As the kid approached the group, he slowed a little as he took in the eclectic collection of figures. He stopped a dozen feet away and spoke up, "Thank you all for helping me. I am in your debt, I guess."
He saw the man on the ground and his eyes went wide, his mouth clamping shut.

The thug, for his part, kept talking. He began muttering and talking - mostly to himself, it seemed - about the Light, an Awakening, and the Truth. "She" proved to have a name - Belsara - though no other details were forthcoming. As they listened and asked probing questions he worked himself into a froth, finally launching upward toward Basilisa, hands outstretched.

“Gah!” Basilisa tried leapi-frogging over the man before he got on his feet. Whether the mead or people clustered around her affected that was anyone’s guess...


OOC:

21:23, Today: Basilisa rolled 9 using 1d20+4.  Acrobatics: Leapfrog over crazy thug .

Ugh. Fucking Dice Roller.

 

Thalla swore when the madman leaped away from her towards Basilisa. A zealot with a death wish, perhaps. She was all too happy to grant him his wish. He had tried to murder an innocent, to drown him, and even when granted mercy, still wished to harm.

This moral deliberation took half a second, and her hands were already moving to the giant hammer at her back with the ease that came from swinging that oversized hammer. A lot. "Look away, kid," she said to the boy who had appeared, but her eyes were on the man in front of her. She swung it as the man raced forward with wild abandon, aiming the blunt weapon at his ribs with both hands.

Action: Reckless attack with maul- rolled 18,11 using 1d20+5,1d20+5
Damage: Rolled 7 using 2d6+3
Opponents have advantage on attacks for rest of the round

As the man lunged for Basilisa, managing to wrest himself from Thalla's grip, the woman tried to leap over him. It was a bold attempt, but foiled by the man suddenly raising his arms as if to catch her.
This left him open to a heavy blow to the ribs from Thalla. The sound of breaking bone filled the air and the man dropped to the ground after a short cry of pain. Blood leaked from his mouth to pool in the dirt.

“Hands off, creep!” Basilisa wriggled our of his hands, now free to clutch newly broken ribs. “Thanks, Thalia,” she said breathily. “That one likes the grabbing, huh?”

Basilisa kicked a little dirt toward the man. “Bet THAT hurts, huh? Maybe we should toss you over the cliff and put you out of your misery, huh? Send you to your goddess or whatever. Hmph, I bet it’s just a Sea Hag!”

Raelan bent down and peered hard at the fallen man. He reached out to check for a pulse and held his hand near his mouth to check for breath. As Basilisa ranted at the comatose figure, Raelan looked up at her and frowned.
"We're sure he cares not what you've said,
We're thinking this one might be dead."
His medical duties apparently satisfied, the gnome turned his attention to Thalla.
"Blunt solutions are effective,
but might we be somewhat suggestive,
next time try to pull thy blow,
and talktive yet will be thy foe."

OOC:
Note that I'll be proclaiming death, regardless of whether my investigations confirm or deny it.

20:21, Today: Raelan rolled 14 using 1d20+2.  Medicine: "What's his condition, Bones?".

Basilisa reached into her money bag. When she withdrew her hand, she dropped a copper at the dirty gnome’s feet. “Here. You don’t need to recite bad poetry for your supper. Treat yourself to a bowl of stew.”
This message was last edited by the player at 20:07, Thu 15 Oct 2020.

Raelan bent and pocketed the coin before it had bounced twice. It was obviously a familar reflex. He grinned at Basilisa.
"A poet I'm not, that much is true,
but sense I have far greater than you.
Our wits extend to sense the truth,
that out cold be this abductor of youth."
He chuckled and rattled his staff.
"He's dead, no breath, no life to see,
yet from thy tone, I see weird glee.
Pehaps instead, you question another,
who seems, perhaps, recognised a brother."

Fist raised to backhand the raving man, Reth looked disappointed when Thalla -hah!- stole his thunder. The dragonborn shrugged philosophically and looked down at the gnome. "I quite like it. Such quick wit is rare in this world."

He looked over at the young man who'd wandered back over. "Friend, do you want come with us to drop off the trash, or is there somewhere else we can walk you to? I'd hate to see further misfortune befall you while traveling alone."

The gnome seemed so impressed with himself that Basilisa chirped back her own prose.

“The common sense of peerless kind
Exists only in your own mind
Chide not one for feeling glee
Tis only relief he did not strangle me.“

As for any diagnosis of death, she added, “Is he dead? Do we have any qualified opinions besides the rants of a hedge wizard?”
This message was last edited by the player at 20:59, Thu 15 Oct 2020.

The man was dead. He movements stopped and blood ran from his mouth and a place in his side where one rib had punctured through the skin. The other still lived - still unconscious.

The lad stepped up a little at Rethsiren's words, "I should probably get back home. I've been gone since sunup and they might be looking for me. But thanks for your help. All of you!"

Now that things were beginning to calm down, each of the Children of the Fifteenth Day realized something. The strange pull that had brought them to Sarambar, that had led them to the Dreaming Calf on the night of their birth, was still there. Only it seemed close and indistinct. As if they were being so subtly pulled in several directions at once. Toward these others who had intervened in the attack.

Thalla raised her chin and gave the Gnome a withering glare. The time for talk had ended the moment he tried to stranger her new friend. She was no poet, was in fact, completely inept at any sort of wordplay, yet her irritation inspired her to create her own poem. "A murderous fool should learn some manners... 'Less he feels the kiss of my hammer," Thalla said dryly, and then spat on the corpse.

She hoisted her maul over one shoulder and stood there, free hand on her hip, looking from person to person. With them gathered so close, she could not deny the strange pull was both stronger and more scattered. The spirits had brought her here, and if she were to trust her instincts, to some of the people here. "Strange," she muttered under her breath.

"I'm on the fence wether to call his poetry quick wit, cursed cadence, or showing off for an air of superiority. All seem as likely as the other, but I supose time will tell if the gnome is doing this from force of habit, a curse, or is consciously choosing to mask the meaning of his words in fanciful ways. Until simple and direct speech is required, I don't see a conflict." He was rather tired of hearing it, but then again, this was not born from a hatred or anything towards the raving gnome. It was more a reminder that poetry, really any kind of cadence for that matter, was a reminder of life he had left behind. Things like social niceties tended to get in the way of viewing the natural world, hence his personal removal from what could be called 'proper' society. If this was the gnome's attempt to remove himself from similar things, he could tolerate this. For a while.

Still, the cultist, for that is how he saw this dead man, provided no answers or clues anymore. Dead men make terrible witnesses, but chance were good that they would only have wasted resources on a raving lunatic or heretic. Where the man was on those issues could no longer be answered, but given that the dragonborn in their midst appeared, at least on the surface, to be such a follower, he would listen. However, he could not help but interject at a comment he heard. "Qualified opinions? I sincerely hope we don't only investigate based solely on qualifications. Bring forth any observations and let's hear them. We'll all come to our own opinions anyway, and we should not simply discount someone for a lack of qualifications." Besides, personal bias would already skew the lenses through which they each saw the evidence. Why throw opinions on qualifications into the mix? That could limit what information they could get in the first place, and could even start arguments over who had better qualifications in the first place. That would draw this out even longer. If these men were just the first of a subversive cult trying to twist the teaching of the Drowned King into something of their own, or through liking of this so called 'Truth' from their Lady, the investigation would need more not less speech.

However, was something greater truly at work here. This cult's appearance seemed to coincide perfectly with his arrival to this village or town. How long had this been going on? Was it their presence that had drawn him in his wanderings and investigations to this place, or something else?

Thalia’s rhyme actually got an agreeable chuckle from Basilisa. “Don’t sell your instincts short. That’s actually—catchy. Short, savage, sophisticated in its simplicity.  It makes one hell of a warning to the ne’er-do-wells of the Coast!”

She crouched on her knees beside the dead cultist. Lathalan’s question about the gnome got a wry guffaw. She didn’t miss his own gentle rebuke toward her, either. “Fair enough. You’re warning both of us to behave and focus on the mystery at hand.”

At that last word, Basilisa motioned Lathalan to move a few steps over. “Can you just lecture me from...right there?” Immediately after that request, she beckoned Thalia with a swift nod. “And if you could step there? Thanks.”

As they could accommodate her need, Basilisa ran her fingers over and under the dead man’s clothes, wind-swift and feather-light. If her new friends cooperated, she could discreetly cover her movements from the rest of the bar. Fingers that might have picked his pockets when alive attempted to find what he might have carried in them after his death. Maybe a medallion or symbol of his bloodthirsty goddess, or even a gem...


OOC:

22:04, Today: Basilisa rolled 24 using 1d20+6.  Sleight of Hand: Pick Dead Boy’s pockets.

 

"It's not a lecture, but a means to avoid logical pitfalls. Qualifications define authorities, but if two people don't believe in the same authority, what is qualified to one is unqualified by another. Perhaps a better way is to just ask anyone that finds anything odd or interesting to come forward and tell us what they find, yes? Spread the net wide at first. Narrow down the details later." It would appear that he still doesn't know how to properly communicate his ideas, or is it just that he doesn't know how to effectively speak to people. Maybe he is just enamored by the women here. Too many thoughts going through his mind and now is not a good time to sift through to find out which thoughts are good. He gave his familiar a gentle rub behind her head as he moved for Basilisa, "I'll leave you to your work, then. Thia... if you would be so kind as to keep watch on us while we work, I'd be very appreciative." Lifting his hand from the barn owl's head, he let her hop to his arm before taking off to circle above, wing beats silent except for her ascent. Nodding in appreciation, turned his attention back to wait for what, if anything, Basilisa would find.

A crease of true concern furrowed Raelans brow; the first in a long time. He didn't seem to pay much mind to Basilisa "attending" to the corpse and he ground his molars loudly as he turned the whole situation over in his mind.
"Our mode of address, like dance of a hive,
is merely our nature, our language, our tribe."
He trailed off absently, his thoughts clearly on other matters. He wasn't even looking at anyone in particular.


Shaking his head to loosen his reverie, Raelan brought himself to. He quickly quirked an eyebrow at Lathalan, his expression serious, then addressed the group at large.
"For fear of rejection,
I hesitate to question,
but does anyone here
feel some connection?"

Thalla chuckled and nodded, stepping to the right to hide Basilisa as she searched the bodies. She kept watch as asked, though one hand wiped the blood off her maul with an already darkened, dirty cloth, trying to calm herself down after another bout of violence.

She felt fidgety, shifting her weight from one foot to the other, trying to shake that strange feeling gripping her. So when the strange Gnome spoke up, she nodded a bit too quickly. "Aye, I've felt... Something, for a long time, pulling me south. And now, here... It's strongest..." she stammered and then shrugged. "I'm sure someone smarter or more eloquent could describe it better than I can. But yes, I feel it as well."

“I followed the call of the Road and Song. The Rings live through song, dance, even that one’s rhyming, and I heed their call as I hear it in my daily life.” Basilisa jerked a thumb in Raelen’s direction with her off hand. Her dominant hand emerged from the dead man’s jacket with a small bag*. After a quick peek inside, she dug out 5 gold coins and 2 silver pieces. “Finder’s Fee,” she said to Thalia with a playful laugh.

Basilisa stood and handed the bag to Thalia The Fierce. “Here.” To the question posed to the group, the Bard finished her thought with a shrug.“Other than my urge to travel, I can’t say if it was any force other than my Destiny which was already writ.” With a thoughtful look in her sea-colored eyes, she added, “I’ve always believed that we should write our own destinies as best we can.”

OOC:

DM messaged me that I found the money. Thalia, you now have 8gp and 4sp.

Though they were the first to respond, it seemed that the small group were not the only ones to hear the cries for help. Some moments after the swift battle ended, a group of regulars from the Dreaming Calf wandered out and around the corner carrying weapons in casual grips. They stared at the small group gathered around the body on the ground. One opened his mouth to speak, but thought better of it. They just stared.

The lad looked back and forth between his saviors and the group of regulars, "Well, I had better go. Thanks again..."
He began walking toward the center of town, moving slowly and uncertainly.

Basilisa stood quickly when the crowd trickled into the street. She called after the boy, who seemed ambivalent about leaving. “Hey, kid! You don’t have to go if you don’t want to.” With a reassuring smile, she waved him back over.

In reply to Basilisa (msg # 68):

"I used to think the same... And then my destiny was decided for me," Thalla answered cryptically, her eyes going a little hazy. But the gold snapped her out of it She smiled and caught the bag, weighing it in her hand. "I think my destiny for the evening is celebrating this small victory. Drinks on me!" she said boisterously.

It was then that she noticed the crowd had gathered in front of them. Not one for subtlety or tact, she pointed her hammer down at the bodies and said "they followed Belsara." She looked at the crowd to see if that name sparked any sort of reaction.

The lad responded to Basilisa half-heartedly, "I really should go... But my dad is gonna be pretty mad. He didn't want me hanging around with Gregg anyway. Now that he's missing and this happens I'm gonna get a lecture like no other."

The small crowd from the tavern began sheathing their weapons. There was little reaction other than slight confusion as Thalla addressed them. Though the warrior did notice a thin elf on the edge of the crowd try to stifle an expression of surprise.

Shaking his head as he returned to focus on the task at hand, Lathalan did little more than wait for the remaining people to come and confirm these stories. However, no one appeared to be interested in this danger, nor on coming up with a course of action to rectify this apparent attack on the young boy. "Nothing is set in stone at the moment. Forces pull on every aspect of the heart and mind. When one wanders, perhaps they simply follow that course out of instinct. Who else can say. Now then, we need more information on this cult and this... Belsara lady before they stack again."

Basilisa put her arm around the kid. “Would your dad go a little easier on you if we told him it wasn’t your fault?” A pretty woman’s smile often softened tempers. “I’ll vouch for you. Especially since you could have gone missing like Gregg.” She paused. “I’m sorry about what happened to your friend,” she offered, hoping he would expand on that story.

Rethsiren sighed as others finally began to show up and unceremoniously dumped the body he still held on the ground- he might be strong, but even his stamina had limits and they didn't appear to be going anywhere now. "You!" He picked the first adult he saw who didn't look more likely to stagger than crawl to the nearest guard barracks. "Make yourself useful and go find a guard to take charge of this one." He nudged the thug idly with his foot. "There's a drink in it for you when you get back."