OOC: Gee, five whole points for knowledge: local. What should you get for that roll?

Religion really isn't Logan's thing, and he isn't even in his home district so... Logan really doesn't recall seeing this holy symbol before, at least... not anywhere in the city. Bizarrely, he feels like he has seen something like it OUTSIDE the city, but... his one and only trip outside the city was to Kraken's Cove and that trip ended quickly with him being vivisected in the second room so where the frac did he see it outside the city?

OOC: That's what you get. More confusion :D

Anyway, don't let me down John, you have seen something like that symbol before in this game... Foreshadowing, remember?

On the tavern front Logan is able to think more clearly (surprise, surprise). He does in fact know of a tavern just around the corner. Bent Bertha's (owner and proprietor: Bertha) might be just the place to hunt down some more clues after his mother has been taken back to the safety of the shrine. If Logan dares facing the lady half-ogress with the hots for him that is.

Karthach gently escorts Tessera back into the carriage and with many wishes of luck to the young rogue heads back towards the better part of town. Logan is left standing outside the padlocked doors of the windowless 'church' in an unfamiliar part of the city.

Logan reluctantly enters into Bent Bertha's, though when he is halfway through the door it suddenly strikes him where he's seen that symbol before...when he died, and encountered the mysterious elf-like women in the afterlife, who seemed entirely too interested in what had happened to Tessara.  Logan shook his head, suddenly realizing he had been standing in the doorway for far too long.

He walked into the bar, putting enough coins on the counter for a drink, raising his head to smile sheepishly at the bartender.

What does it have to do with all that?  Exactly like that weapon I used in the afterlife.  I have to find out more about it.

Logan makes the short journey up past the Low Market and into Bent Bertha's, which is located in a dirty looking building wedged into the thin end of the triangular market place.

The large half-ogress is much as Logan remembers her - leaning up against the counter in her mostly empty bar (it is not yet midday and things are quiet) with a tankard in hand.

When Logan puts down the necessary coins she gives no sign of recognition, and merely slaps down a tankard on the table top and fills it with the grubby canal water that passes for beer in this place, before going out to the backroom. The half-elf figures he'll have to go through introductions again, but then leans to one side and catches sight of Bertha through the doorway - the giantess is straightening her hair in a cracked mirror hanging from a crooked nail in the cook-room. The rogue's heart sinks. She remembers him all too well.

The monstrous barmaid returns and fills her own tankard to the brim. "Pretty elf boy is back?" she states simply. "Drink!" she upends her tankard.

Yeah, you'll be needing to make drinking checks for each point of information you gain. Fail too many times and Logan will succumb to Bertha's 'charms'.

The mysterious church is location C2.
This message was last edited by the GM at 19:35, Sun 03 July 2016.

Logan tried hide his grimace, forcing his mouth into a grin instead.  "Nice to see you too, Bertha."

He picked up the tankard, watching the unappetizing liquid swirl around, and thinking of the feasts at the Vanderboren Estate.  Frak, I'm never going to be happy living in Shadowshore again...

Clearing away the thoughts, Logan swallowed the tankard and slammed it down, wincing as the liquid did uncomfortable things to his stomach.

He leaned forward across the bar, staring at Bertha and giving her what he hoped was a good smile.  Bertha, you know everything that goes on around here, don't you?  I mean, you get lots of people coming into this bar and drinking, and talking.  I'm sure they don't think you're listening, but I know better.  Ever hear anything about a temple down Fury Street? Called the Church of the Whirling Fury, with the sign of swords and a whirlwind on it?"

Fort Save?
15:24, Today: Logan rolled 6 using 1d20+2.  Fort Save.
This message was lightly edited by the player at 14:22, Thu 07 July 2016.

OOC: Yeah, it is a fort save. I checked and the save was DC15 last time, so we'd better use that again.

Logan has failed his first save and entered stage one inebriation. The fun stage.

Bertha tilts her head back and drains her tankard in one gulp.

"Yes, Bertha knows it. The church with no windows. People go in and out of it. A certain type of people..." She pauses to refill their tankards. "Drink!"

Logan briefly grabbed the counter as the drink hit him, harder than he expected.  Does my alcohol tolerance reset every time I die?

He shook his head and concentrated on trying to get information from Bertha before his beer-addled mind decided to involve itself in less productive pursuits.

"Yes, exactly!" Logan spluttered, not even needed to pretend to be interested.  "That's the one!  What sort of people have you seen going in and out?"

Logan's going to get rapidly drunk at this pace!
13:41, Today: Logan rolled 9 using 1d20+2.  Fort Save 2.

:D Logan enters stage II intoxication. Please make an additional DC15 fort save or take 1d8 points of non-lethal damage.

Also, you saves against intoxication are at -2 from now on.



Bertha leans in. She smells of stale beer and also, strangely enough, fried onions. That's weird, because this bar doesn't even have fried onions on the menu - Logan knows because he specifically checked for them. Actually, he quite likes fried onions. Does she just cook them up for herself? His wondering mind is brought back into semi-focus by Bertha's answer.

"What type of people?" she pauses, dramatically. "Bad people little elf boy! All bad people. But it is what they do in there that is worst of all!" She refills her tankard and kicks the drink back into her throat where it disappears like water going down a plughole.

"Drink!"

Logan leans in, finding himself strangely attracted to Bertha's smell.  Mmm, I could go for some fried onions.  I wonder where she got them?

He is shaken from his reverie by the tankard slamming down in front of him.  He eyed it suspiciously, wondering if Bertha was doctoring his drink so that he'd get drunk faster.  He tried to look around, wondering if there a way to weasel his way out of additional drinking, but didn't see anything immediately.  I have to get through this.  Find out what I can about my mother.

Stealing his will, the rogue brought the mug to his lips and tossed it back, swallowing the liquid as best he could, then slamming it down again on the bar.

"There, my onion maiden.  You need to tell me more," the elf implored, forgetting about restraint and caution, "What exactly are they doing in there?"

HP: 33 (8 non-lethal)
11:48, Today: Logan rolled 5 using 1d8.  Non-lethal damage.
11:48, Today: Logan rolled 11 using 1d20.  Fort Save for further drunkenness.
11:47, Today: Logan rolled 7 using 1d20+2.  Fort Save for damage.

She leans in even closer, her wavey chestnut hair falling out from behind her shoulder and across Logan's arm. "They worship a storm demon!" she whispers hoarsely. "They sacrifice animals to it so the storms just pass right over the city. There are no windows, but there is a back door - that is where they bring the animals in. One of the regulars here saw what they were bringing in one night..." She pauses dramatically. "Giant chickens! Giant chickens to slaughter in the rituals! Chickens as big as men!"

Logan can't help but enjoy himself a little. Giant chickens? If that is the worst thing he has to face in order to find out the truth of his mother's affliction then that isn't so bad! Bertha is also beginning to make a lot more sense and damn it! The beer in this place isn't that bad either! The drinks flow and the night fades into oblivion.

The rogue wakes a few hours later to find himself tied up inside what he can only assume to be some sort of infernal contraption. His whole body shakes from the noise of the machinery and an extreme panic attack is only adverted by the occurrence of a dizzying bout of nausia. Also his head is pounding like he has been severely beaten. He jerks his head left and right to clear the long damn hair from his face and almost screams when he realises he is facing the sleeping back of Bertha - both of his forearms are trapped under the heavy neck of the half ogress. What on earth happened? He can't remember, but he feels it would be best to leave without waking her - this will unfortunately be hard to do with his hands twisted beneath her sleeping bulk. Maybe he should gnaw them off?

Logan slowly comes to, trying to look around, but finding himself trapped by Bertha's bulk.  He casts about for anything to help free himself. but finds nothing except bedding within reach.  Hoping the sweat on his arms is enough, the rogue tries to wriggle free.

15:43, Today: Logan rolled 13 using 1d20+12.  Escape Artist.

The thief successfully extracts himself without waking his sleeping beauty and makes it back to the street in front of the tavern shaken and nursing a bad hangover but otherwise physically unharmed.

It is three o'clock in the morning and the city is silent with only the sweating half moon and stars keeping Logan company. It seems that a trip to this 'Church of the Whirling Fury' might be his best option to uncover more information about what is plaguing his mother. The question is should he try it now, at night, or figure out someway to visit in daylight hours?

Logan sat on the stoop of Bent Bertha's, thinking about what he learned.  She did mention animals coming in by night.  I can't imagine it's actually giant chickens, but maybe I can sneak in if there's some activity, or waylay some of the delivery people...

Still mulling his options over, Logan made his down Fury Street, sticking close to cover, and decided to see if any activity was happening at the Church of the Whirling Fury while the rest of the city slumbered.

14:53, Today: Logan rolled 24 using 1d20+12.  Stealth.

The shaken Logan settles his nerves and then sets out around the block to the mysterious church. There is no sign of activity inside or outside the building, although obviously it is hard to tell what is happening inside since there are no windows.

The thief does locate the back entrance, but it is just as still and silent in the night moonlight as the rest of the building. Logan slinks into the shadows, climbs up a couple of concrete steps to what appears to be a small loading bay and then quietly tries the back door... locked. He notices something on the concrete floor though, picks it up and rubs it between his fingers in an attempt to analyse it. Some sort of grain? Corn? Chicken feed?!

Still moving quietly, the master thief pulls out his thieve's tools and sets to work on the lock.

12:05, Today: Logan rolled 22 using 1d20+14.  Pick Lock.

After a few seconds Logan has the door open. No traps. No alarms. Just the entranceway to some sort of storage room stacked with various supplies and sacks. There is a door at the far end of the storage room.

Logan enters the room.  The rogue takes a few seconds to look over the supplies for anything unusual, then makes his way to the door.  He listens for anything on the other side, and then opens the door if he hears nothing.

14:34, Today: Logan rolled 14 using 1d20+12.  Perception.

Logan only steals from people that are poorer than himself - but since that is everyone he spends a couple of minutes looking over the contents of the store room to see if there is anything worth nicking.

The goods are a little disappointing. Large sacks of flour, large sacks of potatoes, cheap spices like salt and pepper, and large sacks labeled as containing chicken feed stacked up in a pile taller than himself. The thief makes a small cut in the end of one of these and lets the contents flow through his fingers - yep, definitely chicken feed.

Seeing not much else to keep him occupied the rogue checks the door at the far end of the room. There is no noise and it is neither trapper nor locked so he goes through it.

On the other side is a grey stone room 50' long by 30' wide with vaulted ceilings and a dozen sturdy columns spread around the perimeter. Logan hears the door click softly closed behind him and when he tries the handle he finds to his consternation that the door is locked on this side.

Although the thief had indeed checked for traps on the external door and found none, he had missed the magical alarm cast on the area. That, along with taking a rather leisurely stroll through the storeroom, had given the occupants of the 'Church of the Whirling Fury' the time they needed to prepare for him. At that instant twelve grey robed and hooded figures step out from behind the pillars in the room and in unison draw their weapons.

Although the strongest thought in the thief's head is that he was very soon going to die, his mind had to also admit that it was a very eclectic collection of weapons facing him with none of his opponents holding a weapon the same as each other. A hand axe, a short sword, a glowing magical staff, a mithral rapier, a pair of scimitars... it was going to be an interesting abet short combat. The hooded figures were also a wide range of sizes ranging from halfling size right up bondy handed warrier who was almost seven feet tall.

The figure with the mithral rapier (who was normal human szie) stepped forward a half stride, his weapon lowered and ready. "Boy, you just choose the wrong frakking temple to try and rob."

There is something in the voice that startles Logan. Some in both the tone and the demeanor is very familiar to him.

OOC: Can you guess who it is? Hint: The text color should also be familiar. :D

Logan pauses, staring at the figure, trying to figure out why the voice sounded so familiar.  "Vorsh?  Or is it Larcos Dengrin?  What name are you going by now?  Is that you?  What are you doing here?"

The figure's sword lowers and the man pulls back his hood. Yes, it is indeed Logan's one-time employer, the erractic holy avenger Vorsh.

"What are you frakken doing here lad?" asks the man incredulously.

One of the other figures speaks up, the one with the two rapiers. Logan realizes to his surprise that it is a woman, her voice melodic and clear. "Do you know this miscreant Larcos Dengrin?" She is clearly surprised herself.

"Err, yes, Lady Silvermane. He is Theodric Merrion's son."

There is a shocked intake of breath around the ring and most of the other weapons a lowered substantially as well.

Logan looked around, as shocked by the turn of events as the people - the priests? - around him.  A hundred questions filled the young rogue's mind, but the first was the most pressing.  "You knew my father?  How?  I...I just found this place.  My mother has been staring directly towards your temple from across the city.  She knew it was here, and now I'm certain she knew it was linked to my father's death.  What do you know of it?  Of what ails her?"  By the end, Logan's voice, despite starting out uncertain, was desperate and pleading.  He hadn't intended to give away that much, but finding the people knew his father was too much.

"Tessara knows about this place? I am surprised! It has only been her for what, less than a year?" The man sometimes called 'Vorsh' looks over to the hooded figure of Lady Silvermane and she removes her cloak.

Logan is shocked for a second. The woman has striking resemblance to the 'mysterious elf like woman' that he met during his life after death experience. A mane of white hair, pointed elven ears and a dark completion. Even the face is similar.

"That is correct Holy Avenger," she says rather formally. "This temple was established 10 moons ago - this building was simply a storehouse for the lower market before we took it over and made the alterations. I do not see how Tessara Merrion could possibly know anything about it unless our attempts at secrecy and subterfuge have fallen far short of what we were aiming for."

"And anyway, your father was always very careful to keep his work separate from his home life lad. But, what is this of something ailing Tesara? What is it?" he seems to be genuinely concerned.

"Bah! If we're up early, let's at least get some breakfast!" bellows one of the hooded figure, shoving his hood back and heading out of the door at the far end of the room. Beneath the falling robes is revealed a tall Nordic looking man with bright orange hair and a strong physic.



"I need some beer. And oats. Beer on oats maybe," mutters the man as he rubs at his belly.

"That was Torin Freddricksdatter. Bezerker of the North Reaches," says Vorsh. "Good man, although likes his ale a little bit too much maybe, just don't ask him about his surname - he is a little sensitive about it," adds the ex-paladin a lowered voice. "What sort of sickness lad? Why didn't you go to the clerics?"

"I'll join you Torin," says a stocky figure who pushes back his hood and almost knocks off an impressive skull helmet.



"Bruce Skullhat. Rockholme." grunts the little dwarf, before trotting off to join the rapidly departing northman.

"Answer me boy," says Vorsh, grabbing Logan by the shoulder.

"Well, ifth we are doing introducthions, then pleasthe allow me to addth mine!" exclaims the voice of a young man. He shakes his head and lets his hood fall back revealing... the evil glowing eyes of an undead lich.



"How do you do! Pleasthed to meet you, I am Hamisth McDougall, formally of the Great Sthchool of Magic in Glantri City, and before that of the Provincthe of Crownguard. Oh, whatever is the matter?" The fact that the undead monster has a slight lisp does not make him any less threatening to Logan.

The rest of the circle of aimed figures start moving around, taking off their robes and introducing themselves or being introduced by others.

"By the goddess. Do none of you louts understand the meaning of the term 'SECRET CONCLAVE'," says Lady Silvermane, rolling her eyes to the ceiling.