volsh snarls/laughs at the clumbsy attacks and lashes out with his own on the one to his right.

Actions: Full Attack
07:46, Today: Volsh son of Vor rolled 24,10,15,11 using D20+11,d8+6,D20+11,d8+6 ((13,4,4,5)).
Assuming both hit, that's 21 damage, though it's more than likely only 10

Outside the Jade Rose Inn



Bruenor's fierce attack slices the undead's throat, and its soggy head thuds to the cobblestones, its body dropping to its knees, then sprawling, a moment later.



Thunder rips at the leg of the one remaining undead, though cannot quite drive to to ground!



With Thunder distracting the last undead, Widowmaker plunges in twice, and then thrice, spewing rotten gore as the final undead falls with a sickening death rattle!



Streets quiet once more, Haazheel heads off towards the road up the hill.  Rand, seeing Haazheel wander off with a weasel on his shoulder and an owl flying overhead, calls out to his benefactors.

"Uh... Haazheel went off towards the hill with a weasel on his shoulder?" he says uncertainly.
--

Woodview - Firvian's Estate



Dellas keeps his ears open, examining more books and curios upon the shelves.  Some of the quills and pens in cases on the walls are marked with various names, some with accompanying documents, and he realizes that these are writing utensils used in famous writings, such as notable books, treaties, decrees, and proclamations.  Several books shelved near the cased quills are various histories, likely meant to give context to the artifacts.  While some of the pens of various books, monographs, or folios are fairly mundane, some of the treaties and proclamations were signed by fairly exotic items, such as feathers from phoenixes, thunderbirds, steel shrikes, and radiant peacocks, or pens made from exotic hardwoods with unusual colors or fantastic patterns.  There is even one exceptionally large case that holds a roc feather, four feet long, apparently used in signing a treaty with a cloud giant tribe on the northern border of Low'verok some five hundreds years ago.



Firvian looks rather skeptical at Averdante's claim, but at the mention of the inscription, he relaxes slightly and opens the book with gloved hands, showing the front pages with no dedication.

"I'm afraid you're on a wild eagle chase, in this case.  But Isfaran Vardun is a man of many talents when it comes to finding rare things, so perhaps he is the one you need to speak to.  He captains a ship, The Throne, out of Port Xialar, though truth be told he is more merchant than sailor.  He was supposed to be due by week's end at the latest, so you would not have too terribly long to wait, if you need to speak to him," Firvian says, closing the tome gently.

--

The Secret Cove



The sight of the wolves made the boss freeze into stillness.  He seemed to very much believe that Narthian could have him ripped to shreds in a heartbeat, too much so to even consider lying; he had spoken the truth of those who had passed him stolen goods!

"As long as there's a fast trip elsewhere once we're done.  I don't fancy being the butt of another's anger, aye?" he says, slowly rocking his feet to free himself from the sticky tanglefoot bag goo."

-





Farian's cry, along with Lantamori's threat, plus a thud from the trail ahead that sounded like an axe hitting wood, caused the commotion ahead to stop. After a moment, Sir Aberlayne's voice emerges from the fog.  "Silly clunch tripped and fell and damn near knocked himself out."

She appears a moment later, dragging Buno behind her, his hands tied with the sleeves of his shirt in crude bindings.  "I don't think he's in much danger of dying, but he's going to have the grandmother of all headaches, I think.  Where's the boss fellow?"
This message was last edited by the GM at 08:56, Tue 03 Aug 2021.

Bruenor chuckled as he strode forward.
"That sounded almost dirty when you say it like that. "
He looked over towards the hill and shrugged
"If this area is clear of danger,  perhaps we should follow our small friend,  in case he needs help?"

Lantamori slowed to a stop and returned the arrow she'd selected to her quiver.  She wasn't sure she knew who the boss was at this point.

"Back up to the hut, then?" she asked.

A howl of triumph lances the night as the now wolfman form of volsh tips his head back and spreads his clawed hands wide. His body begins to shrink as the howl plays out until it is just another man in the midst of a primal scream. Suddenly realizing what just happened, he looks around nervously for anyone that might think him a beast to put down.

"Yes," Farian replies to Lantamori. "I fear that it may be too late to catch the boss, though. Surely there is a back door. If only we could have brought Thunder to track and chase." She helps Aberlayne drag Buno back to the hut.

"I think that I can guarantee that," Narthian says. "Get yourself free, then let's go back to the front."

Dante sighs, and nods his head. "Thank you. I'll check my captain's schedule, and look for this Vardun," he tells Firvian. "With luck I won't have to backtrack too far this time to find the right trail."

Streets of Rooton



Casting about for further signs or sounds of danger, Bruenor peers into the thick, muffling mist.  There are some distant sounds of people, though it's hard to tell if it's revelry or something else.  But no screaming, at the least.  Most tellingly, the prince's sword has stopped flaming, meaning no undead are near.



Rand chuffs out a small laugh at Bruenor's comment, and leans forward, hands on his knees.  He's still breathing hard from all the excitement, though the stink of rotting, waterlogged flesh has him regretting his deep breaths quickly.  He stands back up and swallows a few times to keep his dinner down.  "That was amazing to watch, all of you!  I've never seen things like that before. Does your sword always burn, Bruenor?  Were they hunting you?  Volsh, do you have druid magic?  Are you a wolf warrior?" he blurts out all at once.

Volsh, you note that with the sudden silence, the cook of the Jade Rose Inn tentatively, poker-first, opens the door and cautiously looks around.  He covers his nose at the stench from the inert undead, but looks around wide-eyed at the carnage.  He nods solemnly at Volsh, Bruenor, and Rand, giving them a salute with his poker.

"You boys all right?  Anyone hurt?  Damn, you must have fought like ten devils to kill those horrible things!"

If anyone indicates they need some tending to their injuries, the cook and barkeeper will provide fresh herb poultices.  (There are five available, each will heal 1d4 damage.)

Thunder sneezes and shakes his head to rid himself of as much of the nasty taste of undead blood as possible, and paws a bit at the mess at his feet.  In the thin light from the Jade Rose Inn a glint of metal can be seen on some of the bodies.

A cursory search of the dead reveals some salvageable goods: a pair of electrum bracers with a stormcloud etching inset with deep blue stones as raindrops, a fishing net made of glittering golden wire that seems curiously untouched by the rot, a slightly pink rubbery pouch (sealed tightly enough to be waterproof) that contains a tightly-packed ball of pepper wrapped in linen and a dozen rough-cut gems, a gold ring with sparrows inlaid in green jade around the band, an alligator-hide scrollcase with two parchment scrolls still inside, and an enameled amulet that resembles five twisting snakes in a star-like formation each in a different color of aqua, purple, goldenrod, chartreuse, and mauve.

Haazheel, as you follow the directions provided by Vish, you soon realize you're headed for the road that leads to the clifftops overlooking Rooton.  As you head further away from the inn, you see what looks like uniformed men dragging away bodies by their heels.  Vish shudders, as a curdling of the mist brings a renewed scent of rot to the air before it disappears into salt and seaweed.  Above you, you can see the far-off lit windows of the larger homes in what is apparently a prime place to build.  A moment into your contemplation, you hear a peculiar grating cry waft through the night.  Prreet!

--

Woodview - Firvian's Estate



"Hopefully not, and I wish you luck in your endeavors," Firvian says.  He sets the book aside in a case, closes it, and removes his gloves before lifting his glass in a toast.  "To books, to luck, and to family," he says.

"May they never rot!" the Lady says with a bit of a chuckle, lifting her glass as well.  Pelas only shakes his head, but smiles and raises his glass as well.

"Vardun is a man who drives a sharp bargain, but he is able to obtain many wonderous things. He knows a great many people, so I do hope that he, or one of his associates, will be able to find your family's tome," Firvian says, after he takes a sip of his wine.

Averdante, Prreet gives you a mental picture of Rooton, as seen from the wall of Woodview.  His sharp eyes spy a moving figure near the start of the road that climbs into the hills, a large bird shadowing their every move.  It seems there may be one or more folks making the trek up out of the city yet tonight.

Dellas, as you consider the contents of the library, you feel a faint tug on your bond with Vish.  He is with friends, and seems to slowly be drawing nearer.

--

The Secret Cove



"Likely so," Sir Aberlayne said, sighing as she picked up Buno's collar to drag him along.  "The boss, the one in a cloak, darted back in the hut.  I was hoping either you or maybe Narthian had gotten him cornered, if our druidic friend had managed to shadow us.  Though maybe Buno knows more than he lets on."  She shoots the semi-conscious man an annoyed glare, and hauls him back towards the hut, one hand on her axe.



Sir Aberlayne is grateful when Farian helps her with some of the burden.  "Well, if he ran fast enough, maybe he left some clues or even some of the things we were looking for behind.  Let me tie these miscreants up more securely, and I'll watch them while you see what is to be seen." she says.

Sir Aberlayne, once they get Buno back to where the treefolk are, will tie them up more securely, back-to-back-to-back, and stand over them, hand on her axe.

The hut is still pleasantly lit, and there is a faint hint of voices coming either from within it or behind it.  Those that take a look through the doorway can see a room full of crates, kegs, firkins, and barrels, along with a simple stove and cot with some bags shoved under it.  The torches along the wall burn with a peculiar golden light not quite like flames.  There's a faint animal scent, along with wine, burned food, and earth.



The boss takes a few moments to wrest himself free of the sticky stuff, eyes on the wolf the whole time.  He then backs away through the doorway, where Narthian can follow.  Inside the place is stuffed full of crates, barrels, kegs, and firkins, lit by odd golden torches, a simple living area and kitchen set up nearer the front of the room.  If any of the crates or other containers had harbor tax stamps at any point, they've been scraped away, though the original seal from the vintner or crafting guild are sometimes visible.

"We don't have to search through all of the, do we?" the elf asked, seeing how full the room was.  She didn't bother lowering her voice as she walked into the hut as she wanted to discover how the voices would react.

"Perhaps it's time to bring in the local authorities?"

Lantamori walked over to the wines to see if any of them were familiar from her recent tasting.

Bruenor gave Rand a lopsided grin.
"The Prince's Sword can burst into flame when Undead are near. It's the perfect weapon for such magical filth.  It can give you a warning about them drawing near, and the flame does extra damage."
He took the valuables from the walking dead, burning bodies afterward to make sure none of the dead get any smart ideas about rising again.

OOC:  I'll take the look for now, unless someone wants to divy it up now.

Narthian only observes the loot from the corners of his eyes, staying focused instead on The Boss. "My, you have been a busy lot." He prods the boss to keep moving, knowing that his summoned wolf won't hang around for long.

---

Thunder stays near Volsh and Bruenor, gently licking his wounds.

volsh stammers at the boy's questions, but is able to mutter out a "No," before he moves to stroke Thunder's fur and check the wolf for injury. Giving calming words and noises to the canine, he'll use his offered poultice on Thunder. Wearily he then gains his feet and helps with looting and removing the rotten bodies out of the street and into a pile for burning. "We don't want the dead in the water, it'll foul it and drive off fish we want and attract those we don't." This is said not out of knowledge of the sea, but rather knowledge of the wild. Dead bodies attracted all manner of scavengers and predators aren't far behind.

Farian wanders deeper into the smuggler's base, holding her mace high to spread the light. She ignores the plunder for the most part, looking for the back door. "We may have to sort through this at some point," she tells Lantamori. "There's no telling where some of the missing items are."

Haazheel keep walking the way Vish wants to go. He "asks" Mystique about the noise, and he turns 360 degrees to look up and out.

Dante lifts his own glass at Firvian's toast, and starts to take a sip -- then stops as the Lady's addition to it startles a huff of laughter from him. Giving her a nod, he manages to take a drink when the hazard of inadvertantly inhaling the wine is past.

"Thank you. If this Vardun can direct me further, my venture to sea will still yield success," Dante said. Vardun sounded like more than simply a fence; perhaps he was one of the core people helping to direct the smuggler's ring.

Sharing his appreciation for the information Prreet provided to him, Dante isn't too concerned about it yet. Unless all those individuals were converging on Firvian's home, they were probably not coming up to ambush Dellas and he. Still, he asks Prreet to continue watching, in case that appeared to be happening. I'm fine in here, as yet, he advises Prreet silently. I think he has the stolen book, but he was a bit suspicious of me. I'm not very good at outright lies! No one's paying us to get it back, anyway.
This message was last edited by the player at 21:07, Fri 20 Aug 2021.

Dellas smiled as the bond increased, he sent a sense of calm and warmth to Vish. He raised his glass in the toast but continued to scan the book titles. Most interesting he thought.

The Streets of Rooton

The staff of the Jade Rose Inn can provide firewood so that the industrious Bruenor, Volsh, and Rand (with Thunder guarding and assisting) can burn the undead.  It takes perhaps an hour to get the fire well-started, and despite the waterlogged condition of the corpses, they burn with ease.

Bruenor can take the valuable items for the nonce, and the kitchen staff and provide their saviors with water to pour over themselves to get rid of the worst of the stink and to rinse off the things they found.

Rand questions Bruenor and Volsh a bit more about their travels and what battles they've been in.  Clearly his spirits are still rather high from the night's excitement, though the labor of toting and burning of the undead makes it clear that the life of an adventurer is not all glamorous.

"Now what do we do?" he asked, the heat of the flames drying him off slightly.  "Go find Haazheel?  Or the others?  Or do we stay here in case they come to find us?  Or do we go hunt for more undead?"

-



From Mystique, Haazheel gets the feeling that Prreet is likely near where Averdante is, and Dellas was with Averdante.  And Vish is presumably taking him to Dellas.  So therefore Prreet has spied Haazheel, or perhaps Mystique, and is letting him know where he is.  Haazheel does recall that there were several estates on the hills above Rooton, so at least this will narrow it down to one!

As he draws close to the road that goes up to the hillside estates,  he can hear and soon see a large carriage, pulled by two horses, trotting back down the road and into town.  The driver is concentrating on the road and what little is revealed by the lanterns, while a treefolk with a staff-sling crouches next to him, eying the side of the road warily.  He notices Haazheel and calls, "Whoa up!"

The driver reins in his horses a length or so past Haazheel, and the treefolk calls to him.  "What passes?  Are the streets sane again?"

--

Woodview - Firvian's Estate



Prreet gives the impression of a feline shrug.  Coin matters little to him, though a little glory (which can lead to admiration, petting, and appropriate amounts of worship) is not necessarily a bad thing.  Typical cat philosophy, really.

Firvian nods at Averdante's comment, and smiles at the Lady's.  "I do hope your searches bear fruit.  I met Vardun some five years ago or so, and he's become only more reliable as time has gone on.  He's gotten far better at finding what is likely to tickle his customers' fancy."



Checking the shelves for more entertainment, he spies several histories of various wars and conflicts, nestled side-by-side with those describing treaties, trade journeys, and explorations of the lands and isles outside of Low'verok.  Then he notices a rather shiny book, the cover made of two large concave red...  For a moment he was going to say "shells", but a second look at them makes him think that these are not painted shells, but instead two large dragon scales!  The book has hinges, rather than a spine, and the cover is written in Draconic, bearing the title of, Elemental Lords - Masters of Magic  It is latched by a green mental lock that seems to be firmly fastened shut.

Vish gives you the impression that others are near your friend.  Vish feels no fear yet, but he holds himself wary.

--

The Secret Cove



The Boss steps inside, out of sight of the summoned wolf for now, tugging his hood against the glare of lights from the hut.  He moves towards the front of the hut, stopping short as he nearly runs into Farian and Lantamori.



The Boss glares at Lantamori underneath his hood, giving the hint of dark eyes and complexion and a bitter unhappiness.  His hands are tucked up into his sleeves and his shoulders are slumped under his cloak.

"There's no bloody need for that!  I'll tell you where the bits ye want are!  Getting sos a man can't make a dishonest livin' anymore..." the Boss snaps irritably.

A few firkins of wine do look familiar - Wine-Dark Sea, a rather robust vintage of fortified wine, amongst the same kind that were going to the Woodwode Estate.



The Boss does not look pleased at the thought of a priest pawing through the stack of goods here.  Considering the varied nature of everything assembled, the items may come from, and be going to, many different people.  That is a lot of tempers to soothe should the Boss prove to have lost someone's pretties, or profit.

"You should count yourself lucky to be alive at all, and give serious consideration to banishing the shadow from your life," Farian virtually spits at the dark and selfish soul before her. "Now, hands where we can see them. We already had at least one misunderstanding that lead us down this path. Let there be no more. Force will be met with force. Lies will be met with Justice."

The elf tapped idly on the name scrawled on the side of the firkin.  "Woodwode..." she said aloud trying to recall why it sounded familiar.  She repeated it a few more times before she recalled why.

"Woadwood likes Belorn's Brews is what I've heard," she said decisively.

"Tell us about this," she said, looking pointedly at the beaten scoundrel as she tapped once more on the firkin of wine.

In reply to Dungeon Master (msg # 426):

Bruenor,  pausing to rest aftrr his labors, both heroic and mundane,  nodded to Rand
"A fine idea.  We need to find Haazheel, but if we see more of these undead bastards, they take priority"
He looked around to make sure his big barbarian friend was still with them before heading off to find the halfling

Haazheel replies I think the undead plus whatever are eliminated or almost so. The cause...that will be important and interesting.

Narthian sends the summoned wolf back into the forest before The Boss can see it fade. Otherwise he's happy to let Farian and Lantamori handle the inquisition. He stands a few paces back, taking a few moments to switch from his bow to his spear, holding it ready to prevent an escape back out the hatch.

In reply to Bruenor Sedricson (msg # 429):

Catching the other man's eye, he nods in agreement and follows.

Inclining his head to Firvian, Dante tells him, "Thank you. I hope so, too. Is this Vardun base here, or at one of the larger ports? If my ship can't stay the week, I'd like to try and look him up later. Pretty as this place is, I'll get bored if I'm stranded here much longer than a week, I think. I'm not sure how flexible my ship's schedule is."

Glancing over, he notices that Dellas seems to have found an interesting book as well. Leaving him to it, he looks at Firvian and the Lady. "So whatever happened in town tonight isn't all that uncommon? The response was well organized and timely, and no one seemed overly distressed by it. I've heard about the mists here stealing folk away in the night, but seems you have other issues here to deal with as well."