"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?"