"Have it your way, Short Stuff," Rhydd replied with a shrug. "Then I won't show you any respect with my words. Although, truth be told, I don't give a rat's ass whether you think me superficial or not."

The archer waved his hand down the stairs. "Down you go, Shorty. I promised you a head start, and I'm a man of my word."

"Bah! Insulting me based on me immutable characteristics! Perhaps you do be superficial . . ." The Dwarf did, however, happily take the head start.

Rhydd turned his head and winked at Mallory, waved to the others, and followed the Dwarf down the stairs.

As everyone settled in their various manners and took to tasks, Mallory's apparent handling of the Wight involved undoing its armor while it was still held aloft in her magics.  Pieces shed without much concern for how noisily they were dropped in a heap; they were of rather poor quality, ravaged by exposure and lack of care, so she wasn't particularly delicate with them.  Once the Wight was down to its thinnest layer she pulled free her road blanket, draped it over the desiccated remains to gather its various floating severed bits all together, and then bound it all tight with knots and a length of rope.  Only then did she finally gesture the remains down to the floor to lay at rest there.

Meanwhile, Astre's aid helped uncover the timid Chwinga and return it safely to the doting care of the strange giants it had come into the company of.  Mallory was quite relieved to see that it hadn't been crushed underfoot in the chaos and came alongside Dannika to offer gentle reassurances to the little fellow with a brush of her fingertips across its back.  "There you are, safe and sound now.  I'm sorry you got caught up in that.  But don't you worry; we'll make sure no harm comes to you.  Just stay with Dannika, alright?" she reassured the poor thing while Astre hopped his way back up to drape across her shoulders.

"Don't get snotty with me, lad! You know what I call respect shown through words? Superficial."

"Down you go, Shorty. I promised you a head start, and I'm a man of my word."

Rhydd's wink back her way seemed as good a queue to pick up as any.  "Hold on you two, I'm coming with!" the young noble insisted.  She crouched to take up one end of the bound corpse and actually managed to hoist it up over her shoulder with relative ease for so small a woman as she was.  The bulk of the Wight's weight had been in its equipment; without all that it was little more than a hollowed husk and not too heavy for her to manage.  Astre was close on her heels as she hurried downstairs after Rhydd and Ogden.

As Mallory and Rhydd followed Ogden down the steps, they were met with Torgrim coming in the opposite direction with a bottle of Firebrandy in one hand, and a stack of cups in the other, recently snagged from behind the temporarily unmanned bar."Have fun you two, I'll hold down the fort here." The half-elf slid to the side of the stairs, letting the trio pass. "Also, I've paid for this, in case you were wondering." He turned to hold up the bottle in the dwarf's direction while continuing upstairs and nearly tripping over Astre in the process, though thankfully without loosing any of his valuable cargo.

---

"I took the liberty of getting some medicine of my own." Torgrim presented the cups and bottle triumphantly. "Yes, in fact I did pay for it" He repeated himself to Magda before moving to pull his errant dagger from the wall and using it to uncork the bottle and dividing its content evenly between five cups, and the cups evenly between his companions. The final cup apart from his own, he presented to the newly arrived squire. "Khulekani, was it? Tell me, did it hurt when you fell from heaven?

---

OOC: Torgrim left 3 silver behind the bar as payment.
This message was last edited by the player at 14:09, Sun 30 Jan 2022.

Khulekani smiled weakly at the barkeep when she offered a spindle to bite down on. She gave it some serious thought for a moment. But in the end, she shook her head. If she was going to curse and cry, that was simply how it was going to be. Now that the danger had passed, there was no need to put on a brave front. She was simply Human after all, and Humans got injured from time to time, and there was no shame in experiencing pain.

"Thank you, but no. I will simply have to endure. Forgive me in advance if I say less than kind things," she said with a soft chuckle.

When the pale-skinned man with the grizzled features offered Khulekani didn't even wait for him to finish placing it upon the table. She simply snatched it from his hand and gulped down the entire contents in one go. But almost immediately she started spluttering and coughing violently. She dropped the glass on the table and slapped it a few times as she coughed, clearly in distress.

"Ew ew ew ew! What is that?!" Khulekani wheezed once she caught her breath, clearly not a heavy drinker.

Once she finally recovered from that overpriced rotgut, the young woman took a steadying breath, and looked Torgrim dead in the face and searched his eyes for a moment. But then she threw her head back in a deep, genuine belly-laugh, which was quickly cut off when a fresh throb of pain in her leg made itself known.

"Quite a lot, actually. Thank you for the drink, sir. Tell me, you look the type to have spent an evening or two in a tavern. Do those lines ever work?" the Squire asked, eyes sparking with amusement.

“Are you going to ask her age, next?” Farwalker asked with amusement colouring her voice. She was sorting through the broken chunks of wood and roofing and table. Her piles were fastidiously neat. Plus, the cool air from the hole in the ceiling was nice. The snow drifting in was a little less so. She’d taken off her pack for the moment and had set it in the corner. It had of course thunked heavily when she’d set it down.
This message was last edited by the player at 17:24, Sun 30 Jan 2022.

Torgrim had been barely been able to keep a straight face already, so when the squire's laughter filled the tavern he burst out in a gravelly chortle of his own, which eventually broke off into a stifled cough. It took a gulp of his own cup for his throat to somewhat recover. "Hah *cough*, not that I've ever seen, no. In fact, I'm fairly certain i once saw a man loose half his family jewels over one in Easthaven."

“Are you going to ask her age, next?”
"Hardy har har." Torgrim laughed sarcastically in Farwalker's direction. "No, I'm more interested in the glowy glowy stuff. Is that something all you knights, or squires, get to do?"
This message had punctuation tweaked by the player at 14:33, Sun 30 Jan 2022.

In reply to Mallory Bonheur (msg # 103):

From his spot partway down the stairs, Rhydd glanced back over his shoulder as Lady Mallory made her announcement. The corners of his mouth turned down in a frown as he glimpsed what she was carrying.

"Do you really need to take that . . . that Thing with you?" he asked.

"Even assuming that you have some interest in it, can't it be left here? 'Tis hard for me to imagine that anyone else would wish to carry it away, but if that concerns you, I'm sure that someone could watch o'er it for you."

The concept of cutting up dead bodies as a means of "harvesting" some supposedly magicked parts or portions was a new one for Rhydd, and was one that he quite honestly found to be rather ghoulish and disgusting.

He had heard that some barbarians (or, mayhap it was some of the Orc tribes -- he couldn't remember which) made a habit of feasting on the hearts of foes whom they had vanquished in battle, and to his mind Lady Mallory's disquieting practices did not seem overly far removed from that.
This message was last edited by the player at 19:18, Sun 30 Jan 2022.

"Have fun you two, I'll hold down the fort here." The half-elf slid to the side of the stairs, letting the trio pass. "Also, I've paid for this, in case you were wondering."

"Could I have one of those for the road?" Mallory leaned a bit precariously to the side given the load she carried to let Torgrim ease past.  Such a request perhaps sounded too much like a blithe joke as he just continued upstairs to serve the others their fare, which left the young noble with a bit of a pout.  She'd really needed a drink an hour ago, let alone after all that had just happened.

Rhydd's mulling over the necessity of bringing the corpse along, however, brought her back on task by the time they'd reached the landing at the bottom of the stairs.  "As I said of the Wizard, Rhydd; these sort of things require a specialist's attention.  If I left the remains to the locals, they'd surely just bury it or burn it and that could yield a whole host of other troubles.  Do you know what happens when you bury a powerful Undead in unsanctified ground?" she left it at that with a shake of her head to allow one's imagination to run wild on the grim possibilities of strange, dark magics run amok.  Given what she'd told Rhydd of what could happen if one buried an Ice Troll's heart, the risks of improper handling of monsters were perhaps more disastrous than most appreciated.  "Besides, I'd like the Sheriff to see this so they might fully appreciate the sort of threat their captive Wizard may yet pose as well."

Mallory shuffled up alongside Ogden and played the Good Soldier to Rhydd's Bad Soldier as she afforded the Dwarf a sympathetic hand rested at his back.  "And hasn't this poor gentleman endured enough tonight?" she crooned even as she started to tilt once more to one side, then hoisted to readjust the literal dead weight load more evenly.  "His home and business damaged, profits lost in these troubled times?  As a fellow businesswoman bruised by the fickle whims of chance, I couldn't possibly stand aside and see him suffer more."
This message was last edited by the player at 22:01, Sun 30 Jan 2022.

In reply to Mallory Bonheur (msg # 109):

"Well, I did not mean for you to leave the dead Wight for the locals to tend to," Rhydd answered. "My thought was simply to leave it here until you returned for it."

"Personally, I see no sense in carrying it around with us. But if you are determined to do so -- here -- hand it over to me. There is no reason for you to carry the burden. And I promise that I won't run off with it."

The archer just rolled his eyes when Lady Mallory addressed the Dwarf and played the simpering female card. ~~Silly me. I had thought that such obvious tactics would not be something that she, of all people, would employ. I wonder if all females  customarily call upon such wiles if they see some benefit to be had from it?~~

"It might get back up again and wander off."  A very simple, if absolutely unnerving, reason was given for the haste in handling.  She let that notion settle with Rhydd as to whether or not he would retract his offer to carry the corpse for her but, if he persisted, she'd hoist it to him with a grateful smile.

In reply to Mallory Bonheur (msg # 111):

Rhydd's eyes widened in surprise when Lady Mallory gave another reason for taking the Wight's body along with them -- namely, that it might revive and begin causing more trouble. He thought that she might be pulling his leg just to make jest of his lack of understanding of such things, but that very lack of understanding made him uncertain of the right of it.

"Well . . ." he began, speaking hesitantly at first, but then with more confidence, "if that is a possibility, 'tis better that I am carrying it instead of you."
This message was last edited by the player at 23:05, Sun 30 Jan 2022.

"Thank you very much, Rhydd.  I knew there was a gentleman somewhere under all that gruff." Mallory could bear the load herself but wasn't about to turn down the opportunity to avoid such labor.  A bit of adjusting later had the bundled corpse in Rhydd's possession for the time being, which freed her up to sort out her lantern rod for the walk.  "Right, let's get to it then."

Though she had freed her shoulders of one burden, they weren't unoccupied for long as Astre took the opportunity to bound up and drape himself like a boa once more.  The Tressym was a far more welcome guest to carry though and earned himself a fond scratch beneath the chin for his presence.
This message was last edited by the player at 04:28, Mon 31 Jan 2022.

Dannika found her seat at the table once again, this time making sure the Chwinga didn't leave the safe confines of her cradled hands. When offered Firebrandy by Torgrim, she politely refused. "No thank you, the memories of yesterday still remain firm in my mind, and I think my headache is bad enough from the beating . . ."

"I'll take that off your hands," Moyrah said, tipping the contents back with the proficiency of a hardened sailor, only for her face to contort into immediate regret. "By the love of Umberlee, that is truly vile! Hoo-hoo-hoo," she chuckled, wiping her mouth. "Do not drink this. Hang on, I'll get us some water."

The fork embedded in Khulekani's thigh was yanked out in one go, so as not to prolong her pain. Traditional remedies often underperformed when compared to those magical, but it worked in a pinch. And it was usually cheaper. The barkeep had clearly done this before, swabbing up the remaining blood, and cutting into the leather leggings with a pair of scissors to get easy access, making sure to disinfect the wound properly. "Rebottled rotgut from Mirabar. Now, don't tell Ogden I told you that!"

As the Wight was being moved and stripped, it became clearer and clearer it wasn't getting back up. Wights were different from Wraiths, which were different Skeletons, which were different from Mummies, and so on and so forth . . . While the inner workings of Undead were often poorly understood by anyone not adept in the foul crafts of Necromancy, it had now been enough time to reasonably conclude the magic that kept it upright and moving had emptied from its remains. Possibly due to Khulekani's radiant sword.

The armor, a vile and crude thing comprised of layered plates embedded with spikes, was weather beaten, chipped, and cracked in numerous places. Even Orcs wore better armor. That it was at all wearable was a minor miracle. Its sword, similarly, was a miserable thing, and didn't look like it would last more than an additional swing or two. The arrows were in finer condition, as was the bow, though it still looked like the thing an Undead would carry around. The wood branched into prongs, and it was stained with old blood — as the rest of its equipment.

Otherwise, it carried a set of keys, also bloodstained, and a single iron coin of unknown currency and strange inscriptions. One face depicted a skull, while the other hinted at a kind of twisted, abstract machinery.

"We do nothing. We do not command powers as those who touch the Weave do. It is by the grace and will of the Triad that their desires are made manifest on our world. I am but a servant to an alliance of higher powers," came the reply to Torgrim's question, along with an amused smile.

"Sard a goat!" Khulekani cursed as the fork was pulled out, using less than knightly language for the first time.

The way she violently jerked in her chair made it obvious to everyone that her outburst had not been an exaggeration. However, the Squire allowed Moyrah to clean and disinfect the wound. Though, the disinfection process almost made her curse again, but she managed to bite her lip and contain it this time.

"Thank you...thank you...that was one of the most painful wounds of my entire life. You have steady hands, and a kind heart. Well done..." she said through gulping mouthfuls of air, like she had just been running.

"But before you take out a needle, let me see if I can entreat someone dear to me to help. Lo, Wounded Tyr, the Wounded One, the Even-Handed, what was once maimed through evil, please see right again. What was once rent, balance the scales to wholeness. What was once purchased with pain, see rewarded with succor. Until the Final Judgement comes," the young woman whispers, voice ringing with a volume that went beyond the capacity of her lungs, and thrumming with a power beyond simple oration.

Fingers that had been clutching the wound to staunch the flow of blood suddenly had shafts of light spring forth between them, as if he wound was suddenly glowing with a brilliant radiance. Only this time the shining light was different than before. It wasn't the brilliance of the sun. It was a cold light. Like the light of a full moon was dancing over a tundra of snow. And then the glow snuffed out like a candle in the wind.

When Khulekani removed her hands from the site of the wound, there was no sign of it. There was fresh and dried blood of course, but her thigh was smooth and unbroken, as if it had never been pierced by anything.

"Aaahhh...I thank you Grimjaws, and I honor you Lord on the Rack, and you Hand of Righteousness," the Squire said, touching the pendant around her throat and bowing her head humbly.

Finally be free of the pain seemed to draw all the strength from her in a wave of grateful relief. She slumped back in her chair like she would happily fall asleep right there. The fight had been hard enough, but the pain was exhausting. If the Sheriff wasn't on their way, she might have simply drifted off right there. Still, there was one more duty to perform before that could happen, and so the aspiring knight forced her eyelids to remain open.

OOC Mechanics
Lay on Hands: Heal 20 points of HP
HP: 39/39
This message was last edited by the player at 13:55, Tue 01 Feb 2022.

"Rebottled rotgut from Mirabar. Now, don't tell Ogden I told you that!"
"Huh. I'll be.." Torgrim swallowed before taking a new critical look at the cup in his hand. "Guess I just lost a bet." The news did not stop Torgrim from drinking the foul brew. It was more about the nostalgia than the pleasure at this point.

The door downstairs burst open and a handful of guards swarmed the first floor, all sporting sword and shield. Moyrah, on the way up the stairs with a jar of water and a fresh set of mugs, didn't even look their way. "A tad late, aren't we?"

The mobilized squadron, numbering at least seven, exchanged a few confused glances before they sheathed their shortswords, trusting the word of the Half-Orc. "Any casualties?"

A grunt of amusement escaped the lips of Farwalker at the paladin’s words, “That was a no, Torgrim. In case you didn’t catch it. Religious types like to vague and mysterious.” Dusting her hands off, she looked over the stacked wreckage and grunted again, this time in annoyance. She’d rather be making jewelled carvings, but she’d forgotten to get jewels. The dwarves might know where to get some uncut ones. She’d have to ask later.

She settled onto the floor with the pieces of the table first, only to look up as the guards stomped their way in. “Nothing that couldn’t be handled.” She replied to the question, then went back to piecing a table together.

"I have already dispatched some messengers to inform the Sheriff that the danger has passed. The only casualty suffered is my pride," Khulekani replied, indicating the hole in the ceiling with a self-deprecating smile.

"Is there a good tailor or washing service here in Bryn Shander?" the Squire asked Moyrah, indicating the hole in her pants, and the bloodstains about her person.

"Very well," the guard who spoke for the batallion replied. They all looked like they didn't quite know what to make of themselves, but their lead set some to oversee the tavern and help clean the rubble, while the rest were sent to the gates to deliver word of events.

"Is there a good tailor or washing service here in Bryn Shander?"
Moyrah clinked the mugs of water down on the table and found herself a chair among the pieces. "I wouldn't know. I've spent all my life in Targos. But now that you mention it, I would accompany you in your search." She scrutinized her hide and leather clothing, which seemed like it had seen better days. "I could do with a new wardrobe. Find something that doesn't smell of fish . . ." She tugged on the hide stitched to her leather outerwear. It did have the faint odor of a busy dock.

Tallness aided Farwalker well in her task. While the magic channeled through her could only do the brunt work, patching both the table and the roof back to functional condition was a simple task, albeit time consuming. Being able to reach the gables from where she stood made things quicker, as she required no ladder to be wheeled out. The shingles on the roof could be tedious to fix back in place, however, as the clay laid strewn about and she would have to go outside once the hole had been repaired.

Dannika seemed to have forgotten all about her wound and the chaotic events that just transpired and had found herself a spot on the floor. She hadn't contributed to the clean-up at all — quite on the contrary, she had found her tomes and encyclopedias and were scouring them while she attempted to study the hapless Chwinga. Keeping it still was as easy as keeping a litter of pups in one place.

"Forgive me if I'm being rude," Moyrah continued to Khulekani, "but you don't seem like you're from around these parts. I know little of the world beyond The Spine. Would you care to sate my curiosity?

“That was a no, Torgrim. In case you didn’t catch it. Religious types like to vague and mysterious.” "Takes one to know one, eh?" Torgrim responded with a smile between sips of Rotgut. "To each their own."

While the group was occupied with their own conversations, renovations and scientific inspections, Torgrim took a seat that had somehow survived the wight's spectacular entry. The now empty mug was placed down on the floor as he pulled out his white oak wood lute. It had taken up most of the space in the backpack, which collapsed in on itself without its only load bearing beam.

Slowly but surely, dulcet tones replaced the silence left behind when the Comfort's bard had vacated the locale. To the attentive ear the occasional hum could be heard from the half-elf, though they never grew louder than the melody from the ivory instrument.

"You are not being rude at all. Curiosity is only natural. I hail from further south on the Sword Coast. I presume you've heard of Amn, even this far north? That is my homeland. If you want to get even more specific, I was born in Athkatla. I'd be happy to answer any more questions you may have. I know my appearance, attire, and mannerisms must seem odd here," Khulekani smiled back to Moyrah.

"Oh wait...Lady Farwalker? If you have the ability to mend stone, might you magics extend to the fabric of pants?" she asked, wiggling her fingers through the torn fabric.

Moyrah sat with folded arms, occasionally sipping of the Firebrandy she had designated foul earlier. Foul, perhaps, but strong enough to get the job done. And fishermen from Targos weren't known to be picky. "I've . . . heard of Amn. But aside from the fact that it lays further south, I know nothing of it. How far must you travel to reach it? How long was your journey here?"

And then she paused, looking down at her drink as she swirled it in her hand. The brownish liquid reflected the torchlight, and, briefly, her face. Two questions begged a third. "What is required of someone to join your order?"
This message was last edited by the GM at 22:52, Fri 18 Feb 2022.