After a short trip to the temple of Chiress for a blessed water refill the group agrees to spend time to visit Doromas and see what he wanted their services for. On the way, the town's blacksmith and armorer are easy to find. Marille explores her options and decides that what she has is good enough for her use. There is no need to buy anything new for right now.

With the business of armoring complete, the team heads out to the west of town, asking for directions to Doromas' shack. The trip to the outlying farms is uneventful, with a few produce wagons coming and going, as well as town patrols keeping an eye out for any trouble. A few recognize you and greet you respectfully as they pass. Some of them remember last night's performance and flex their arms for Marille, showing admiration for her amazing strength.

As you approach the outlying farms, you spot something unusual in the sky: a pair of "birds", or at least that is what it looks like, flying low over the fields to the north-west. From the distance you think they might be very large for birds, but it is hard to tell. They are too far away. Sowen and Olagh look at the flying creatures, and their faces seem to fall serious. They stop for a moment to observe, and look at each other with concerned expressions.

You ask for directions to Doromas' and are promptly guided to an outlying hut nestled among the fields, something that may have been a large shed at some point, but is now clearly a home. A column of smoke pours gingerly out of the small chimney, there are small flower beds under the windows, and the path leading to the front door is well maintained and swept clean. A small row of flagstones guides you gently to the front door.



Once before the door, you observe that there is a stylized sun-shaped metal plaque bolted to the door. It appears to be old copper, as the metallic orange is tinted with blue rust from age. You prepare to knock on the door when an eye opens in the middle of the sun plaque, and you hear a strong female voice call out dramatically,

"Warning! You stand at the threshold of destiny! Who are you?"
This message was last edited by the GM at 21:29, Thu 02 July 2020.

"Angus and party to speak to Doromas." Angus announces.

Aila peered toward the "birds", her eyes asparkle with curiosity.

As she looked about at the rest of the group, she caught the expressions of Marille's new friends and said, "Have you seen such before? You look more than a bit worried."

Marille explores her options and decides that what she has is good enough for her use. There is no need to buy anything new for right now.

The Lady of Boulders sure was brave, Petar thinks to himself.  He felt his plate mail was like a second skin, too bad he had to take it off to sleep!   Hmm, maybe swimming and climbing too.  He daydreams about elfin chain for a while.

Some of them remember last night's performance and flex their arms for Marille, showing admiration for her amazing strength.

"Look Marille, more husbands!" Petar quips, grinning at Sowman and Offal, or whatever their names were.  He just hoped in their eagerness to prove themselves they didn't get too reckless or too dead.

From the distance you think they might be very large for birds, but it is hard to tell.

"Must be dragons.  Or wyverns.  Hmm, could be just griffons.  I wonder where they lair," Petar muses, mostly to himself.  He recites a Dragontongue poem about knights in shining armour and how they were tasty on the inside and generally amuses himself.

Warning! You stand at the threshold of destiny! Who are you?"

"Ah, we are the expected interested party," Petar adds to the other replies, looking into the eye and guessing Doromas was looking back, so he smiles at the Magic Mouth-Eye and waits expectantly.
This message was last edited by the player at 16:00, Fri 03 July 2020.

Marille smiled at the elf about husbands. She saw Aila stare of at something before she herself took a gander at the birds. Marille thought of the orcs the previous day.
"Hurumph.. nay luttle elf. If'n me wuntid a husbund. It wuld be lik'in ursulf. If'n ye made meself angry, ye wuld fin urself uver me knee. If'in ye knuw wha memean?"

In reply to Marille Ughari (msg # 34):

"Hehehehehehehehehehehe, now what do you think Petar? Man enough?

"Haha, naah, the villains in the stories always get theirs in the end, don't they.  Cowards, hurting children and their mothers, usually," Petar says dreamily.  Sure, there were darker stories but he still preferred the folk tales, with their simple themes and clear-cut morals.

"We wull be needin ull de hulp we gut." The bulky woman walked away from the elf. She thought of the flying creature for a moment. Then remembered the looks the two from the bar. She knew she would get them to talk about what they thought it was.

Petar gives Angus a poke.  "Hey did you know most gnomes live sad, unfulfilled lives?"

"No Petar, I didn't. Hmmm, wonder why Doromas doesn't answer his door. He invited us." Angus says to no one in general after he answers Petar.

"Yes, it's a little known fact," Petar says dryly.

"Oh, and did you know that most gnomes live alone?"

"Perhaps he fell asleep," said Aila.  "Or the answers did not satisfy whatever is being sought."  She gave an expressive shrug.

Then she looked off to the distance again for those "birds", and said, "Does anyone have better sight for distance, to tell something of what those flying creatures might be?  They seem ... not quite right for the things that I know of that fly."

"Aye," answers Sowen. "Those are drakes. They are ill omen. They come out to feed, and they eat well. Sometimes they take livestock, but more often they take what they can in the hills, like orcs or mountain cats. They are far, but they see well. They usually don't come this close unless they are interested in something here in town. We should be careful. It is rumored they breathe fire, but I've never seen it."

Olagh adds morosely, "Last year a Haven ranger passed through here. He was looking for drakes, he said. Went to find one. Never came back."

Both of them don't look too happy.

There was quiet for a moment after the party offered various answers to the eye's question. The moments passed, and a few offered several theories as to why there was no response. But at that moment, the door opened and Doromas stood before you, a big smile on his face. You notice the eye on the plaque closed again. It fully vanished into the plaque, and returned to a pristine state. You'd never know there had been anything there.

"Welcome, welcome!" Doromas beamed.

"Glad to see you are all here. I hope there is enough space in a my little shack to accommodate you all. Please, come on in."

As he stepped back into the shack, he called out,

"Order. Prepare the floor for guests."

You look to see who it is he was addressing, but there is no one else here. But inside Doromas' shack it was quite a sight. There was a small fireplace, with a hearty fire going, heating up several round small pots. There was a table right next to it, with ingredients that seemed to belong into a stew. There were several knifes flying about on their own, cutting the food up and separating it into neat little piles, ready for use. On the right there was a bed for one, comfortable, plush, and with several blankets and what looked to be a down pillow. Underneath the bed frame were several pairs of shoes and boots, along with something odd behind it that blinked with bright eyes in the darkness. An animal perhaps? It seemed to shy away from the commotion of the door. To the left there was a small shelf full of books, next to large trunk overflowing with more books. A number of rolled up parchments were piled up on a small table with three chairs, right next to a floating quill and a small ink bottle. The quill hovered in mid-air, at attention, as if waiting for someone to do something. From the rafter hung a number of rope fastenings which held a rather exotic set of bottles and containers, holding things that would make sense only to a practitioner of the magical arts: small snakes, spiders, crickets, various fluids of different colors, translucency, and viscosity, a few small skulls of origins unknown to you, along with feathers and wings of several types of avian creatures you might find on mountains or far away islands. On the walls were several more shelves holding various ceramic containers with labels like "flour", "sugar", "citrite", "ash", "black water", "parsley", "lemon seeds", "fire beetle glands", "bone dust", "spare change", "oil of vitriol", "natron", etc., etc. Among all of these things, were a single broom sweeping dust together into a pile, and several hand dust sweepers moving among the books and shelves, keeping things clean.

For such a small space, Doromas had made this quite a cozy shack, with living quarters, a kitchen, and a lab. At his orders, the cleaning tools all arrayed neatly against a corner, and dropped into a vase by the handles. The broom merely leaned against the wall. The table was lifted up off the ground and gently placed against the left wall, while the chairs were brought together in a semi-circle next to the fireplace. Doromas stepped back in, becoming you to follow.

"Please, make yourselves at home."

Angus pulls out the skull for Doromas to examine, "We found this yesterday while slaying goblins and orcs. It was under a nest of stirges. Do you know what it is?"

Both of them don't look too happy.

Petar doubts Sowhead and Offal have ever seen an eagle, let alone a drake, so he stops listening when they get overly dramatic.  After all, dramatic was his thing.

Underneath the bed frame were several pairs of shoes and boots, along with something odd behind it that blinked with bright eyes in the darkness. An animal perhaps?

After a friendly cluck to the familiar, with a rubbing of fingers to indicate possible forthcoming food for friendly critters, Petar grins as he looks around the place.  Seen one wizard tower, seen them all, even if this was supposed to be a shack.

"Don't touch anything," the elf says to the others, in case their manners were lacking or they just didn't know better.  Petar guesses that touching the wrong thing and BOOM ... they could turn into stone, or toads, or worse, gnomes.

After Angus gets right to business, Petar follows up: "How do you do today, Master Doromas?  We have questions and possible answers that will need correcting, no doubt."

He explains their findings, as well as the archaeology tools, among dead goblins and then shows the wizard the journal and the map and indicating their intent to tackle the 'X' in their urgent quest to find Alinda before she became an orc-wife.
This message was last edited by the player at 19:58, Tue 07 July 2020.

OOC: Posting tomorrow morning.

Petar pokes Angus.  "What's the most common colour of undead?"

OOC: Sorry, fellas, I had a bit of an emergency at work. It is coming to an end just about now, so let me gather my thoughts and see what I can put down on paper screen.

Without waiting for further pleasantries, Angus launches right into "business".

"We found this yesterday while slaying goblins and orcs. It was under a nest of stirges. Do you know what it is?"

Doromas' eyebrows raise as he takes the skull in his hands. His eyes narrow down curiously, peering at the skull's details. He turns it, looking at it from all sides. His face turns into a frown.

"I can't say I know who this belongs to. Or what. It looks... non-human. Certainly the horns invite a certain ... otherworldly... connotation, but I have not had much concourse with denizens of the diabolic or demonic realms. That is the first thought that comes to my mind. Yet, it is also not overly large. It might be of a species we do not have anymore."

Under a nest of stirges? While fighting goblins and orcs?"

He hands the skull back to Angus.

A teapot is lifted into the air over the fire, and dashes of tea leaves and cinnamon sticks are brought into the water right after it. The lid slowly floats over the pot and descends with a gentle "clink" to close it.

Petar follows up: "How do you do today, Master Doromas?  We have questions and possible answers that will need correcting, no doubt."

He explains their findings, as well as the archaeology tools, among dead goblins and then shows the wizard the journal and the map and indicating their intent to tackle the 'X' in their urgent quest to find Alinda before she became an orc-wife.

Doromas takes it all in stride, listening calmly as Petar explains yesterday's journey. He reads the journal with animated interest, his eyes excitedly pouring over the details of this unknown person's last moments.

"I am glad you came to me with this. Surprisingly, this is part of my research here. As a historian I have been following the fate of the old cults and their forgotten magics for years. This is a wonderful stroke of luck. And if it keeps up, perhaps we may find Alinda as well." He nods reassuringly to Camille, who's been quiet so far.

"I see there are a few names here. Yolandi. I can't say I know who this is. A young child perhaps? And Rickard? Dohlen? Hired gaurds? There are not too many other towns nearby. Perhaps they were from here? Maybe someone will remember them from Emberdell. We should ask about."

He stands to check on the tea as the water bubbles loudly in the pot. "This looks just about ready." Turning to the group, he asks, "Tea?", as he directs a series of cups from the shelves to the pot, ready to be served. As he pours a cup for himself, he allows the log book to drift back to Petar's hand, where it lands gently.
This message was last edited by the GM at 00:01, Fri 10 July 2020.

Sowen and Olagh stand quietly by the door as everyone makes themselves more comfortable in the rather confined space. They stare at everything in undisguised amazement, with an expression that is somewhere between awe and shock.

But their attention comes back to the wizard of the house as he begins to explain his historical research and his curiosity with old cults. They seem strongly interested in what he has to say.

"Some tea would be lovely," said Aila, giving Doromas a bright smile.  A touch of true civilization then.  No matter how things appear.

She sat lightly in her seat, ready to listen to the things that he might have to say about his research before putting in any questions of her own about the sort of thing that he might be expecting for his platinum.

He hands the skull back to Angus.

"We were hoping a divination spell could tell us more.  Detect Magic perhaps?  I think there are other more powerful spells, too," Petar says in a hopeful voice.  "Or you could teach us?  I've  .. um, got some gold if that's sufficient?"

"Or scrolls, maybe?"

The elf clearly remembers Camille's vehement reaction to the skull yesterday, so Petar adds: "Or should it be destroyed?"

Grateful for the tea, Petar leaves it untouched as he goes on, excitedly, "I was thinking if the cult is back it might explain why more humanoids are plaguing the farms and reducing the town guard by attrition, and why a priestess would be targeted."

Such theories had no basis besides hunch, though.  Petar grimaces at the guesswork.  "Well, maybe we can definitely ask around about those names, but that's lost time we can't spare I think."

The bulky woman that was raised on a farm. Looked on in open horror as she watched everything moving of their own accord. She attempted to gather her bearings so no one would notice he discomfort.

"Think you for the tea." Angus says to Doromas.