The sleeping quarters on the second floor of the keep are sparse and more than a little cramped- fitting for a military outpost, less so for squeezing four tired, smokey adventurers into a single chamber. Zaiyas magics and a bit of elbow work by the rest of the party goes a long way to making things more comfortable though, and it is with some, but not too much discomfort that the four adventurers are able to rest.

With the thick walls of the keep, the night seems deceptively peaceful, the chaos and noise outside barely leaking in. Still, those keeping watch catch the occasional sound of boots, calls about survivors being found, worries about food and supplies...

It is with bleary eyes that the party awakes late in the morning, having started resting deep in the night. Peering outside, one can see the ruins of Triboar from the thin windows embedding the inner walls of the keep. Nearly half the city has been destroyed in the blaze, their smoking ruins still smouldering against the cloudless sky. Outside, the courtyard is a mess of refugees and tents. Hundreds of refugees, mostly citizens of Triboar, huddled around makeshift fires or soft blankets. The image is eerily reminscent of the first morning at Nightstone, all those weeks ago. Yet- a few things are different.

The four walls of Triboar are still (largely) intact. Nearly half the city was ravaged- which means that half yet remains. And most importantly - looking out further beyond the walls one can see a veritable army camped around Triboar's four gates- military tents and soldiers set up surrounding the city in a protective formation.


OOC: Image was chosen more for atmosphere than accuracy

It seems that the Triboar Guard has returned.

Those with keen eyes can count at least six full companies of soldiers surrounding Triboar, all waving the standard of three boars upon a background of red and gold. Despite the damage done, despite the horrors of battle and suffering and lives lost- Triboar still stands. Wounded, but not broken.

Even tinged by smoke, the morning air smells oddly sweet.
This message was last edited by the GM at 11:47, Mon 21 Dec 2020.

"I can still--"

Despite being scorched and ash-laden, despite being battered by wounds gathered through that chaotic and terrible evening, Moira still sought to do more.  Even being exhausted to the point of collapse as she was, she didn't waste a moment in offering her service further.  The look in her bloodshot, dark-ringed eyes was desperate - that she not only wanted to help, but somehow felt that she needed to with utter defiance of her own body's limitations.

It was only that mid-word and mid-step the entire room jarringly turned sideways in the Halfling's vision, even with herself remaining upright, that she stopped.  No, you can't, it felt like more than just her body told her in that moment.  It hadn't been since that first night in Nightstone, when she's spent her hours mourning the death of her kin, that Claire alone would've remembered seeing Moira look so inwardly defeated plainly on her face.  The frustration, the anger at herself... both made all the more worse by the inevitable acceptance that there was nothing she could do.

---

It hadn't been an easy night.

Even being exhausted to the point that she quite instantly passed out into slumber the moment she settled down, Moira's rest had been uneasy.  Her body slept as if dead while her mind whirled with unwelcome memories filled with shouting voices, the clash of metal, the roar of flames consuming homes and lives alike.  In her dreams she ran across blood-soaked cobblestones flanked by burning pyres that were once store fronts.  Angry, defiant calls for justice welled from behind her along with the thundering charge of farmers and shopkeeps and parents turned soldiers keeping pace.  Ahead stood a wall of armor and blades and sneering faces framed in rising red.  Her dreams - her memories - remained as chaotic as the times they recalled.

She could still hear them.  Still feel the heat on her skin.  As the dawn rose through smoke-filled skies, she could remember how it struck such a harsh contrast against the rough stone she'd been knelt on and the rougher ropes that bound her wrists bloody behind her back.  How the warmth of that morning was no comfort as she looked out from atop the high wall at the gate at the lifted faces of so many.  Of farmers, of shopkeeps, of parents.  Voices raised against yet overwhelmed by proclamations of those red-plumed, sneering forms on either side.  The gleam of steel at morning light.  The whistle of a blade, as sharp and cold and strange as anything she felt in that long, tumbling fall...

---

That morning, as everyone eased awake in their own manner and time, they would find Moira had somehow maintained her usual habit of being the first one awake.  Normally it was to have breakfast ready for the lot of them so they would awaken to the smell of steaming hot tea and crackling pig grease in the pan.  But such was not the case that morning as the Halfling was idle for once - her back to the group as she sat in the open window with her bare feet dangling out the other side.  Singed hair let down for once along her back in long, dense red waves that mostly obscured the slump in her shoulders as she spent her morning in silent introspection, gazing out over what remained of Triboar.

Though the gleaming shine of gold inlaid into the skin of her arms had since faded away to become faint, dull black once more, she held in hand the holy symbol she normally wore about her neck.  That thick black choker she'd never once removed so long as any of them knew her then rested in her hands so that she could meditatively run her fingertips about the imprinted face of Waukeen, lost all the while in her own thoughts.
This message was last edited by the player at 06:29, Sun 04 Apr 2021.

U'lin's return to consciousness was a slow stirring, with sleep reluctant to release the firbolg.  When finally vanquished, the slumber popped abruptly, and U'lin rubbed his eye with an unfortunate hand, causing his eyes to water from ash still caked upon his hands - imagine, falling asleep without washing!

The cramped room had been too confining for U'lin - until he had tried stretching on the stone floor, and had found the more natural surface feeling like a comfortable cave all of a sudden.  At least that was the little he could recall before being buried under his exhaustion.

He stood quietly, then stepped carefully over to the wash basin, poured a stream of clean if tepid water into the bowl, and spent several minutes fouling the water as he removed ash and smoke from his face, and hair, and then washing clean the rest of himself.  Nose wrinkled now at the smell of his equipment, and he used the dirty water to wipe off the surface layer of fire residue, and then a little more clean water to clean the gear properly.

It wasn't until the Gondish holy symbols gleamed bright and inspiringly that U'lin smiled, and settled down into his morning pray-nope, up to throw out the dirty water, and clean the bowl for the next person- and settled back into his morning prayers.

He looked protectively over the other capable folk under his watch, and smiled, pleased, that they had survived such mighty challenges, and saved so many folk, and all their creations and new inspirations to come, new friendships formed in adversity.

The Gondish priest walked back through his day, offering thanks and praise to Gond not only for the blessings provided to the party, that had turned certain failure into success, but also for the creation and new designs he had witnessed along the way, and of the new creations and friendship formed, new inspirations for hope amidst great despair and loss.
In particular, he thanked Gond for the excellent work of the Beetle, such an excellent combination of protection to the weaker folk, and an ability to reach out with strength to smash down those opposing Gond's great works.  And to find folk familiar with the operation of such devices -with skill- and the spirit to try new things -a wonderful blessing in the midst of turbulence and destruction.

As U'lin rose, he felt a stronger connection with Gond once more, the spiritual blessings and gifts restored, and he smiled once again in thanks, and went to join Moira in enjoying the rising sun, and the vision of hope built before them - a hope the party had been critical in securing.

"We did well yesterday, Moira.  Thank you for your skills and courage and leadership through the events.  They certainly were challenging, but the gods looked favourably upon our efforts to aid those in need."  The firbolg drank a long pull from his waterskin -a little warm, but helpful in drowning the echoing growls from his stomach, and he enjoyed a bit of quiet time with the too-internal halfling.  Perhaps this silent approach was a stronger way to reach her - were shortfolk used to being talked over, so they spoke less?  Or was it like wind in the trees, and only the upper branches moved, except in a great storm.  Certainly windmills required higher vantage points for greater effectiveness.  Now, if there was a manner to channel wind into a more concentrated space, such as a defile off a windy coast, that would...

---

Pre-sleep:
08:41, Today: U'lin rolled 8 using 1d4+4.  Healing Word.
08:41, Today: U'lin rolled 6 using 1d4+4.  Healing Word.
Zaiya worst off? 14HP back

Long:
08:39, Today: U'lin rolled 7 using 1d8+2.  HD recovery.
08:40, Today: U'lin rolled 8 using 1d8+2.U'lin back to full.
Recover 2/5HD?

Though she didn't stir from her reverie while U'lin made his way about his morning ritual - both figurative and literal - it was the craftsman finally speaking up that seemed to draw Moira out of her own thoughts.  A hitch rose to her shoulders and she hastily gathered her choker about her neck once more; by the time U'lin joined her at the window, it was affixed back in place on her throat the same as it ever was.

"Coulda done more." For a woman who had genuinely accomplished much, it said a lot that she her gaze was drawn instead to her shortcomings rather than successes.  All the same, Moira gave a sardonic half-chuckle.  "I was thinkin' we actually owe that Fae crone from th'road a word of gratitude.  If not for her spookin' us, we'd have shown up t'find Triboar nothin' more than ash days after th'fact.  Ain't exactly inclined t'go sniffin' her out though."

One could only imagine how Moira might've felt if they'd come upon the ruins of the once-proud city long smoldering rather than in the midst of its assault.  What that would've done to her sense of duty.  Though they had indeed arrived in time to help to some measure, the situation still rested heavy on her soul all the same as a deep sigh seemed to deflate her.  "I hate this, U'lin.  I leave one war behind inland only t'have two more - each bigger than th'other - razin' th'entire coast.  Folk don't deserve this..." Moira gestured out broadly at the vast span of smoking wreckage, refugee tents, and war stations that surrounded the half-ruined city walls.
This message was last edited by the player at 22:15, Mon 21 Dec 2020.

U'lin nodded, and listened, but help back his words for some time.  What could one say to that?

"I don't think she deserved gratitude, although she would like be offended and troubled by it, so perhaps a solid rebuke.  If we had rushed through the last town, we might have missed hag and attack on the city both, leaving Emma to be devoured, the town unaware of what was building outside its boundaries, and Triboar attacked just after we left."  U'lin's hands spread in a 'what will be, will be.'

"Some things are bound to time, others may stretch years waiting for action.  A catapult may be in contact use, or wait for months for release of action.  I don't feel the gods are so capricious as to only find value in burning their devotees to non-existence... but they do trust us to do what we can do, as we can do it.  If we waste our time in nothingness, is it any better than rushing away from everything and doing nothing?  Like the seasons, the tensions of creation and crafting, there exists a timing of building and breaking apart to repair or restore.

"No one deserves this.  I wish I could mend all the harms, restore the fallen, repair the great works - but there is also something to allowing others to rise together, to repair and lend hands together against a common ill, to rebuild anew and better.  Bad things will happen in the world.  But those that remain have hope, have heroes that strive against impossible odds to best giants, to take arms and minds and will against things far beyond them, individually.  Those that passed served as models of courage and love.  But putting together inspiration, and the world's power, and balancing the cost of diminishing in one area to strengthen in another place... this applies to Waukeen's concerns, to the Earthmother's, and of course to Gond's creations.

"Maybe that hope and care and bond-of-word and inspiration is what they do deserve."

U'lin's stomach growled and echoed loudly, clearly not appeased by the swallow of water.  "Although perhaps some appreciate your breakfast cakes as well.", he added ruefully, with a gentle smile.  "Would you like some help?  I was going to check on Emma, since she was working hard as well, and likely enough found sleep in the Beetle, or another resting place near her workplace, and she might be just a touch hungry too."

It was unclear whether Moira found some measure of comfort in U'lin's words or if she'd simply grown accustomed to his long-winded ways.  But for once she let him say his peace without rolling her eyes or sighing or barking at him to be quiet, as was so often the case when his talkative nature clashed against her short-fuse temper.  She really wasn't certain herself, in the end.  Though, really, Moira felt it a good sign that it was even a question in her mind by that point.

The Firbolg's grumbling stomach and less-than-subtle prompting for breakfast, however, did get a tired - but genuine - smile out of her.  She shifted in place to straddle the windowsill and drew a knee up to her chest to lean against.  "We're likely t'be eatin' with th'soldiers today.  Gonna have a lot t'speak t'th'Lord Protector on and with all that's happened, likely every stove and pot left whole's gonna be feedin' th'masses.  Doubt th'Keep'll have any space t'spare in th'kitchen." she hated to burst his bubble where food was concerned, but given all that had transpired and how much they were bound to be on-the-go helping out as soon as they were all ready, a leisurely breakfast of their usual sort was unlikely.  "Y'know, a day's gonna come where I ain't gonna be 'round t'cook every meal for us all.  Best y'find y'self a Hin wife eager t'make y'fat and happy.  I've got a few dozen cousins I could introduce y'to."

The sleeping quarters' spartan austerity hardly stopped Claire from practicing her usual habit of going out like a log. Legs splayed out on the pallet, poking out from under whatever ratty woolen blanket the garrison stores could spare, there was barely any sign of the lady-like priestess who had presented herself before the Lord Protector and her officers. Or the heroic manner she had spontaneously displayed in the many encounters before. Just an exhausted young woman wont to let out the occasional snore, unbeknownst to anyone else, dreaming deep emerald dreams of a certain familiar garden.

She stirred earlier in the morning than she was accustomed to. Sitting up on her pallet, Claire palmed her cheeks while her senses adjusted to the weightiness of waking reality. Moira and U'lin were already awake - but a small snoozing mound of tiefling indicated that Zaiya had not. She made her way by tiptoe to the wash basin, appraising herself in the reflection. Her hair was a mess. A liberating feeling. Mother would have been mad if she'd come to the breakfast table like that. But what even was the fuss? It wasn't like they were some snooty aristocratic family, with servants waiting on them and house guests to see.

Claire ran her fingers through tousled flax-gold locks, managing to tame them somewhat. Felt wrong not to do at least that one thing for dear departed mam.

Freshened up and changed into a fresh tunic, it was but a matter of habit to follow her nose to wherever Moira had to be whipping up breakfast for them. She also made a mental note to check on Thente in the healers' tent right after.


"Eh? What's this all of a sudden?" Claire blinked as she walked in on the tail end of Moira's remark, evidently not yet fully woken. "Is U'lin getting married?"
This message was last edited by the player at 05:25, Tue 22 Dec 2020.

Sadly for Claire's seeking nose, there was no breakfast to be found when she came upon Moira and U'lin.  Though given how strongly the Halfling had been infused by the scent of cinnamon and cooking herbs over the years, it was perhaps fair to mistake her singed self as bearing the lingering aroma of spice among the soot.  Claire's arrival and her almost childishly blinking state of not-yet-awake being brought a fond laugh.

"Maybe, though findin' a proper match could well be harder than fendin' off barbarian werewolves." Moira set aside a gentle bit of teasing as she stood up on the open window sill, able to just meet Claire's own eye-level for once while still a fair bit below their Firbolg's.  "Can y'both c'mere closer a moment?  I've somethin' what needs sayin'." she beckoned her friends nearer with a gesture.

"Likely too true.  At least with barbarian werewolves, you understand where you stand.  Marriage partners are very rare.  So few of my folk about as well... not that such would stop a marriage of like minds, but certainly could cause issues about famil- oh, yes, you are teasing me again.  Well done." U'lin's introspective face turned into a slightly tired smile but joining on the fun of the jest.

"Of course, Moira.  How can I help?" the firbolg politely took a seat upon an empty chest in the room, bringing his towering height down as Moira had raised hers up.

"Well, I could certainly do with seeing more marriages than werewolves from now on," Claire sighed. "Last ceremony I officiated seems like a whole age ago." Hard even to recall the faces of the young couple. She plopped herself down on a rickety stool, resting her chin in her palms. "What's on your mind Moira? I'm all ears."
This message was last edited by the player at 07:57, Thu 24 Dec 2020.

"After all that's happened now, we need t'talk over what we're doin' goin' forward.  I wanna get it squared away before we meet with th'Lord Protector again so we don't have a repeat of Amphail." the party did seem to have a knack for making friends with community leaders and getting job offers to stick around, as history had proven.  Given the state of Triboar she wouldn't be surprised one bit if they were given a similar invitation to join the town's payroll and linger to help out further.  "But that's a conversation we need t'have with Miss Zaiya as well, once she's awake.  For us three, though?"

As Claire and U'lin had each taken a seat near and low enough, it gave Moira the angle she needed to reach out and - unless they'd recoil from the closeness - toss her arms about each of them.  She sought to pull her companions in about their shoulders with herself in the middle of a tight, fond embrace.  The copper-haired Halfling had never been shy about openly sharing both praise and scorn alike, though her doting more often came in extra portions of meals served and playful remarks made in passing.  A hug, meanwhile, was a bit new from her and both her companions could readily feel the need in her grip as she clung tight to them for a lingering moment.

"We've been through plenty of scrapes and close-calls, but yesterday?  That was too close.  I just... I want y'both t'know how thankful I am for y'both.  Truly." she said with a soft, genuine warmth in both tone and touch alike.  Moira held fast for a beat longer before her grip eased to let the three of them draw apart once more.  "I've lost too many folk dear t'me without ever gettin' th'chance t'let 'em know.  Didn't wanna make that mistake again."

"Mrrghhh"

The bundle of blankets and pillows in the corner steadily begin to shift, to twist, to tangle themselves up.

Then fall apart as Zaiya pulled herself out of the mess, blinking blearily.

"Are we having a heart to heart moment right now?" she mumbled quietly to herself.  "I just had the most concerning dream, and since I do my projections in my sleep, that's terrifying.  Yesterday was pretty promising!  Today though..."

She shuddered.

"Someone is going to have a very unfortunate day, and I don't know who it is yet...  That aside!"  She tried to put a positive spin on things.  "Nobody we know died!  And we got a great deal of work mitigating it for everybody else, that's a pretty good night's work, isn't it?"

OOC: Today's Prophecy is...  a 3 and a 4.  Yeesh!

"Moira..." As Moira drew them into her embrace, Claire's lip quivered and she choked back a lump in her throat. Though the junior priestess was self-possessed as a young human got, she couldn't stem the tears that welled up in her eyes.

Then the floodgates opened, and the young woman began bawling like a baby in her mother's arms. Save for a minor feat of contortion, there would be no escaping the tight embrace that Claire returned. All the emotions she had felt in the garden of sorrows, where she had grasped Chauntea's knees, poured out into the waking world.

"I'm so, so glad you're here with me..." Claire sniffed between sobs. "You all're all I've got- in the world now...like my new parents you are. Great Mother knew I'd never make it alone. She knew, so she sent you. By rights I should be dead ten times over by now or..." Sleepless nights worrying about Thente bubbled beneath the surface. Voice finally cracking, it wasn't a good while until Claire managed to recompose herself.

Belatedly noticing Zaiya's appearance, Claire sat back up, roughly wiping her blotchy red eyes with her sleeve before stiffly clasping her fingers together. "Uh, sorry about that." Cathartic sentiment mingled with plain embarrassment, she forced a smile in spite of herself. "Though, I meant what I said. I don't want-I won't lose you neither."
This message was last edited by the player at 08:12, Mon 28 Dec 2020.

U'lin tried to shrug, but the friendship sandwich was too tight to permit such depreciative behaviour, so he swallowed awkwardly, looking around, and hugging the two women close.

"I have felt a little outside of matters, I admit, not having been there with you at the start of what spurred you to this venture, but I have always felt you my family.  Especially with my firbolg kin turning aside, it meant that much more again to be accepted and part of yours-ours.

"When Zoira and I were going to die, down at the bottom of the giant hole, all I could think about was letting down everyone.  When we ended up in the challenge with the stone giant - that was an accident, by the way, but I'm glad it turned out well- it was the same thing.

"And then the dragon construct, undead petrified zombies, and exploding firelings amidst the greatest inferno I've ever been within - doubly so, voluntarily...

"I love you both as well... ah, look now, I need some dry clothes for that smoke leftover.  Ah, you rest here a moment - I'm going to go downstairs and check on our friends at the Beetle, and the horses to ensure they're not being ignored either."

U'lin paused as he rose, thinking, paring away what he wanted to say.  "Thank you."

As U'lin withdrew and Claire held all the tighter, Moira shifted the embrace to squeeze fast about the young woman and let her cry out as she would into a shoulder well-accustomed to be leaned on, despite usually so low to the ground.  She didn't fault the Firbolg his discomfort with being caught in such a display and nodded in understanding when he sought his own space.

"Y'want in on this too, Miss Zaiya?  Can't imagine this time's been any easier on ya'.  Hugs help." Moira offered in only a half-joking manner as she extended an arm the Tiefling's way invitingly.  She could only imagine that whatever work Zaiya had agreed to do for their shared patron was far and away from what madness they'd all been caught up in since.

Whether or not the hug was accepted, the party had much they needed to attend to before long and the day needed to be underway sooner than later.  Moira offered Claire one last reassuring grip to her shoulder and a knowing smile before she hopped down to the floor, hair fluttering long and free behind her nearly to her waist.  "Alright, we need t'get underway.  I don't expect there t'be any room in th'kitchen, but I'll see what I can do 'bout gettin' us a meal before we talk strategy or meet up with th'Lord Protector.  Ain't no use plannin' on an empty stomach."  The Halfling immediately set on binding it back into a loose, messy bun.

"Uh...  That's okay, really!"  Zaiya straightened as though struck by lightning, and frantically waved her hands in the way. "The touchy feely stuff isn't...  Really my thing, it's all good!  But, uh, it's good to be...  Part of the team?"

She seemed to trip over her words for a moment there.

"Well, anything you walk away from, though this is a bit more breakneck of a pace than I'm comfortable with...  It'll be good to have some time to study the captured scrolls when we have a moment to breathe though!  At least if I can find the reagents needed to copy them at least..."

"Well, apparently we're gonna sift through a flippin' wizard's tower today, so I doubt anyone'd mind a mite if y'liberated some supplies there."  Exactly what sort of supplies a caster needed were well beyond Moira and she didn't even pretend to understand otherwise.  The most she knew were a few different goods that went into enchanting, as those were always a high-value item on the market - usually monster parts, more often than not.  "I imagine th'bulk of it'll be confiscated by th'city t'sell and gain funds for th'rebuildin' effort, but maybe we'll get lucky and be allowed t'take a few trinkets for ourselves."

Indeed, a cursory check of the keep's kitchen reveals a rather spartan arrangement- large pots bubbling with soup, a few stoves set to a side, and a trio of rather tired cooks standing around several bags of flour, a strained expression on their faces;

"...best we can do. Spices we have plenty. But meat? Potatoes? We're supposed to have stockpiles for a siege but with the budget cuts rece-" the largest cook there, a half-orc man with a thick, square beard pauses as Moira appears, turning to regard the halfling.

"...no second portions," the chef snaps, his tone gruff but not unkind, "Lord's orders. Lunch will be first bell after high noon."

---

Downstairs, the wagon appears to be occupied by Sergeant Grimes, his squad, a familiar alchemist girl, one rather ornery dwarf and his goblin assistant. Emma herself appears to be tucked in a pile of blankets inside the wagon itself, still asleep. Grimes and his squad are in light fatigues, sipping a thick black brew from large tin mugs set upon a thick lump of warm stone.

A rather heavily bandaged Gheryn, no longer in his armor, is busy inspecting one of the siege catapults attached to the battle wagon. One of his arms hangs from a sling. The other is very gingerly feeling out the supports connecting the weapon to the wagon itself. Without the grime and dust of battle, its a lot clearer just how old the dwarf is- smokey grey hair and deep wrinkles under his eyes. The smith is stooped by the side of the wagon, partially supported by Tetri (whose head is entirely swathed in rags, revealing only her eyes). Both still seem rather exhausted by the previous night's ordeal.

"...interesting work," the smith grunts as U'lin approaches, but does not look away, "yours?"

Moira had diverted course long enough to swing by the wagon and recover her pack of supplies before she headed into the kitchen, though the scene she found there was much what she expected.  She didn't even bat an eye at the sharp word sent her way by who she assumed was the head chef - if it had been a hurled stew pot, even that might've been understandable in the situation, but still.

"Ain't lookin' t'take portions outta local's mouths, first nor second.  Just hopin' t'nab a bit of th'stove for m'own pans t'cook for m'group.  Rolled in last night from Red Larch right in th'thick of all this mess." the Halfling explained as she set her pack down with a heavy thump and clang - it was well-laden with her various cooking tools, carefully packed rations, and of course her new favorite magicked pot tethered to the top.

"I ain't got th'supplies t'feed a whole town, but whatever I can donate of m'own stock is yours t'use.  Got a fair share of dried meats and stew bones t'stretch out th'broth.  Got oats, grains, and seeds too.  Onions, taters, cabbage, garlic heads, pots of butter and lard, eggs..." It was a sin for a Hin to let any go hungry if they could help it and Moira wasn't about to go getting selfish with Triboar now.  She rolled her head side to side to pop a few stiff cracks out of her neck in the process of loosening up, much the same way she had days prior before combat with bandits.  "Just leave enough for m'group t'spare their meals and have th'rest.  And you'll have m'self lendin' a hand here in th'kitchen too, 'til duty calls me elsewhere.  Sound like a fair shake?"

Moira has 11 days worth of rations and 9 GP worth of high-quality cooking ingredients currently in her inventory.  She's willing to donate 8 days of Rations and 8 GP worth of high-quality cooking ingredients to the kitchens, and help out working to cook as well.  Assuming the kitchen team are welcome to the idea, she'll make a quick breakfast for the party and then spend the rest of the time volunteering in the kitchen until we need to regroup for strategy talk/meeting the Lord Protector.
This message was last edited by the player at 15:25, Thu 31 Dec 2020.

U'lin reached over to tuck the blankets around Emma, and quietly edged out of the Beetle, closing the door behind him, and placing a thankful hand upon the symbol carved within the wood.

He turned away, nodding to Grimes and the rest of his squad.  "A long, hard day, but the city stands, and many of its peoples and their creations preserved.  Thank you for your help with us and elsewhere... and for seeing her safe - she has had a hard set of challenges already."

The firbolg nodded, but didn't say anything at first, trying to dejumble his personal feelings.  The dwarf was far from U'lin's favourite person, and the callousness and rudeness, especially to a fellow smith, especially after being rescued... but a refreshing sleep, even if not enough, helped the mind and body both.  Courtesy didn't hurt or cost.

And petty pouting was.

"It is, with Gond's grace.  His blessing aided in crafting many pieces to speed the full craftingwork.  I wanted to make use of the wagon's movement, and provide something in long range support.  There are other designs for improvement as funds and crafting time permits, but our road is long, busy, and dangerous."

Claire lingered a while, retreating momentarily to the party's quarters to wait out the blotchiness of her reddened eyes. Her emotional outburst had left her thoroughly red-faced, and feeling once again like the baby of the group, instead of the responsible junior priestess she was meant to be. Sitting on a stool in the corner, she clapped her palms over warm, rosy cheeks. "Oh well. Reckon I couldn't embarrass myself further among this lot," she mumbled, gathering herself for the day's work.

After a quick peek in the washing bowl's still surface, Claire proceeded straight for the healer's station, eager to check on Thente. Perhaps he may have woken on his own accord? Her pace quickened.
This message was last edited by the player at 04:23, Fri 01 Jan 2021.

Moira's offer gets a slow blink from the chef, his expression gradually turning thoughtful. Finally, he nods;

"Deal. Dried meat'n bones we have stock of- the armies hunt and bring game regulary. But grains, butter 'n eggs we lost. Fresh vegetables too- though some dried ones work as well," he gives Moira a grateful bow, then gestures for her to step over to the stove, "you can take the one of the far right- we're mostly stretchin' things with big pots of stew so far, so the smaller stoves aren't in use anyway. And my assistants can help with whatever you need in exchange. That right boys?"

The two other chefs (one of them actually a girl) nod furiously. With a larger grin, the half-orc reaches offers a flour-covered handshake to Moira to seal the deal.

Moira, you may have advantage on your Cook's Utensils check(s) to make whatever meals you wish to prepare. If you are preparing more than one (say rations to go), make multiple rolls for each instance. I'll say you can do this a maximum of four times (including the check for breakfast) in the amount of time you have before meeting the Lord Protector.

The cooks will take 8 days of rations and 4gp of high-quality ingredients. They aren't actually short on spices, dried meat and lard- Triboar has abundant forests and game plus the men to hunt them. Fruit, vegetables and grain however are supplied by surrounding farmlands, many of which have been affected by the uptick of orc and bandit activity in the area.



"Divine smithing?" the dwarf's brows crease, but nods, "thought'e connections're a bit ta smooth fer handwork. Prefer ah'proper forge myself, but draggin' one on d'road's tricky so that gets a pass...yer ore's shite though. Did yer scavenge it from random scrap or something?" Foehammer flicks one of the metal supports, listening to the thrum, "ratios'all off. Nah'uniform."



The healers tents have wound down as the steady stream of survivors has slowed to a stop, though the treatment area is even more packed than before. Nmerous makeshift shelters formed from blankets, bedrolls and straw litter the open courtyard, where dozens and dozens of patients swathed in bandages lie restlessly. Small "alleyways" between the "beds" allow pairs of exhausted-looking volunteers to patrol the area, checking on patients and helping change the occasional bandage. At the far end of the area, a pair of women in clerical robes tirelessly grind out dressings and salves from a large wooden table covered in boxes of medicinal herbs, many which of have haphazardly tossed to a side. Behind them is a large tent with a sign marked "HEALERS".

Asking around, Claire discovers that Thente, along with other "critical cases" have been moved to the rear of the healer's tent so they can be under constant observation. Should she approach the healer's tent, the older of the two women, a dark-skinned woman bearing the symbol of Eldath will look-up. Dark bags hang under the cleric's eyes, yet despite her deep exhaustion the hint of a smile travels over her lips as she notice's Claires own symbol.

"Hello there sister, Guardian of the Grain Goddess. The survivors spoke of your deeds last night. Have you come to heal or be healed?"

"Name's Moira.  Been in th'habit of blowin' into towns and lendin' aid outta th'blue as of late.  Nice t'have it be in th'kitchen for once.  C'mon then, let's talk while we work - y'lot could surely benefit from some Hin cookin' tips when it comes t'stretchin' ingredients.  I've fed a caravan of thirty on a single hare and a handful of foraged greens." Moira accepted the handshake with a firm squeeze and a grin in turn.  "Where's th'scrap bin at?  Veg ends, fish heads, stray bones... bring 'em here, I'll show y'some tricks."

When it came to stretching supplies, there were plenty of tricks to rely on that thankfully didn't cost much in the way of cutting into nutrition.  Even a thin gruel was made more palatable by the inclusion of some spice-fortified butter.  The cheapest of grain flour mixed with a bit of water and salt was all it took to make a considerable volume of boiled dumplings; the same amount that was used to make a single loaf of bread made over a hundred dumpling skins.  Once finely minced and seasoned, even the barest scraps of leftover meat, vegetable shavings, and onion skins tasted just fine stuffed inside.  Mushrooms, garlic peels, and fish remains sapped of their flavor and reduced to paste by making abundant volumes of broth off them first were still excellent filler to fold in place of the absence of meat.  All the while Moira worked and chatted and hummed to the tune of whistling kettles, giving advice and trading tips, she felt a growing sense of peace in herself - she may have been keen on the battlefield, but she grew more at ease wielding a chef's knife than a sword.

Since we're going into a "dungeon" soon, I'd say Moira would focus on making some of her special dishes in order to give the party a boost on a saving throw or something to that effect.  That'll be 8 SP worth of high-quality supplies for the party's breakfast.

I believe we've used DEX for general chef's tools checks in the past?
Meal 1 - 10
Meal 2 - 19
Meal 3 - 15 (after a Halfling Luck reroll)
Meal 4 - 18
This message was last edited by the player at 17:37, Sat 02 Jan 2021.

The junior priestess was growing used to such grim scenes. She shuffled quickly by the rows of makeshift pallets, an apologetic look in her eyes with each wounded she passed. Under different circumstances, this would be her place. But given the upcoming mission, she knew she couldn't tarry long here.



The 'title' caught Claire off-guard - she had not spoken of the party's deeds except to report to the Lord Protector. Clearly tongues had been wagging. She hesitated just a second to glance in Thente's direction. "Singing waters keep you sister," she addressed the senior cleric with a respectful nod. "I've uh, just come to check on my friend, wanted to check if he's doing alright. Great Mother forgive me, but I'm afraid I haven't long to be of much use here. Your boss wants us to take a look at Hyuth's tower, see if we can find anything of use in there."

"I imagine I've a bell or so before other duties call. What needs doing?" Claire offered.

"How insightful," U'lin replied neutrally, his eyes flattened.  Worse, much worse, U'lin realized the dwarf's humiliation was quite correct.  With the war taking the best steel, U'lin had been making do with whatever steel he could scavenge, and his craftings were lessened by the mix of metals.

His earlier mood of good cheer deflated without a bang or whimper, simply gone.

If anything, now U'lin felt as though he had dishonoured Gond's gift... perhaps his smithing efforts had only been tolerated by Gond's immense tolerance and love for crafting.

The firbolg nodded to the soldiers, made some half-hearted mention of tea or ... or somethings.. and being fine... good morning to them... having to go... and he walked away, meandering through the area, with only the strength of his pauldron shoulderplates hiding the defeated cast to his shoulders.

"Oh- well," the sister seems surprised, then pleased, "most of the villagers have burns, but we have enough salve for now. Young Emma was quite skilled at stretching out our stores...but the more severe cases well. There does not seem to be much we can do for them."

"This...includes your friend I'm afraid. Whatever the cause of his coma, none of the healers can discern. Something ails him on a spiritual level- I would recommend traveling to Yartar or Waterdeep and seeking the blessing of one of the temples there."

The sister pauses, then hesistantly continues;

"I-if its not too much trouble, could you see if the Great Mother might deem it worthy to heal some of the soldiers? Some of them have heavy burns that aren't easily treated...the others are afflicted with poison- either from the smoke, or whatever foul mix the orc archers use. We have used up what blessings we have...if you can spare any then-!"

There are ten critical patients, half of them are diseased (heavy burns) the other half poisoned (carbon monoxide poisoning/arrow poison, DC 15 Healer's Kit check to identify).



Whatever the response the dwavern smith was expecting, U'lins sudden dejection was not one. Moments after walking away, the soft pattering of feet echoes behind him, as young Tetri suddenly grabs his arm. Behind, a frowning Gheryn Foehammer limps over, huffing with his arms crossed.

"...oi. Lad. Yer okay thar? What happened ta tha'clever-tongue f'yours last night?"

U'lin only half-turned at first, then his manners turned him when he wished to turn away.  When he spoke it was likewise flattened, explaining, without animosity or much beyond a lingering passion.

"Yesterday you were an ungrateful person we had rescued from being trapped and dying, a fellow smith who cared nothing of interesting craft, only coin, naught of being praised as one of select few that might help with a smithy mystery or me seeking you out, and then insulted Claire and her father, and tried to take away her family sword.  All which we faced after hours of pushing hard through the night, pitched battles trying to help the city survive despite our weariness, and... that behaviour.

"Today... today you insulted my craftwork and the the metal being used, as impossible for another smith to craft, and then the mixed impurities of the crafted metals, from me trying to scavenge what we could to do the crafting, especially on the road.

"And you were correct - Gond's power did the quality forms, and my gatherings and use of the blessing use different consistencies and qualities of metal, reformed for new purpose, but using the rareness of blessing with.. well, with inferior and mixed metals.  Which is likely enough insulting for the craft, but even worse to have done with Gond's gift."

U'lin's hand raised, held paused in seeking words, then dropped, and he nodded his head.  "So a project I spent much excitement and time, collaboration in designing and crafting for need... was focus of besmirching Great Gond's precious gift with inferior metals, and lacking in merit.  Your words were true.  Little worse could I do even if I were against the faith, let alone one who walked within his symbol."

The smith huffs, then seems to scoff;

"...that all lad?" Foehammer makes to shrug, though the motion causes him to wince slightly, "seems ta me you're givin'up ta quick. One insult or set back and yer faiths shaken? Take more pride in yer craft!" the smith suddenly barks, "ain't one fer gods besides Moradin, but Gond'like a mentor ye aye? And what master doesn't indulge their apprentices mistakes? If Gond didn't approve'f ye work, would he have let ye use his forge in da first place? Daft idiot."

Suddenly hacking and coughing into his fist, Foehammer turns and spits at the nearby grass patch;

"Bah! This is a waste'f ma time. Talk ta me when yer done whining'bout yer poor life choices. Or don't. Whatever."

"Aye, we'd feared that too," Claire frowned as she knelt by Thente's side, brushing a stray strand of her friend's hair out of his face, noticing his recently sponged face - a testament to the healers' care. "Thank you so much for looking after him, even though you must be so busy. Does a lot to put me at ease," she managed a slight smile.



"Of course, sister. Let's have a look at them." Getting up from beside Thente's pallet, Claire makes for the kit she'd left at the tent's mouth. "Orc poison? Must be made from something that grows in the region. Best see if we can't figure out what exactly," she conjectures aloud, dabbing a piece of treated parchment paper on the tongue of a feverish soldier. Drawing the tiny slip out of his mouth, she squints at the resulting stain and offers her best guess as to the precise venom involved, and the antidote.

The ten cases the healers had pointed out were serious indeed - Claire shared a grim look with her fellow professionals in silence, before nodding to indicate that she would do her best. Clasping her palms and closing her eyes, she entered a meditative, prayerful mood, chest rising and falling with every slow breath.

Goddess of life, you give and take away
Every blade of grass, every sheaf of wheat
Guide my hands to heal your ailing faithful
I listen to the waters 'neath the earth

Guided by the Great Mother's spirit, Claire approaches in turn five of the ten, muttering a quiet petition over each of them.

Expend 25 charges of Lay on Hands (0 remaining) on whichever 5 individuals Chauntea chooses.

Medicine: 19
00:49, Today: Claire Larkspur rolled 19 using 1d20+3.  Medicine.

The patients gasp as the light of Chauntea flows over them. Even covered in bandages, Claire can sense their burn wounds receding, dead skin sloughing off as the healing energies wash them away. Three burn victims and two of the poisoned ones (the ones suffering from smoke poisoning) have their injuries healed.

The remaining healers say nothing, simply bowing their heads in prayer and thanks.

After that display of divine miracles, Claire's inspection of remaining three poison victims sheds a bit more light on the issue: the toxin used is a mix of black adder venom and a number of local herbs that greatly amplify its effect.

Curing it with the ingredients on hand will be difficult. Without magic or the counteragent, the best Claire can do is to counteract the symptoms until the body can flush out the toxin on its own. A mixture of herbs and compresses to relieve muscles and minimize the damage to the body's organs will help.

Claire needs to make three Medicine checks. The results will be used in lieu of the patients own saves against the poison later.

Note there are still two more burn victims Claire could not cover.

"Tch. Black adder venom. Not much more we can do for 'em," Claire shook her head, "other than the usual that is," the herbal compresses the healers had already put together from their stretched supplies certainly was a step in the right direction. "Should have more of those in here..." she digs around in her herbalist's case. "Why don't you take a break? You both certainly deserve it. I'll keep an eye on them in the meantime and call you if anything comes up, yea?"

Medicine: 22, 5, 10
02:08, Today: Claire Larkspur rolled 22 using 1d20+3.  Medicine.
02:08, Today: Claire Larkspur rolled 5 using 1d20+3.  Medicine.
02:08, Today: Claire Larkspur rolled 10 using 1d20+3.  Medicine.

As the critical patients stabilize, a shudder of relief seems to flow through the gathered healers and alchemists. As for the remaining poison, there is little more Claire can do but wait, and hope that the patients own constitutions pull them through. Once again, the sister bearing Eldath's symbol again clasps her hands together in thanks.

"These people owe you their life," she whispers to Claire, carefully placing a small pouch in her hands, "accept our thanks, from the servant of one Mother to another. These are berries from the grove of her sister's servant, whose grove lies nearby. Though of little use in healing, they may hide thee from harm."

Religion Proficiency: Claire knows, as a servant of the nature goddess, that Eldath is sister of Mielikki, Goddess of the Forests. Her exarch is Gwaeron Windstrom, God of Rangers, whose sacred grove supposed lies near the outskirts of Triboar itself.

Herbalism Proficiency: The pouch contains a bunch of Ghostberries. Consuming the entire pouch will grant the effects of both an invisibility spell and a pass without a trace spell, except only for the consumer. Ghostberries grow only in places of powerful nature magic, and are near impossible to find. Once picked, the berries will lose their magic after thirty days.

U'lin threw away the dwarf's insults - so terribly many, and yet no less unpalatable to the firbolg- and considered what he had said.  Did U'lin truly think Gond only aided those of mastercraftsman level?  Of course not.  Would he be offended at an apprentice applying the best effort with what he had?  Of course not.  Now, were there efforts to deliberately use corrupted material to pervert a crafting - why that was a gasket of a different maker.

Was it simply U'lin wasn't the mastercrafter he had perhaps thought himself?  The priest's hand patted the young shoulder's concerned hand, and wandered back to the Beetle as thoughts wandered about within the mind.  As he put a touch of chalk to wood in a note to Emma -
   Well done, Emma.  Rest up.  We're back, and Moira's going to make some fare.
   We'll check back before we check the Tower or depart - though you'll be with us for the latter, I imagine.
   -U'lin
-U'lin mentally tested his reasoning for flaws or weaknesses of character.

Pride?  No, for U'lin didn't consider himself a master of the art - indeed, it was exactly the reason he had sought out the dwarven smith as a more knowledgeable crafter, and why he had left from the Spine to find a more learned crafter able to identify and aid in the restoration of the strange fragment.  More than an apprentice, so more expected, but far from perfection, and far from expected to only have the finest of ores and metals with which to work.

And the dwarf would have -should have!- considered that.  U'lin was not a person bent against the will of Gond, but one who desired to do good, to create, and tried to do best with what he had or could obtain, and worked in the design process as much as he drew upon Gond with the crafting.

The dwarf was simply a jerk.


U'lin tucked his magical nugget back into a pocket inside his vest.  There were other dwarven smiths, of better character, and likely as skilled or better.

And that's why the dwarf only received a healing word to help with his hurts as U'lin updated the soldiers that he was going to head back to check with the rest of the party about whether they were eating, heading to the Tower, or otherwise.  Just because the dwarf was a horrible person didn't mean that U'lin wouldn't offer a bit of healing, or mention to Claire, for her better healing insight.

It was some time away that Moira spent in the kitchens, though she absconded after a while with smudges of flour and soot along her cheeks, a decidedly lighter supply pack, and a small knotted bundle under one arm.  A bit of cooking was good for the soul and she seemed in much better spirits than from the dour, introspective morning she'd begun with earlier.  Though, as she came along to drop off her bag into the wagon, she came upon U'lin in conversation with Foehammer and Tetri - rather than interrupt she simply watched from a distance as her knack for going unnoticed was put to use as well as ever.

It wasn't until the Firbolg parted from Foehammer's company a second time that Moira saw fit to come along, announcing herself with a grunt and clamber atop her own wagon parked beside the Iron Beetle.  "Oi, U'lin - have a nibble.  Made some for Emma too, but it'll keep 'til she wakes." the Halfling shuffled into her bindle and produced a warm, savory-scented parcel of wrapped parchment.  Tucked within was a well-stuffed pie; a shell rich and flaky with crisp buttered layers, packed full of minced meat, hearty veg, spice-blended oats, all wrapped around a hard-boiled egg set in the very center.  One for U'lin, and another for him to leave in the Iron Beetle for Emma along with his note.

As U'lin seemed intent on venturing off in search of the others, Moira fell into step with him but cast a look over at Foehammer as they went.  "Don't mean t'pry, love, but seems like th'smithy's rubbed y'wrong.  Y'cross with him?  I ain't seen a Dwarf so flummoxed by his own pride t'not say what he feels flat out since... well, th'last time I spoke with a Dwarf."

Moira drops off two of her four meals - a mundane one with Emma, and a special one with U'lin.

Reinforced Meat Pie
Moira's knack for hearty cooking is just what the body needs to bolster itself against the stresses of a rough day.  Creatures who eat this meal gain a +1 bonus to all saving throws for the next hour.

U'lin's eyelids half-closed as his nostrils flared and feathered, inhaling as much as possible of Moira's cooking.  "Oh, but with a.... meat pie?  With a meat pie of your cooking, who needs truth magics!  So very much skill, Moira, thank you.

"He has.  So ignorant and rude, insulting Claire and her father, demanding her blade, careless of her choices.  I, a fellow smith, travel far seeking his special skills, and despite all our efforts and challenges, and us pushing on to save him while aiding in protecting the city, he doesn't care about smithing, or the intrigue of a smithing puzzle - all he wanted was coin.  That... offended me, as much as his insults.

"The other is petty.  This morning he made a couple comments about my crafting -deficiencies of metal from scrounging, and that some of the work was not my hand - and he was right, which hurt, and made me think, even question myself.  Then he challenged my questioning, again correctly.  He's simply.. just.. so, rude!  It's like every sentence is digging hands deep through that sludge beneath the kobold tower.

"I wanted to talk with him about my nugget and the fragments, but the challenge is not running him over with the Beetle, back and forth, to ensure the job was done properly, and let him truly inspect my workmanship."

The firbolg waved down the inevitable comment. "I cannot run over every person that offends me, I know.  But I'd certainly think about making an exception for him.  So rude, and ungrateful, and to a fellow _smith_!  Never such offensiveness.  Hmph.

"And yet he's clearly quite ill, and makes me feel for him."

---

Nice job on the pie, Moira!

Though she often scoffed and scolded when U'lin got going in a chatter, Moira listened attentively as he aired his grievances with the surly Dwarven smith.  His remark about wanting to use the fellow for a speed bump got a wry chuckle out of the Halfling, her mirth remained in an idle smirk well after the fact as she gave a gentle shake of her head.

"Y'know, I once knew a Half-Elven ma'am who traveled with m'family's caravan a while.  Drove m'straight up th'wall, as she'd criticize m'cookin' every chance she had, like I was th'worst chef she'd ever known.  Could never make her happy no matter what I did, 'til I'm sat there thinkin' 'This salty bitch!  Ungrateful for th'work I'm doin', insultin' m'skills and th'recipes handed down from m'great-great-great kin'." A bit of shared sympathy for a similar experience, it seemed, though Moira's tone held the distinct lead of a lesson she hoped to impart instead.  "Couldn't figure out for th'life of me, though, why she kept comin' back over and over again if she hated m'food so much.  Thought maybe she just liked bein' a nuisance.  Wasn't 'til later I found out she was terrible lonesome, travelin' on her own as she was, on top of bein' just terrible at expressin' her feelin's over her own wounded pride.  Each time she popped off 'bout m'cookin' she was hopin' t'start a conversation, but th'insult always made it an argument, and we never got anywhere.  Sure, bein' a pest was th'wrong way for her t'go 'bout it, but it was th'only way she knew t'try and reach out t'folk."

Moira looked back over toward the Iron Beetle where Foehammer and Tetri lingered, then gave a resigned shrug.  "Th'way I see it?  A well-reputed smithy like Foehammer, who's got his own business and apprentices, wouldn't give y'a moment's thought if he really felt poorly of y'self or y'work.  Yet here he's been, body and spirit each wounded in failin' t'help against th'Giants, tryin' t'talk shop with y'twice now even after bein' scorned for his manner." the Halfling cast her gaze back up U'lin's way.  "Sure, he's bein' a right numpty for his ego's sake, but seems t'me that there's a lonesome fella reachin' out for want of a kindred spirit who might understand him.  Y'said y'self he seemed t'have lost that creative craftin' spark y'got in spades y'self; what d'ya think might a fella so renown for his craft be goin' through t'act like that?

For Gond's sake, love, y'bested a sore loser of a Stone Giant at his own mastery and browbeat a pair of Ogres into obedience.  A mouthy old git like Foehammer shouldn't be a trouble.  Y'wanna talk with him 'bout th'fragments?  Then push past th'guff and bluster, and give him a challenge t'inspire his spirit and light that spark back up.  After all, when a forge starts t'go cold, who better than a builder like y'self t'stoke th'fires again?"
This message was last edited by the player at 06:24, Tue 05 Jan 2021.

U'lin shook his head at Moira, disagreeing with the characterization.  "I appreciate your words, but he did not approach me about smithing; I approached him, and he rebuffed me and ignored me.  I rebuked him, yes, for how he treated Claire and I.  Then this morning, he
said interesting work, and promptly said it was too smooth for me to have done, and -properly- rebuked the ore quality, but again did so insultingly."


U'lin held up his hands helplessly, trying to explain to his much more worldly (mother) figure.  "He is not a foe in battle, he is a _master_ of smithcraft.  A master.  I tried to give him the challenge, and he rebuked it, interested only in coin.  On something I spent hours discussing, designing, and crafting, he denigrated it down without anything close to a compliment.  The Stone Giant... well.. yes, okay, that's fair, he was quite skilled; though that was the rules more... well, no, that's not correct either, it was a competition through the rules, but it was crafting, and Gond's guidance aided, but it was a fine crafting piece - my best, likely enough.  Did you see the little figures that I had worked into the cavern portion?  I spent extra detail on your face and body, especially because you were both very small and very important and... oh, yes, sorry.

"My people saw no value in my work and passion, and it was with the gnomish smiths I found great welcome and teaching, and love of the craft.  Here is a master with no love for the craft, only sourness and poison... ohh..."  Moira's words echoed between U'lin's ears: 'inspire his spirit and light that spark back up.  After all, when a forge starts t'go cold, who better than a builder like y'self t'stoke th'fires again.

---

OOC: Has Moira's talk opened U'lin's eyes?
07:28, Today: U'lin rolled 25 using 1d20+7.  Insight.
mmm.. pretty decent roll.  Let's see what U'lin picked up about CrankySmith

OOC: ...damnit I literally forgot to give loot.

Remember what I said about Giant Runes?

As he cleans out his armor, U'lin finds a fragment of the strange boulder has lurked its way into his pocket. A piece of stone, engraved with the same symbol that was branded on the many, many magmins they fought. A fragment of Ild, the Rune of Fire:



Despite having been left overnight, the fragment is still warm to touch, like a mug of hot tea.

Identify reveals that like the Haug rune, this rune is incomplete. It can be used as part of a magic ritual, fusing it with an existing magic item and enhancing it in some way, much like how U'lin fused the Haug rune into his Plate. What this does depends on the item and the ritual itself, though it would most certainly involve Fire in some way.

U'lin and Moira continued their silent 'whom is going to blink first' discussion.  And U'lin blinked first, naturally enough.

"And a curmudgeonly old fellow not used to working with others might not use the right ways to speak with fellow craftsfolk when feeling low from his shop being smashed.  You don't need to appeal to my vanity, but your point is well-taken.  If grudgingly.  Thank you.  Less grudgingly, and very appreciative of the pie - though that isn't related to trying a third time, it's simply another thank you for the thought of my stomach."

Squaring his shoulders, summoning up the strength and driver to hammer his way through a thick-headed dwarf stubborn piece of stock, U'lin turned back from the halfling to return to the dwarven mastersmith.

"You're a master smith, from what I hear of everyone.  You clearly still have your wits and skills in your head, which is a good sign after having half a city wall dropped on top of you.  I know dwarves are renknowned for toughness, but that sets a high bar.

"Your armour was dented in the collapse - there is a travel anvil and coals in the hotbox, hammers, to restore travel damage, and you're welcome to use it if you like.  I'm still working on a lighter-weight forge to have for better work on the road, but that's a time and coin issue.

"I could be wrong, but I believe that we're going to check the wizard's tower soon, then heading out to track down the two fire giants.  Your forge had the roof dropped on it, but the walls were still mostly up.  If you wish, you may use the ratchet assemblies of the catapults - with a basic pulley, or a crane lift, it should help restore your workplace.  You're certainly going to be in demand in helping restore the town's body, and no one makes a difference to a town like a mastersmith.

"Now, I don't need to know your masterskills if you don't want to share like we did in the gnomish smithy, and certainly not as we do in the fellowship of Gond, but if coin is your governing, then I would seek to hire you to help understand regarding this nugget'- U'lin thunked the nugget down upon the near side shelf extending from the Beetle's window base - perhaps a touch too much force, but not petulantly - "And other insights on restoring this hammer I came across - I'm working on the original crafting history- and if I'm correct, that this Fire Rune can be combined with someone's armour to help ward against fire - might make another difference when we face down the fire giants."  The lightning-forged hammer and U'lin's found rune of fire thumped 1-2 farther along the wagon ledge. "I was thinking also about how to use it to heat a full travel forge, but if it does protect against fire, I suspect the party will wish its protection over better forging on the road.  There may be other runes or ways to fire a full travel forge.

"And if you have improvement suggestions about the war wagon, by all means.  I am not an apprentice, but far from a mastercrafter in my mind.  Even despite defeating the Stone giant in his crafting competition."

The firbolg raised his voice to carry to Moira for the last bit, as he turned to shoot a 'happy now, Mom?' look to Moira, and then focused back on the dwarven smith.

"And I am always looking to learn and improve, not that I'm asking you to impart your skills onto me, simply noting that I try to keep learning and improving."

When U'lin returns, he finds Foehammer in a rather foul mood, apparently arguing with his goblin assistant.

"...have gold, just tell'em I'll pay double or whatever."

"Master Foehammer. You can't drink. The healers said you can't drink. Miss Gabby said that if you drunk anymore, your liver will 'swell till it explodes through your anus, you daft old man'."

"What's she know? Its m'liver. I know me liver. Ah once drunk the bloody Felbarr twins under the table. Six hours of drinkin', ale'n the finest dwavern mead..."

"Mas-"

The pair pause as U'lin arrives and speaks his request. Foehammer squints, while Tetri looks mostly relieved at the diversion. When the firbolg is done, the smith snorts, then reaches for his empty hip flask. Lifting it up, he scowls, then sets it back down again.

"Yer got two things wrong lad. One, I dinnah give a rats-ass about coin. I just wanted the smug lil'shit who shoved a random nugget of ore in mah face while me city burned around me and asked tah look at it fer him like I was some two-copper tinsmith ta take a hike ofta nearest cliff," the smith hacks a few times into his hand, then scowls as Tetri offers him what appears to be a cup of plain water, "two, I am not a mastersmith. Never claimed ta be. T'was just a title folk stuck on me after I made some fancy gear fer a few nobles'ere and there."

"...'sides, not like I've made anythin'worth smithin' in the last ten years."

"But- I did train'under t'best dwarvern smithies ta'work the forges of Gauntletgrym itself. I know me metals, and I know me niche. Dinnah ask me about runecraft or mechanics- 'tis something fer the lorekeepers of the Citadels, or those daft bastards down in Waterdeep," Foehammer takes a long drink from the cup, then tosses it over to Tetri, "I guess if yer offerin' me use of yer tools in rebuildin' me town, the least I could do is look at yer stupid crap," the dwarf picks up the nugget, squinting as the light reflects off its surface, then tapping it a few times, "t'heck yer get this from anyway? Tis like six different mine deposits had an orgy'n fed their baby ta a Salamander. Can't tell much with just a quick glance- urgh, I'll need a bench'n, lenses, rods waitna those'be crisp now and-" Foehammer actually glowers at the nugget in his hand, before setting it aside.

"And this hammer. Hmmmm," now Foehammer looks annoyed. Taking a monocle from his pocket, the smith studies the weapon intently for a couple of minutes, "Uthgardt make eh? Shamastic bullshite, as usual. Prolly'crafted in the heart of a storm by the wails of a thousand cubs or some mystic crap like that. Lotsa raw power, but sloppy and inefficient. Stupid too. Lightning forging is just asking ta get yer arse zapped six ways short of a stick. If ye ask me, restoring this crap is a waste of time. You'll need ta do like, three different rituals at least, 'n they all involve the blood of yer enemies and sacrifice and whatnot. Easier ta just make yer own Hammer of Returning from scratch, wit the amount of effort y'll need."

With a dismissive glance, Foehammer tosses the weapon back to U'lin;

"Honestly, Uthgardt bane magics shouldn't even work. Yer need sympathic and antipathic resonances ta induce the right destructive feedback on yer targets. Stuff like this," he shakes his finger at the offending hammer, "just clobbers the target w'enough emotional cacaphony ta burst three hearts'n filters out the rest. Just like that stupid bow! Its disgusting. I dinnah know why ah even bothered lookin' at that thing, gift or not."
This message was last edited by the GM at 18:20, Tue 05 Jan 2021.

...

...

"I hope you find success in restoring your forge," U'lin finally managed in response to the litany of curses, insults, and completely useless responses.  He reminded himself that perhaps the true learning experience was in not giving into violence -physically, at least - mind violence didn't count, even as repeatedly as U'lin's Id had aspired - despite the outstandingly horrible personality.  "Thank you for looking at those items."

If the other dwarven smiths were even remotely like this one, U'lin might have found the first time he lost interest in a strange crafting.  The suggestion had seemed unnatural, even impossible, but that was before meeting such a sour person.

"If you'll excuse me," U'lin recovered his hammer and rune, and headed back with Moira, gesturing for her to move along already.

OOC: Is U'lin leaving the nugget with Foehammer? He did sort of imply he needed more time to look at it. Though I understand if U'lin would rather not have to talk to him a third time xD

OOC:
It's a very, very, veryveryveryvery near thing to installing it permanently into the old dwarf.  As sideways as possible.

Also known as yes.  For the looking/tools/stay away from me.

Okay that made me chuckle. This was a pretty good RP moment by all parties involved.

Everyone gets Inspiration. Happy New Year!

Moira lingered off the way a bit - not as far back as she had been prior, all in all, but still - and listened in without being too overt about it.  Though things seemed to deteriorate quickly between the two crafters, she didn't seem especially worried about it even as U'lin stalked along past her.  She fell in step with him once more and cast a look back over to Foehammer and Tetri with a reassuring smile, then picked up her pace to keep up with U'lin's own long gait.

"I'm proud of ya', love.  We'll give it another go later, yea?" she offered with a fond pat at U'lin's thigh as they went.

Off to go meet back up with Claire and Zaiya for the Hyuth's Tower thread, then?

[From Hyuth's Tower]

It is several hours later, having thoroughly cleared the tower, that the party finds themselves back in the Keep before Lord Protector Daratha Shendrel. The Lord Protector seems...well, busy. Reports and figures cover the desks and walls in the command area, where half a dozen soldiers rush back and forth, relaying messages and updating movements. Shendrel herself is in the middle of shuffling through a few reports, clearly annoyed by her missing arm. At the sight of the party however, the perpetual frown on the militant woman's face softens slightly.

"...ah. The Tower is secure then. Excellent," Daratha waves at one of her aides, who quickly slides away one pile of papers for another, "no need to report, my men have already given me a summary of what has transpired. To think that Triboar was nesting such a...snake," she almost spits, "I've always had my suspicions, but without the manpower or evidence to pursue it...bah!"

"But this is not why I called you here. There are two matters that need to be discussed- first is the matter of payment."

"Triboar owes you a great debt- one that frankly, it cannot pay. Between the rebuilding, the conscriptions, upkeep and necessary resources needed to hunt down the remnant orc army...if it is gold you want, I have little to spare. Your efforts and results however, deserve recognition. While I am "merely" the Lord Protector of the Dessarin, it is not a position without influence. To each of you that fought in the fire, I may grant a Mark of Prestige," a sergeant moves up to the group with four medals- each made of polished brass shaped into three spears framing the head of a fierce boar, "recognized by any and all cities under the aegis of the Lord's Alliance. This much at least, is within my power."

"Second is the matter of the future. While I would very much like your continued assistance with Triboar's enemies," she scans the map, where multiple red markers indicate the positions of the orc encampments, "I understand that you were originally en-route to Yartar," the Lord Protector's face twists slightly at the city's name, "for urgent business. Yet, duty compells me to ask- is there anyway I can convince the four- five of you to stay and assist? Perhaps for a few more days? Orcs we can deal with, but the Fire Giants are a matter that concerns the entire Sword Coast."
This message was last edited by the GM at 15:35, Wed 24 Mar 2021.

When all was said and done with the Tower, there still remained an abundance of questions yet to be sorted.  Grim business left and right; mercy killings of the poor, tortured beasts, the bizarre circumstance of the surviving Goblin and what might yet be done to restore him to a proper state, whether there was further access to the sewers that could lead to risks from the Tower.  And then, of course, Ethgar; he ended up along for the ride since it just seemed wrong to leave him to wander away in the wake of his experience and he what he could tell Triboar's officials was surely of interest.  By the end of it all, Moira was grateful to have the opportunity to bury her nose in a ledger and scrutinize various goods for their market value; it had been a much-needed distraction to her bothered mind.



The general disdain the Lord Protector and others present held for Yartar, to the point that even saying the town's name was like bile on their tongue, brought a meager sigh out of Moira.  She cast her gaze about to her companions before she spoke up first, apt to lead the way as had become a habit for her.  "There's some further matters regardin' Hyuth's antics what need discussin', Lord Protector, in confidence.  But nothin' so pressin' it can't wait 'til later." she began.

"Our business in Yartar ain't somethin' that can be delayed long, especially not if we're riskin' not comin' back from any ventures y'hope t'set us on.  We have folk dependin' on us and can't go riskin' ourselves careless-like.  T'be full honest, I wouldn't fancy our chances of survivin' an encounter with a single Fire Giant alone, let alone a pair what's rallied their own reinforcements.  We've been in th'Giant's wake this whole time and understand what their threat is... but we're in a foul position t'do anythin' 'bout it." the Halfling's gaze lifted to U'lin cautiously.  She knew how strongly he felt about bearing down on the Giant's trail given what they were set to collecting.  While she couldn't blame him for that, her pragmatic manner couldn't help but stand against it when they still had so many others relying on them.  Stoor, Emma, Thente... to say nothing of the fact that the party carried a piece of the very device the Fire Giants sought out.  She didn't fancy delivering them part of their doomsday weapon gift wrapped with a bow.  If it turned out that the Fire Giants needed every last bit of the device recovered to enact their plan, then the best option would be to stay as far away from them as possible.

"That said... I do feel there's more t'be done for th'sake of Triboar.  It's up t'th'group as a whole t'decide for certain but, if y'can assure protection of th'folk in our care in th'meantime, I think that would go a long way." Moira could stand as a spokeswoman for the group but, when it came down to it, she didn't see herself as their leader by any measure.  It wasn't her place to make decisions for them, especially not when folk like Zaiya and Ethgar most certainly had their own divergent paths prior.  "As for matters of pay and further tasks; there might be a solution that can roll 'em t'gether tidy-like.  I hate politickin', but I know well as any that it looks bad for towns and cities t'rely on mercenaries.  Excusable in a time of need, certainly, but it's th'sorta thing what gets levied against y'credibility later down th'line.  Pardon m'bluntness:

Y'named m'Deputy-Captain for th'sake of helpin' th'soldiers last night.  I propose y'make it a full Captain's rank.  Give each of us what've helped Triboar proper titles as vassals in y'service; proper knighthood goin' forward means any rewards y'might owe us can be managed later when Triboar's in better shape, gives us a vested interest in helpin' get t'that point, and ensures that any good deeds we do can be claimed as knights of th'Lord Protector servin' her will for th'betterment of th'people.  A far cry easier on th'image than Triboar leanin' on a gaggle of mercs it can't afford t'pay t'clean its affairs, yea?"

U'lin nodded respectfully to the Lord Protector, and was appreciative of the award bestowed upon them - indeed, the cleric still wore the small present of a little girl given not so long ago when the party saved her twice.

The halfling's comments about not pursuing the giants - again, for a third time.... that did not go over as well.  The very tall and very large firbolg stilled, then turned to gaze down upon her, dark eyes very serious, and measuring as she continued her words.  Broad lips shaped a silent "Negotiating?"

"It is an imprudent smith working on another's project without blessing," he quietly agreed on the Moira's point of support.  "Respected agents of your effort certainly lends to a strength of belief greater than simple coin, and more to efforts to aid than land than disappear without account.

"As to the giants, my friend speaks with the caution of a captain to not provide braggadocio or airy promises to serious threats.  The giants we have encountered and defeated were all extremely dangerous and powerful threats, and a pair of them, powerful enough to breach the walls and hurt the city - that is not something to consider lightly.  She also appreciates that you are not seeking the moon in a net, but solid efforts - and that the giants are indeed a great peril to the lands, and others have killed many people, and it would ill behoove any to treat only a small hurt of the past while ignoring the rampaging threats.  We are not ignoring the threats, and tracking down those giants is vitally important, and we understand that all.  It is a critical threat, a very serious duty, and of importance to us all.

"It is also very challenging, not that we shy away from difficult situations, as you have direct experience."

"Also, speaking as one of the group's arcanists?  I have zip that would work against a Fire Giant--I can't bind them, I can't hurt them with fire, and while I could certainly just shoot all kinds of zappy stuff in their general direction, that's a really inefficient use of power."  Zaiya added.  "I'd need a few days at the very least to fully sift over what can be salvaged from that arsehole's book and copy what I can before I'd want to risk giving it a go."

"I've no fear of fighting a giant," Ethgar insisted, doing his best to look resolute and intimidating despite the lingering weakness in his limbs from the wizard's malicious experiments. "And I will aid you in this task, if you will have me. That bastard ensorcelled me, and I am still feeling the effects. But I assure you I've not forgotten how to swing an axe, nor the thrill of doing so.

I've dedicated my life to courage, and to valor in battle. I have sung its virtues, and I have practiced it myself. My people - the Elk tribe -" the barbarian snorted, and stopped himself just before spitting on the floor of the Keep. "I thought they believed the same. But they are cowards!

You all, though... you smack of the real thing, small though you may be." He cast his gaze over Moira and Zaiya. "What you did back in that tower... what you did for me..." His hand closed into a fist. "I shall not forget. It would be my honor to fight alongside you. It would be... a much needed reminder. That there are those in this world who still know the meaning of valor. Who still value it."

"I've no need for coins or other shiny things," he told the Lord Protector, then looked back to the party. For a moment he seemed he might kneel, though he did not. "It would be my honor, and privilege."

The young woman standing respectfully before the Lord Protector was polite, if somewhat untalkative, not seeming in any rush to express her opinion until the rest had spoken their piece. To those who had known her for longer, it was clear that Claire remained somewhat withdrawn. Her eyes were no longer reddened, and her expression composed. It had been only at Moira's urging that she'd left the still-warm bodies of the beasts she'd led into a forest clearing just outside Triboar's west gate. The poor creatures had trusted her enough to follow her out of the tower - a bizarre sight for what soldiers and citizens witnessed the odd procession of a bear, a wolf and a woman cradling a half-petrified eagle. The beasts' ends came cleanly and painlessly, but that only went so far to mitigate the tragic reality of Hyuth's atrocities. And that was merely a footnote to a dark chapter for Triboar, in which many other innocents had suffered or perished.

Such matters weighed on Claire's mind as the conferment of honours took place. "Thank you, Lord Protector," she acknowledged simply. She did not exhibit much interest in matters of compensation or prestige - her heart wasn't quite in it at the moment. The priestess' thoughts drifted back to Thente, who must still have been in care of Triboar's healers. She'd have to thank them properly for their selfless service before the party got on the road.

Her presence of mind turned back to the conversation at hand, Claire eventually felt compelled to offer her opinion, not least because a common front with her companions might make Moira's job easier. "I too am not afraid to face a giant if it comes to it. Miss Moira is right that we have other duties to see to, and many of them see us headed to Yartar with all haste. That said, it's plain as day that giants rampaging the area is everyone's concern. Should we be provided with some means of getting word to you, I'm sure all present would be most willing to keep you informed of happenings further afield. Gods willing it may save lives."

"Knighthood," Daratha answers, eyebrows furrowing, "....possible. It would mean your actions reflect on me, as your apparent liege. While this is something I only grant to my most trusted soldiers," the Lord Protector nods, "you four have well earned the right."

"There will need to be a ceremony. A brief one. I will need time to draft letters and prepare medals- four of them," she shoots Ethgar a brief glance, before turning back to Moira, "I'm afraid I cannot justify granting such a position to a ba- an Uthgardt. There are too many tensions between the cities and their folk- no one would believe it. Besides, I do not believe he was part of your original group...?"

"In exchange, you will aid Triboar's efforts to stabilize the region. I do not intend to infringe too much on your vaulted personal freedoms, only make the following requests:"

"First, that you inform all cities you are traveling to and through about the threat posed by Giants. I have already called for a Council of Lords- the more Alliance members that are convinced of the problem, the easier it will be for Triboar to gain proper aid."

"Second, that the contents of the Hyuth's Tower and its properties, along with half of the mundane assets seized be granted to Triboar for rebuilding. You may keep any magical items- gods know you could use them."

"Last, that you refuse any offers of allegiance or contracts with the Waterbaron of Yartar. They have enough adventurers there already."

"Agree to these terms, and I will grant you your knighthood and the rank of Captain, along with the Letters of Merit."

Moira shook her head gently and cast a sympathetic look over Ethgar's way.  "Mister Ethgar here was one of th'folk kidnapped and experimented on by Hyuth.  Still in a bit of rough shape after we freed him, but if he's willin', he might be able t'share some insight with y'wizard-folk as t'what happened."

Contextualization aside, Moira fell silent in consideration of the terms as set.  Under normal circumstances she never would've been so presumptuous as to outright request a title of knighthood; it was poor form at the very least but, given the circumstances both the party and the Lord Protector were in, felt like a good avenue worth the risk.  Daratha's practical appraisal of the whole matter was a reassurance; there was no good to be had in leaders who responded with ego over pragmatism.

Inform cities of the threat: they were already doing that to begin with, so no change in practice there.  But with knighthood, they'd have the seal of Triboar to back their claims and be taken more seriously as more than a gaggle of travelers having to prove themselves.  A positive, overall.

Donate to the rebuilding of Triboar: a matter already heavy on Moira's mind to begin with, as she thought back to Foehammer.  She needed to speak with him again...

Refusing allegiance with Yartar though?  That stuck a bit in the Halfling's craw; they had no reason to seek such a relationship at all to begin with, but her merchant's sensibilities rankled at the prospect of shutting a door early.  Still, it was a generally acceptable loss in the bigger picture.

"I ain't so crass as t'haggle a matter like this, but there's things what need clarifyin' all th'same." she continued as she produced the ledger of Hyuth's tower she'd scripted down from her logbook pages and offered them over to Daratha.  "Here's an account of what we found in th'Tower and some estimates of value.  Some of th'magic stuff can't be taken off th'grounds without destroyin' it, accordin' t'our Miss Zaiya, and would be of more use t'Triboar anyway.  I'm not at all against a fair split t'help fund Triboar; it just needs more bean countin' before we call it a done deal.

There might be more we can offer th'town anyway, dependin'.  I don't wanna go volunteerin' anyone for somethin' without their say-so, but we're in th'company of a skilled apothecary named Emma.  She's already been helpin' out y'wounded men since all last night outta th'goodness of her heart and deserves proper recognition as well.  Might be worth speakin' t'her, see how she may feel 'bout puttin' roots down here, if it suits her."

On the matter of Yartar, the Halfling sighed a bit and set her hands to her wide hips in a passing moment of consternation.  "As for th'Waterbaron; we got neither boon nor bane for him as is.  We're only headin' there on behalf of a friend who needs us.  I don't mind an exclusivity contract with Triboar... but that don't overcome doin' what's right." she lifted her gaze to meet the Lord Protector's.  "If we get t'Yartar and there's folk what need help, such as here or anywhere else we've passed through, then we'll do as we will for others' sake; life, limb, and legacy be damned.  But that'd be our own choice, not somethin' by hire of th'Waterbaron, rest assured."

With all that said, Moira looked back over either shoulder to her companions and gestured to prompt them to speak their own minds if they had anything to contribute on the matter.  "Otherwise, th'terms are broadly agreeable.  What d'ya lot think?"

"Me?  I think it's a lovely deal"  Zaiya claps her hands together and grins.  "One can never be too respectable after all, though I must stress again, that I am in no way prepared to face a Fire Giant at the moment...  But that should be able to change given a little work--what is magic after all but a tool that can be shaped to get what needs to be done sorted out?"

She gets a little bit toothy at that point

"Oh I can't wait!"

Ethgar let the women do the talking and simply glowered at this Lord Protector. He fully agreed he'd done noting to warrant knighthood, nor did he have any interest in it. Nonetheless, he resented Darathra singling him out as she had done.

He answered Moira's suggestion with a noncommittal grunt. "Don't remember much..." he muttered. Everything about this Keep made him uncomfortable, and his back hurt besides.

He shot Zaiya a suspicious look when she mentioned magic as a tool for shaping. With the detritus of Hyuth's experiments still literally embedded in his skin, this was a sore subject for the barbarian.

"Aye Lord Protector, Miss Moira here's spoken well what's in my heart. May the Great Mother be as generous to you and your city as your terms are to us," Claire touched the sigil of Chauntea on her breastplate. "My late father was a Knight of Waterdeep, and it would be my privilege to follow in his footsteps to serve the people. It seems like trying times are ahead, and I believe that the broadest mandate to do good will not only benefit the realm at large, but also bring honour to your city."

"As for the issue of the tower, I'm of course entirely agreeable to the city's claim on that villain's property. I'd only urge you to permit a thorough cleansing and sanctification of that accursed place, which I'd be most willing to volunteer for, along with U'lin and any other clerics in your employ, if they aren't indisposed with other matters."

OOC: To clarify, the Lord is requesting more of the initial haul you estimated in the thread - basically the 7 way split that Moira proposed. Is everyone okay with that?



"The current Waterbaron is a 'her', I believe," adds Daratha, "Lady Nestra Ruthiol. The city seems to change Waterbarons with every turning of the tide. Chivalry is all well and good, Deputy-soon-to-be-Captain, but be careful you are not taken advantage of. Ruthiol is a cunning bi- woman. The politics of Yartar is as a den of snakes."

"Besides that, it seems we have an agreement. The ceremony will take place tonight- all citizens of Triboar invited to attend. I may have to take some liberties with your stated mission, angle it so it sounds like you're chasing or at least investigating the perpertrators behind the attack. For morale, you understand."

That warning got a bit of a rueful chuckle out of Moira as she lifted a hand to habitually rub the side of her choker-clad throat once more.  "Some risks gotta be takin'.  I ain't th'sort who's fussed over losin' out if it means helpin' folk; even death won't stop m'from doin' right in this world."



"'bout that..." another glance was lifted U'lin's way as the topic of trailing the Giants came about once more.  The Halfling hesitated a moment but steadied herself with a breath.  "Lord Protector, can we speak with y'candidly?  And privately?" Her eyes bounced around to the various aides and soldiers who moved about the room.

OOC: this will require a persuasion check

Persuasion
Moira Ruadh rolled 12 using 1d20+6

Not great.  Can I get Help from someone in the party, or by context of the situation since Moira already mentioned they had more to discuss about what they found in Hyuth's Tower that would require discretion?

"...what do you wish to discuss that requires a private audience?" the Lord Protector asks guardedly, as a few soldiers glance over. It seems that while your actions have earned a large amount of trust, requesting a private audience is still a few inches over the line.

Moira, you can attempt another persuasion check, though you'll need to give a good reason to mollify the Lord's suspicions first.

Moira Ruadh rolled 78 using 1d100

It seems that they did manage to recover two of the stones! The first works perfectly, the second is a bit damaged though, cracked from the fire. Messages can largely be only sent one way, with the reply being a single syllable word. Repairing it will be very tricky (Arcana check, difficult DC without a library at hand)

Moira didn't envy the life of politicians and nobility one bit.  They'd gone to such lengths, risking horrible death several times over within the span of a day without even asking for a suitable reward, and still the Lord Protector had to take caution about privacy?  If one could meet others in those circumstances and still have reason to harbor worry that something amiss could happen just seemed like a terrible spot to live in, to her.

"Politickin' matters, I'm afraid.  If privacy's too much t'ask far as security's concerned, then confidence at least; keep whoever y'please at y'side so long as y'have full trust in 'em bein' able t'hold their silence." the Halfling elaborated.  "Y'surely more than understand some conversations shouldn't go flittin' away on passin' ears, yea?"

As part of a gesture of trust on the matter, Moira withdrew the little ledger of sordid information they'd found in Hyuth's chambers; in her review of everything, she'd bookmarked relevant points with slips of parchment to make for quick reference.  With only the indication that it was part of a larger conversation that would require discretion, she slid the book over for Daratha to peruse.

I think it got shuffled into the general inventory, though I'm uncertain and just assuming Moira has "Hyuth's Little Black Book of Criminal Connections and Conspiracy" for the sake of narrative convenience here.  Let me know if this covers the conditions for another roll or, even better, having some physical evidence to show negates the need for a roll entirely.

OOC: Didn't see another roll, but showing the notebook and the need for discretion works enough for a retry.

10:53, Today: GM, on behalf of Moira Ruadh, rolled 24 using 1d20+6.  Persusasion.

The Lord Protector's eyes narrow at the sight of the notebook. With a sigh, she stands up from her chair, the wood creaking as the gathered soldiers look over in surprise.

"...walk with me," Daratha commands, gesturing for Moira to follow her out of the tent, "what are the rest of you staring at? Get those reports sorted now! Orthag, I want those campfires marked out by the time I get back! Get me troop numbers and caster sightings! Go!"

Having done so, the Lord Protector eases herself out of the command tent, briskly walking towards the rear of the keep. Within minutes, she leads you over to some sort of holding area, where a sleepy looking guardsman is watching over a mass amount of crates and spears.

"Leave us Private," Daratha instructs to the soldier, who hurried nods and moves away with wide eyes. Once the man is out of earshot, the woman sighs and turns to Moira, rubbing her eyes with her one good hand.

"...so. What else did Hyuth do with my name?"

As Daratha gestured for her to follow, Moira hesitated long enough to give the group a quick regard.  "I'll take care of th'details.  Y'lot go rest, sort out matters what need sortin'.  Check on Thente and Emma, yea?  I'll catch back up in a bit." she frankly would've liked the others to keep with her - at least U'lin, given his knowledge of the situation with the Giants - but if Daratha only trusted a one-on-one then there was little that could be done.

Once it was just the two of them alone amid supplies, Moira hopped up to stand herself atop one of the crates to put herself a bit closer on the Lord Protector's level.  More out of consideration for the poor woman's neck by that point, really.  She took Daratha's weary demand as an invitation to be frank.

"Ain't entirely certain yet.  We didn't have a lot of time t'sort through all his documents, so I figure that's just scratchin' th'surface.  Our scholars can give th'papers a closer look tonight unless y'prefer t'have y'own handle that.  At th'very least, we also found plenty of heavily detailed maps of Triboar's defenses, as well as some kinda map of magical leylines.  Given Hyuth's involvement with th'town's walls and sewers, there's no tellin' how many outside forces he's sold y'out to or how long it's been goin' on." she began.  The Halfling mulled for a moment to rub at her chin, then started again.

"Well, th'real reason I wanted t'speak quiet-like was on th'matter of th'Giants.  Namely, their motives.  M'company's been travelin' up th'coast from Nightstone over th'past two weeks now, ever since th'town was destroyed by Giants flyin' 'round on a damned cloud of all things.  Been nonstop chaos and bloodshed each step of th'way.  We've learned that th'Giants' heirarchy - somethin' called th'Ordnin' - has been broken by th'apparent death of its leadership.  Th'lot of 'em are in a civil war scrabblin' t'grab power and change their ranks in th'peckin' order with all creation caught in th'crossfire." Even describing a fragment of the situation they were all caught in made it sound vast beyond hope of confronting, but it wasn't as if they had any choice.  "Th'Fire Giants what attacked Triboar are a pair we've been halfway tailin' for a while now.  They're diggin' up old vaults tryin' t'piece together some kinda weapon t'secure their place at th'top of th'heap.  One of those vaults was under Hyuth's warehouse.  Ain't sure what kinda deal he wanted t'cut with th'Fire Giants, but no doubt that's what he bargained with.  Dunno what th'weapon exactly does but... it's bad.  Like, th'sort Giants use t'fight each other or Dragons with, bad."

There was, of course, the unavoidable matter of how exactly Moira and the party had uncovered such knowledge.  To that point the Halfling gave Daratha a moment to digest everything she'd disclosed thus far before she began to pile more on.  "Does th'name 'SEER' mean anythin' t'ya?"
This message was last edited by the player at 07:35, Sat 03 Apr 2021.

For a few seconds, Daratha Shendrel simply stares at Moira, brows furrowed. Finally, the woman sighs;

"This is...what you're describing sounds like some sort of Giant-kind...coup," the general shakes her head, "and yes. I am aware of the Mistress of the Tea Garden, as some like to call her. One of the factions within the Lord's Alliance that focuses on intelligence and counter-intelligence through the use of few but select ag-" the Lord Protector pauses, then groans, "you're her agents aren't you? Or at least a direct piece on her board. That would explain the ridiculous coincidence of a highly-specialised group of adventurers showing  up exactly on-time to handle the problems we cannot."

"If the Garden is involved, then matters will escalate- worse, this Ordning sounds like things will get political. Either way, my duties as the Lord Protector remain the same- that said, I assume you have some other goal in bringing me here besides adding to my growing pile of headaches?"
This message was last edited by the GM at 15:42, Wed 07 Apr 2021.

Once Daratha confirmed she did indeed know of SEER, it was only a matter of time before the realization fully sank in.  Moira just waited in silence to let it happen at its own pace and offered a sympathetic shrug at the resulting groan of frustration.

"We're agents of sorts, in that she's payin' us for information 'bout th'Giants.  Ain't like we're some crack team or anythin' like that.  Just a messy band of folk what ended up together.  Hells, we literally picked up U'lin on th'side of th'road." the Halfling gave a bit of a half-hearted chuckle.  She reached up to drum her fingertips on the edge of the holy symbol of Waukeen mounted at her throat.  "Ain't like us bein' here is some machination outta Waterdeep or nothin' like that, but I feel like there's meanin' in it.  Schemin' is one thing, luck's another, but I don't believe in mere coincidences.  Much as I hate th'idea of squarin' up with Fire Giants or worse... feels like there ain't gonna be much choice in th'matter sooner than later."

"Either way, my duties as the Lord Protector remain the same- that said, I assume you have some other goal in bringing me here besides adding to my growing pile of headaches?"

"Assurance of privacy's mostly it.  Like I've said, I hate all this politickin' nonsense - ain't my taste, despite how often I get wrapped up in it.  I wasn't certain what'd be safe t'say in th'open and what's best for specific ears only.  But if we're t'be vassals of Triboar then I don't want this startin' on secrets and half-told truths.  What's comin' on th'horizon needs t'be known.

First of all, I got a lil' bit of good news for ya'.  Before Triboar, we were in Red Larch and helped 'em out with their Stone Giant problem.  Solved it tidy like with no bloodshed.  Mayor Orna and I became fast friends, I'd like t'think, and she sends her regards." Moira was careful to move slowly when it came to drawing anything out of her satchel for the sake of Daratha's nerves and withdrew a wax-sealed letter that Orna had given for delivery to the Lord Protector.  "And now for all th'bad news.  Y'wanna have a sit?  Y'might wanna have a sit."

What came next was bound to be a lot of hassle and headache for the already taxed Lord Protector to contend with.  But it had to be known as Moira laid out the same sort of rundown of events as she'd given Orna previously; a full telling of what the party had witnessed, experienced, and accomplished since Nightstone.  Everything from driving out the Zhentarim, to the Resurrection Project underway, to all they'd learned of the broken Ordning, the super-weapon Vonindod, the scattered remnants of the Dragon Cult, and the mounting crisis of the lycanthropic Uthgardt marshaling their forces for a quickly-approaching date in the near future.  She spoke of House Nandar, of SEER, of Amphail and Red Larch and Westbridge.  She spoke of Stoor, of Emma, and of Thente along with their intentions to seek out aid in Yartar and Silverymoon beyond.  It wasn't some dry, technical report like she'd managed during the burning of Triboar, but rather as she spoke Moira's tone and bearing grew burdened.  As if saying it aloud weighed progressively heavier upon her with the full scope of what they had to contend with.  Worse yet, that what she had to tell was surely only a fraction of what was truly happening in the broader scope of the coast that they'd yet to even encounter or uncover for themselves.
This message was last edited by the player at 20:38, Wed 07 Apr 2021.

Another long silence stretches between the two women as the Lord Protector gradually digests well, everything. Moira can see a faint twitch to the woman's prominent eyebrows as she takes a deep breath;

"...I assume SEER and the Alliance are at least partially aware of this," she begins, "I will need to confer with my lieutnants, of course. But it sounds like there are multiple fronts boiling over- Uthgardt, Giants, ancient super-weapons..."

"Had Triboar not suffered such an attack, I would have deployed the army to secure the towns along the Long Road. With things as they are..." Daratha massages her head, "we may need the help of the other Factions."

"The Alliance is powerful, but the Realms are more than just the cities and their wealth. There are the churches of good and law, represented militarily by the Order of the Gauntlet. There are the scions of nature, whose few messengers hail from the Emerald Enclave."

"And as with all horrible crisises in the Realms, there are the Harpers."

"I and SEER can deal with the Alliance. A Council will be called, one way or another. What you may wish to consi- no, what I would ask of you, as knights, is to seek out the other Factions."

"The Enclave is reclusive, though perhaps your Uthgardt friend can find them. The Order holds more influence further North- if you are able to reach Hawk's Nest, the base of their mounted operations, you may be able to garner some attention there. And the Harpers meddle everywhere- though should you reach Silverymoon, I suggest you ask for tea at the Moonview Inn. That may grant you an audience."

"And as for the Zhentarim...perhaps it is best that we do not deal with them. For now. For all their dirty deeds, the Black Network still needs a Realm to trade in."

Having said that, Daratha Shendrel takes a moment to look over Moira, taking in the halfling's stressed expression and hunched posture.

"...after you get some rest, soldier. These other organizations will not be easy to deal with. And the North is far more treacherous than the south. Since you have business in Yartar, you may want to take a few days there to recover and prepare yourself for the journey forward. I believe they are having a festival now," the general snorts, "like they always do. Maybe this crisis will finally give them the waking call they need. No standing army my left tit...!"

"Safe.  We've been makin' almost daily reports back t'SEER as we go, and we ain't th'only folk workin' on her payroll either." Moira confirmed that point.  As the Lord Protector went on about different factions and groups they could speak with on her behalf, the Halfling drew out her logbook to take notes for her own sake.  Though she gave a rather decidedly displeased expression when it came to mention of the Order of the Gauntlet and the Emerald Enclave.  It was all she had not to just roll her eyes, but there was no dismissing potential allies in dire straits... even if they were nearly more trouble than they were worth.



That the Lord Protector would even indulge the idea of cooperating with the Zhentarim was enough to keep that furrowed brow of Moira's tensed down.  She was no bright-eyed idealist; she knew full well that organizations like the Zhentarim wormed their way into becoming a vital facet of major communities and economies, to the point that those in power rationalized them as a 'necessary evil'.  It was part of why she fought so immediately to expunge any trace of the Zhents out of Nightstone before they could sink their claws in.  "If y'care for m'say on it, I'd take Triboar burnin' t'its foundations as a chance for a new start.  Good opportunity t'break ties with th'Zhentarim and take a hard stance against 'em.  After runnin' 'em outta Nightstone, I doubt they're gonna be especially keen on me anyway.  Least I only gotta worry 'bout small grudges of individual agents rather than havin' th'whole network out for m'neck."

When Daratha called her 'soldier', Moira perked a bit and couldn't help but give the woman a lopsided smirk.  "Oi, now I've still got a few more hours 'til y'can go 'round expectin' salutes and 'Yes'sir's.  Lemme enjoy still bein' a civilian who can pop off at y'while I can." Only half a jest, really.  Though her thoughts shifted to the others as she shook her head.  "In any case though, y'got m'thanks for y'cooperation on all this.  But best y'don't expect obedience outta th'rest of m'group.  They ain't soldiers.  Don't got th'nature for it.  Maybe Claire, but... I don't want that life for her.  They've all got so much more waitin' for 'em than war.

Let's sort this all out for good, yea?  Give folk their lives back before any more gets taken from 'em."

"I know better than to expect any sort of obedience from adventurers," Daratha waves a hand dismissively, "why do you think Triboar has an army, instead of that hodgepodge of mercenary companies Yartar employs? You are knights because our goals align, because Triboar pays its debts, and because at the end of it all when you hopefully retire, having your homes on my land will serve as an excellent deterrent, on way or another. I'm sure a 'merchant' like you understands."

Left unsaid were Moira's apparent ties to Hillsfar little underground operation.

"Moving on, your...project with Nightstone is," theres a bit of a hesistant pause in the general's tone as she struggles to find a a diplomatic response, "ambitious. I'll grant that much. Triboar...cannot help you, I'm afraid. Furthermore, I'll go as far as to say that your current tensions with the Zhentarim are not a concern for myself or the city."

"Triboar has never really had any 'ties' with the Zhentarim in the first place, though the Faction certainly managed to stick a few fingers into our business. I know at least one information broker in town was affliated with them; more likely still exist. Things as they are, it is a good time to prevent outside influences from steeping in too much." Daratha concludes firmly, "Triboar is of the Alliance, and will remain with the Alliance. Is that enough for you, Civilian Moira?"

"One of th'most daft things most anyone's ever set t'doin'?" Moira supplied dryly.



That got a gentle shake of her head.  "Didn't come t'Triboar seekin' help or funds.   Hells, when we laid sight on th'town under siege, we'd just done a three-day forced march with no sleep gettin' here.  Felt like I was 'bout t'drop where I stood, but all I could think of was helpin' whoever I could." Even though she had gotten rest, finally, it was clear that Moira had yet to fully recover from the ordeal.  There were still dark rings about her eyes both from weariness and stress alike, but she refused to let it slow her down.  "Nah, m'debts of any sort are m'own and I intend t'see 'em through without boggin' other folk down with it.  If I had m'way, Triboar would be next on th'list for such a project... but, frankly, it's a miracle I've gotten this far with it just bein' Nightstone."

Reassurances about keeping the Zhentarim at bay, surely along with other factions that might see Triboar's weakened state as an opportunity, were taken with a nod.  Far be it from her to lecture the Lord Protector herself on how to manage her affairs; Moira could be bossy, but she recognized her own depth well enough and knew full clear when she was out of it.  "That's reassurin' t'know, and y'have m'thanks again.  But I've taken enough of y'time already, so's best we each get back t'work.

M'company'll be here in town a mite longer still; got affairs what need tendin', but we're at y'disposal until then.  I suggest y'might wanna speak with th'apothecary we got with us - Miss Emma - see if she might be interested in opportunities here.  And if there's any more news of th'Giants or Uthgardt in th'meantime... well, I suppose we'd best be ready t'hear it, yea?"

That basically covers everything Moira wanted to address, as far as I can recall.  She'll still want to take some time to get copies of various documents and sort out matters of funding and loot distribution, but that can all be managed "off-screen".
This message was last edited by the player at 04:22, Sun 11 Apr 2021.

[Later that evening]

The ceremony is simple and brief- more would be inappropriate, with the looming carcass of Triboar still smouldering in the background. A small stage of wood, chipped together in an afternoon, with a dozen soldiers in ceremonial armor standing as an honor guard.

Upon the stage, Lord Protector Daratha Shendral stands, clad in polished silvery armor and a brilliant red tabard bearing the arms of Triboar. In her hands in an ancient, silvery spear, worn with age but clearly well-kept. Moira, Claire, U'lin and Zaiya have been led upon the stage, where the attending knight gestures for them to kneel.

"...for their efforts, and their heroics. I dub thee as Knights of Triboar. May you carry forth in your journeys as you have today, showing honor, resourcefulness and courage, the three traits of our brave city."

Having said that, Lord Protector touches each of you with the tip of the spear. All around, the crowd cheers- quiet at first, but steadily growing in strength. You catch sight of Staff-Sergeant Grimes nodding in the crowd, while Tetri and Foehammer raise mugs in your honor. Up on the Beetle, perched on the roof a red-faced (and slightly drunk) Emma woops and yells praises to Gond. U'lin and Claire recognize a few smiling faces from the healer's tents - people they have helped over the last day or two, many whom may not have survived to this day, now healthy and grinning as you walk off stage.

Alaestra unfortunately, is not present.

As the clapping dies down, the knight leads the four of you off stage. The Lord Protector continues her speech - a rousing tale of rebuilding, of unity in the face of adversity, of courage in the face of strife. Triboar will rise again, Daratha intones, and despite her lingering injuries the woman's voice carries over the cheering crowd- powerful and hopeful. If anything, seeing their leader injured but standing, weakened but clearly unbroken only helps drive the message further for the citizens of Triboar.

A trumpet sounds, marking the end of the ceremony. The men disperse, as does the crowd. With a nod at the four, now five of you, Daratha heads back to the command tent. The battle of Triboar may be over. But the war has just begun.

[Chapter 3 - Triboar: END]

Moira, U'lin and Claire - for your efforts in saving Triboar,  rescuing its survivors and helping its villages, each of you gain a point of Piety for your respective deities. More details will be sent in a PM sometime in the future :)
This message was last edited by the GM at 15:46, Tue 13 Apr 2021.