through into the darkness, letting the faint light of shielded, cool blue moon-lamps give their eyes enough light to see.  As the moon begins to rise, Shallan has Averdante pause so they can recite the prayers: for Ehlonna's honor, for the hunter's eyes, for nature's fury and nature's embrace, for moonlight and madness, sorrow and sadness, for true hearts and noble causes, for good deeds and noble acts, "May these arrows fly true," she concludes, as the moonlight bathes the arrows, making them glow with more than ordinary light.

--

The Adventures' Guildhall

Farian reports their findings to the Guildmaster, and Karaja gives an impressed hum as she records their deeds.  "Clever, getting the city on your side.  Most of us go around the law and only use it when they have to, and that can get the Watch bent out of shape more often than not.  They know they need us for the weird things their own people can't attend to, but it doesn't mean they like it.  You got yourself a good mark in their book."

--

The Temple of Pelor

Deeds done at the Guildhall, Farian repairs to the Temple of Pelor for sunset services and practice.  Over the next week she can work with the temple armorers to fashion and imbue with Pelor's favor a fine glowing mace that looks as if a shard of the sun lies within, and a good solid shield that gleams as if sunlight always falls upon its surface.  Used together, Farian now presents a picture of a noble Peloran warrior.

During practice, she spars with Sir Kovi for a day or two before he has to leave for his own duties, and the trainer, a Brother Ladran, asks her to work with some of the senior clerical acolytes who will be taking their final vows soon.  "They're in need of a little practical training from someone who's been in the field, and they've already heard my stories so often they can recite them from heart.  Give them a surprise or two to keep them on their toes, and I'll be back to give you a proper bout once I've gotten the sun babes on their rounds!"  'Sun babes', Farian knows, are a humorous nickname for young acolytes who have only taken their first vows of service and are likely only on their first exercises.

During prayers and services, Farian is asked if she has the time to join the efforts of their healing service to aid in treating and diagnosing the sick and injured poor of the city.  The temple knows that Farian will be going on her own callings from Pelor soon enough, and they're pleased that He has brought her into this temple for whatever time is allotted her.

--

Market Row

Bruenor scours the markets shrewdly, seeking good protection for himself.  He watches for shops and stalls with the mark of the Mages' or Artificers' Guild, knowing that they have particular standards that they uphold, as well as checking any swap requests that come in on the message board at the Adventurers' Guildhall.  After a day of comparing prices and quality, he can find a good-looking amulet that will make his skin harder to get through.

"Gives you the tiniest touch of dragon scales, and even makes it easier to pick up hot pans and pots off a campfire!" the seller, a smiling human man named Midren with a neat array of necklaces and broaches for sale.  One of the proprietors at the Three Brothers, he is the one in charge of enchanted objects, as opposed to jewelry crafting (Sibrin) or reconstruction and repair (Valin).  The necklace itself is on a sturdy steel chain, and has a small segment of red dragon scale mounted in silver and gold in an elegant but not ostentatious display.  "Two hundred platinum, that is, an utterly fair bargain guaranteed by the Mages' Guild for such items."

Also he seeks something to aid in healing himself even in the midst of combat.  Recalling an old heroic ballad he heard as a boy about a magical girdle which kept a dragon-slaying hero hale through harrowing adventures, he makes some inquiries.  While nothing like it seems to be on the market around here, there is someone he speaks to who thinks they could concoct it.  However, that person is Sister Jandra Page of the Church of Boccob, the god of magic.

Normally that would be the last place Bruenor would go, but Jandra had been at Three Brothers and overheard his explanation and inquiries to Midren.  She had explained her interest and her own skills in the crafting of magical items.  "It sounds like an interesting challenge.  Doable, I believe.  It's just not something that has been done before, or certainly not recently.  It would be most amusing to research.  Would you care to come to the temple to discuss it further?"

--

Volsh, Dellas, and Haazheel can also tend to whatever selling, buying, crafting, drinking, eating, partying, pranking, writing, scribing, or shenanigans they need to over the next day or so...

--

The Adventurers' Guildhall - Part Deux

In reply to Dungeon Master (msg # 333):

Bruenor is intrigued by the amulet ot dragon scale, but while pondering options he agrees to accompany Sister Jandra Page to the Boccob temple.  He's not sure if a cleric of magic is better or worse than a secular practitioner, but he's curious.

Farian is happy to serve in the temple as she awaits the arrival of the company. She puts in workman's hours when coming to providing healing aid, but relishes her opportunities in the sparring grounds. She takes pride creating more bruises then she receives, and makes light of those she takes. "Pain is in the mind, where it becomes a weapon of your enemy. As long as the arm can swing or the leg can kick, give pain no notice," she teaches her sparring partners. She especially enjoys the weight and feel of her new tools of the trade, the results of her recent gift from the Sun Father. If it a sin to have pride in such works, she swims in that sin without regret.

Volsh settled back into the city and spent the time that first night trying to bond himself to the new totem he'd received from the werebear. While bonding the totem, he practiced the exercises that Elder Orani had shown him on their journey to and from the cave tombs.

The next day he set out to stroll the markets with Bruenor, but stayed put when the man decided to go have a custom item of healing commissioned for himself. Volsh stayed and browsed the market stalls.

"Can you wake him up?" Lantamori asked the... Ooolorn.  "I want him to tell us his name.  I wasn't expecting to find a half-orc and I want to make sure he's the one.

"Thulon, Pelskin," she said, turning to the other two, "make sure he's the only one they dragged down here and collect anything they won't need anymore.

"And if you find a better way back out, that would be great."

She wasn't looking forward to getting past those fungi on the way back out.

When Narthian is rejoined with the rest of the company, he tells them of Rue's sacrifice to create Volsh's charm. "It was a near thing, but Sir Aberlayne and I ensured his well being soon after." Then he tells of Rue's issue with the Grig. "We do not want to destroy it, sprites are not evil. However, it may make itself hard to find. The stories of my conclave say that Grigs can disappear, or look like some other creature. So we must be ready to find it, then persuade it."

Knowledge, Nature (fey): 07:18, Today: Narthian Goldleaf rolled 18 using 1d20+10 ((8)). -- Knows basic information

Temple of Boccob



Sister Jandra Page guides Bruenor to the Temple of Boccob, a tall edifice of stone, elegantly proportioned, with fine stained glass windows depicting the Eye of Boccob and what seem to be various geometric shapes in various colors.

"Spell effects," Sister Page comments about the windows.  "Each classical spell does have a very specific shape, size, and effect that is very quantifiable, and represented by symbols that allow the user to shape their magic in that particular way.  A book that is about herbalism will not suddenly turn into a book on horses, and the symbols that create a spell of shield will not randomly become light.  Learning the symbols is like learning another language, albeit one that can be recognized by magicians with no common verbal language..."  She pauses and clears her throat slightly.  "My apologies, I am waxing verbose on a topic you did not come here to discuss!  This way."

She will lead you past the open hall where any worshiper can pause to pray, lit with glowing, floating lights to illuminate the holy symbol behind the altar, past several office-like rooms where those who wish to research or have things researched can come to seek knowledge, and finally to various individual rooms.  Sister Page opens up one to reveal what is half an office and half a workshop.  Glass-fronted bookshelves stand along one wall above a covered desk, while a stone workbench has shelves of various powders, liquids, and dried herbs along the back, and various tools and apparatuses lining it neatly.

"Now, you were talking about a belt that imbued one with a limited amount of healing magic, like that of Gregori the Mountain-Slayer?  One that can be used by anyone, yes?"

--

The Mushroom Grove



"Let me try. I know a little of the healer's art," Ooolorn says.  They go over to the young half-orc and run a wet hand over their head, examining him for any other injuries.  "He's been poisoned, but it's run its course.  He'll recover in time.  Starved, beaten, thirsty, and then he went and used his head as a battering ram.  If someone can find some clean water, that'll be what he needs most.  Come on, lad, come around now..."  After a few minutes of coaxing, and finding and administering the clean contents of a leather waterskin, the young man comes around.

Ooolorn shifts off mostly to his peripheral vision, knowing they don't look like anything the boy has likely seen.  "You're safe, the derro are dead.  What your name?"

"Ki'kallan Lull.  Oow..."  He puts a hand to his aching head, and looks around at the dead derro, looking relieved and angry and traumatized.  "They were going to drive me mad.  They tricked and poisoned my shriekers, dragged me down, tied me up, I didn't know what was real...  Are you real?"

Thulon heads back out with a grim smile, axe dull under a spatter of gore, dragging the two bodies from the chamber before the boy can see much, and Pelskin follows.  Pelskin is back first, about five minutes later.

"One better route up, tight but doable for the boy and Thulon, easy for the rest of us.  Comes out under a log in the grove.  A couple more routes deeper down, and I shoved something noisy in front of them in case anyone else decides to come for a visit," Pelskin says.

Thulon is back a little later, looking vaguely disappointed, but bearing a rough sack.  He plops it down and nods sharply.  "Put the corpses down one of their holes.  I know a friend or two in town I can get to collapse this cavern... or open it.  Derro hate the sun, and I won't stand for 'em."

--

The Market Square



Old Rue was currently a bachelor who mostly made do for himself.  While clearly a capable outdoorsman, everyone liked a bit of leisure every now and then, and the old man had exhausted himself in aiding Volsh.  Also, he was courting, and even a tree-woman probably had things they liked as courting gifts.  Probably natural things?  Plants?  But at least Volsh could get the man food he didn't have to gather himself, spices that were only found here in Port Lyalee, blankets against the cold, clothes that were whole and sound, things that would be suitable for a chief's house, were he again in his old village.


--

The Temple of Pelor



Farian becomes a bit of a terror for the week she spends teaching and training the acolytes, and they learn some sharp lessons they will not soon forget.  Some are resentful, but one young woman does ask Farian some questions about adventuring life once she manages to learn a blocking maneuver to spare her some of the pain in her shin, if not her mind.

"How does one find a good adventuring group? It sounds very glamorous, but I know that the bard's songs don't often speak of lamed horses, week-long rains, and busted wagon axles, or hiking for weeks over hill and dale to find some strange beast.  What is the reality, between the songs and the worst imaginings of my imagination?" she asks.

--

The Adventurers' Guildhall, once everyone is back for the night




While Narthian waxes eloquent on what Old Rue did (and Sir Aberlayne adding to the story), Guildmaster Karaja has a message for Farian, Adverdante, Prreet, and the Leafblade Company, from Magistrate Hedlin.  It says as follows:



OOC:  You have about 4 days before the full moon.
This message was last edited by the GM at 08:34, Sun 17 Nov 2019.

In reply to Dungeon Master (msg # 339):
Temple of Boccob

Bruenor was grudgingly impressed with the architecture, the good, solid stone appealing to him.  He did not, however, know why he was getting a magic lecture like he was a prospective incoming student or somesuch
"....why, in the name of Fharlanghn's Foot Fungus, does.this woman think i want to hear all this?? ..." he thought to himself
Still, it was impolite to interrupt a church woman, even a long winded one.  Especially when he wanted something from her.
He remembered enduring many a rambling lecture and many an exaggerated story while being taught swordwork by his eccentric fencing tutor back at the castle.
When she essentially apologized, Bruenor was quick to be gracious and self effacing about it.
"No need to apologize, Sister.  Though I'll never have the head for magic as a vocation, I'll admit that I'm defying my upbringing by learning to respect the practitioners of the arcane arts.  Two of my Traveling Companions are wizards, and we've definitely come to rely on them. "

In the workshop, he put his hands on his hips, lips pursed in thought as he tried to choose his words carefully, so as to not look like a complete dolt around a lady.
"Yes, indeed, Sister.  My grasp on the...mechanics, for lack of a better word...is shaky, but a belt or other accessory that could be activated by the wearer, regardless of their magical talents, to provide quick healing, perhaps even in the heat of battle "

Volsh loaded up on supplies that he thought would be useful for one living in the wilds, things he thought would help out Old Rue, just in living but also in courting, then he spent some time wandering the shops looking for things that might be interesting.

Once he had finished his shopping, he headed back to the Guildhouse to re-group with everyone else.

"I do not know if I have time to help hunt down these smugglers. I would like to, but it is not worth the risk to any and all for me to be out when the moon changes and I do. I need to be with the sisters at the Ruby Conclave."
This message was last edited by the player at 18:38, Tue 12 Nov 2019.

"We're done here, then," Lantamori nodded to the others, wiping her dagger off on some moss.  "Pelskin, lead us out.  Thulon, help Ki'kallan.  Ooolorn and I will cover our rear.

"Do you have everything you came in with?" she asked the boy.  She still had her diadem out and flashed it around the room a final time before putting it on.  "We saw a basket outside."

Farian is unapologetic to those who take offense at a few bruises. Each bruise and scar is a lesson learned! And one must still be alive to appreciate their discomfort! To the curious acolyte, she offers a bit of advice. "Trust in Pelor's will! And just as importantly, in your own open eyes and ears! The light in a companion's soul will leak out from the cracks between their words and actions, that is how you can tell what is in their heart. So when you approach the guild, tell the master what you seek in companions, then watch and listen and pray. Oh! And lead! Set the example and show your companions the path to the Light!" She beams at her apprentice.

"Pelor will always show the way and put you on the path where you are needed. Which, if you choose to adventure, is everything you've imagined! Yes, there are long and dusty roads in cold and heat and rain under heavy loads of equipment. There are the dark terrors of the night that you will have to face - or contain! - until the tools are at hand for their destruction. And everything in between! The evening meal where your wizard decides to char the salted pork with a fire-hands spell, nearly setting the bedrolls on fire! Gaining the favor and thanks from a village or lord for your service. Dangling from a killer vine in the middle of a storm! Supporting a companion who is spooked by the potential of an enemy within their own order. Convincing a small god to reform rather then continue down a destructive path. I doubt that I have even begun to test the true limits of the possibilities yet!" She smiles broadly at the acolyte.

Narthian looks over the message, and says to Volsh, "From the wording on this message, I think that we can do both. The message asks for our availability, which would be following the next full moon if you ask me. And in those 4 days, we can deal with the grig. Who is our most gifted practical joker?"

"Is the grig on the way to the Ruby Conclave or some other direction once you get to the point you met up with Old Rue?" Volsh asked his eyes dancing back and forth a bit.

"I'm just... nervous. If our count of days are off... I don't want to leave a thing like that to chance. At the very least I can deliver all these supplies I got for Old Rue as thanks to him and then head up to the Conclave depending on how time allows."