Non-Iconics Adventure. Dungeon of the Fire Opal Part 3

[Jalon Odessa]

Jalon Odessa, loyal servant of Tyr, the God of Justice, enters his room and quietly prepares to retire for the evening.

Taking his ornate, well-crafted blade from it's scabbard, the warrior-priest begins to clean, whet and carefully polish it, whilst quietly chanting a hymn to his lord Tyr. After his battle-scarred blade has been properly attended to, Jalon removes the silver scales that are the symbol of his order from around his neck, and hangs them from the head of his bed - a gesture that Tyr's guiding eye should watch over and protect his slumber.

Once his other priestly trappings have been removed from his person and placed throughout his room (the quiant nature and sparse furnishings of which seem quite reminiscant of his quarters at the monastary), Jalon removes his white surcoat, folds it neatly, and places it along with his heavy mail armour, long black leather boots and spun-wool breeches at the foot of his bed.

After carefully cleaning his battle-wounds, and washing his face and hands, Jalon kneels by the side of his bed, and begins his nightly prayers. Alone and naked in his candle-lit room, Jalon recalls the verses and hymns of his order that he has spoken a thousand times in the past, words that effortlessly spill forth from his lips. Despite the ritualistic and familiar nature of each prayer, however, the words are all spoken with a sense of conviction, passion and, most importantly, honesty.

Tyr's teachings are so much more than mere words to Jalon Odessa - they are a way-of-life, and the priest never takes his lord's favour for granted, nor allows himself to forget the importance and meaning behind each and every prayer.

After an hour of prayer (during which Jalon seeks Tyr's guidance not only for himself, but for his new-found companions and allies), and a brief bout of meditation to clear his thoughts, Jalon blows out the candle at his bedside, and almost immediately falls into a deep and tranquil slumber - a welcome respite from the rigors of adventuring life.

 

[HeavyG]

Re: Re: Inside the church of Chauntea...

Ubaar -

The priest seems interested by your tales of Uthgar and the North. Btw, the unnamed desert is Anauroch.

"Well, we went down in Dungeon because we strong together.
And big powerful Archibaldy need big Opal from inside Dungeon.

It sounds like people have been getting attacked in your village beFORE we got here, Kendrick. You heard about the farmer that got his barn burnt up?
And have you talked with Misstress Hard-walk?

So if you'd like to come with us when we go back to rid the evil down there, you might be protecting your flock a bit better than keeping your head in the ground stuck all away in this walled temple.

"The big Opal. I should have known. You're not the first adventurers to go to those ruins seeking the fire opal. And maybe not the last. For all we know, it may not even exist.

I'll take your word that those recent problems you're talking of originated from the ruins. In any case, I'm too old to go trekking in damp places. This is a job for youngsters. If those things start bothering the town, they'll find me waiting. I'll keep both eyes open."

"Ya, they pretty tough, but Ubaar wasn't about to let some dumb flying poison-tailed freak take ME out of service!

Thanks for the stuff - i doubt if i can wait that long to rest, though - Ubaar'll have to suck it up and fight thru the pain.
Been there, done that!"

"I don't recommend going back there until you're fully healed, but you can make that decision for yourself. Just be careful not to aggravate your condition."

 

[reapersaurus]

Ubaar tells Kendrick somewhat passionately about life in the Northern tribes and tries to get across how vital and physical the faith and protection provide - "Like a suit of armor to ward off the predators of evil!"

(I'm sure Ubaar would have had to say 'adios' to Ivellios fairly early into his discussions with the priest)

He will while away some time talking about his home and trying to spread some of Uthgar's teachings to this dedicated proest of Chauntea, and also listen to Kendrick's tales, if he so desires.

After a time, Ubaar will excuse himself, to rapidly crash in the room's bed.
Comfortable beds are ONE hallmark of civilization, at least, that are welcome to this faithful barbarian for the North...

 

[Doppleganger]

Ivellios' head sways back and forth and his watches Ubaar and the priest exchange words. The church seems to be spinning even more than the tavern was and he feels quite dizzy.

While the other two are still talking, the drowsy elf crawls under an altar table somewhere nearby and falls sound asleep, pulling an altar cloth around him for a blanket, and propping a prayer book under his head like a pillow.

 

[HeavyG]

Homework assignment

Yeah, that's right.

I have a facultative homework assignment, worth 100 XPs !!!1!



It is still in the Branmarch Inn. The fireplace holds back the autumn chill and the walls do likewise with the dampness. The party sleeps in the soft, comfortable beds, except for Ivellios, of course, who sleeps in Chauntea's arms.

As I was saying, everything is still in the Branmarch Inn, and nothing is stirring. Not even a mouse. Because the innkeeper's cat ate the last one 3 days ago. But... what's that... small pawprints, appearing as if by magic on a dusty floor corner in the main room ? Something IS stirring. Something unseen and wicked. As it moves towards the staircase leading up to the guest rooms, a floorboard cracks. A gray cat, sleeping on the fireplace mantle with the pride of a master hunter, awakens with a start and looks around, then goes back to sleep. The creeper, continues its trek up the stairs. On the upper floor, it paddles down the corridor, listening at the doors left and right as it goes.

Behind those doors, people are sleeping. Some seem agitated and others calm. Some are snoring loudly and others silent. Some are weak and others strong. Some are prey and others predators.

In Taz's room, the vial containing the water of Eldath is glowing softly, in a reddish hue.

Here it comes, the assignment. There, that night, at that time, what are you dreaming of ? I'm curious.

Of course, you don't HAVE to answer. But I'm giving XPs as bribe, as long as you put in more efforts than "I dream of beer and rabbits".

Tomorrow ( in real life), you wake up. Promise.

(Should've thought of that two days ago while I was away. )

 

[reapersaurus]

Ubaar is nestled down in the 'comfy chair' of civilization: the bed.

As he tries to work the poison thru his battered system, his mind drifts to battle of the past, and near scrapes with death.
He knows he came close today, and thanks Uthgar (who always appears to him as a Thunderbeast-spirit, like the one he rode up in the Nothern forests.)

His mind re-plays the battle, and feels the burn of the dragon's breath singing his skin, and the anger knifing theru the pain like a razor, allowing him to act and survive still.

He remembers his friend Jaida's stories about the powerful dragons of the North, and in his dream-battle, the wyrmling dragon grows to Colossal proportions 'till Ubaar is almost a speck on the monster's back!

Ubaar's best blows from his greatsword glance off the monstrosities back, as the dragon calmly, and with utter contempt, snatches him up and into his firey maw, roasting Ubaar alive in his gullet....

Ubaar jolts awake.

His dreams are often violence-filled, but seldom is he overcome by them as with this dragon-dream.

This is his first encounter with a dragon, and while he outwardly will not admit how close he was to dying, he knows he was fortunate today, AND that it was a very small and young dragon.

Ubaar shakes off the memory of his flesh burning away in the dragon's breath, and grunts soundly before going back to sleep, nestled in the arms of the welcome bedding.

 

[CRGreathouse]

Kytess shifts in her sleep, briefly uncomfortable – it’s hard to finds a good position to sleep in when you’re armed! In her mind’s eye, she sees herself on the battlefield…

The day was warm, but the sun was slipping over the horizon. The smell of smoke was strong in the air as she looked around, looking for the enemy. Suddenly, dozens of gray-skinned humanoids poured out of the trees. Kytess drew her sword and stood firm with the other soldiers, taking a quick count of their numbers; the soldiers were outnumbered again, nearly two to one. The soldiers could not retreat, Kytess reflected, for there was nowhere to run to: their town lay behind, along with their homes and families. Her head hit the ground, the taste of blood in her mouth; she rolled out of the way of the orc’s blow and stabbed at him with her longsword, but the blow rang off the orc’s armor. Before it could attack again, it was hit from behind by a faceless soldier; before Kytess could see who it was, the soldier was dealt a grievous blow from a spear-wielding orc. Quickly regaining her footing, Kytess swung her blade at the orc, dropping it to the ground.
. . .
It was quiet; the battle must be over. Kytess and the other remaining soldier dragged their dead into a pile. There would be no time for a cairn, let along burial; the bodies were to be burned. Suddenly Kytess heard a sound behind her; as she began to turn, she felt a sharp pain, and the world went black.
. . .
She was in a large tavern, in a roped-off ring for wrestlers and fighters. She was grappling another soldier, larger and heavier but less agile. Unable to force his broad shoulders to the wooden floor, she freed one of her hands, grabbed his just-over-regulation-length hair and repeatedly hit his head into the ground. When she felt his grip grow weak, she pinned him easily. Looking into the crowd of soldiers, gamblers, and regular patrons, Kytess felt that all of the faces were glowering at her, despite her victory. She stood up and brushed herself off, waiting for the next challenger. A tall, muscular pugilist stepped confidently in; Kytess closed quickly, taking a hard blow to the chest. She grabbed him and threw him down, his height working to his disadvantage. Before he could recover from the shock of the fall, Kytess put her arm around his neck in a solid chokehold, pressing until he passed out. The crowd was no kinder this time. Looking in the mirror that was suddenly in front of her, Kytess sees a child dressed in oversized armor with a ridiculously large sword strapped to her back. She smashes the mirror with her fist, but sees more behind her with the same reflection. Nearly blind with rage, she destroys each of the mirrors, bloodying her arms with the shards. All the while, she hears voices laughing at her, coming from some unseen place.

In a few hours, Kytess will wake, remembering nothing of her dreams. Her sleep was deep and dreamless, as it always is.

 

[Murhid]

Murhid often has this dream and tonight is no exception:

It is a clear day.

A large tree of maybe 20 ft is seen from a distance, old and grey, with autumn leaves. A fierce breeze picks up and several leaves are swept off their branches. With that Murhid's view closes in on one of the leaves, as if he could fly. The leaf sails on the wind, almost dancing, it passes high over the surrounding landscape; more trees dieing, all a flutter with red leaves resembling blood. Still focused on the dancing leaf a large dark mass is seen to the right, a storm, maybe two miles or more away. It speeds towards Murhid as if possessed, lighting striking and rain pouring. The leaf falls to the ground, though Murhid does not follow, focused now on the storm. With the mammoth and vividly alive storm only 30 ft away and about to consume Murhid, it stops suddenly.

Everything then just dulls out into grey unconsciousness.

 

[HeavyG]

Very good.

The others, you still have time to write one up if you want.



The group is awakened by the rooster's cry as the sun breaks the horizon. For once, the light coming in through the windows is bright and yellow. The rain is over, at least for now.

Downstairs, the innkeeper and his wife are busy preparing their guests' breakfast. Bread is baking in the oven and eggs and bacon are being cooked.

The innkeeper's gray cat is sitting under a low chair, eyeing everyone in the taproom suspiciously. It seems nervous.

 

[Taz]

“Father?”

Taz turned around. The warm and friendly voice of her "father" had called after her. She was walking away from her families home, heading into the streets of Waterdeep...

“Mum needs my help in the kitchen?”

She turned back and walked towards Enialis despite the fact, that the thought about doing housework did not quite please her. Her "father" was an impressive man. Almost twice her own size and touched by the almost unnatural grace of the elven race. Yet his body seemed frail in comparison to the humans that predominated in this region. Of course, Enialis was not her natural father. She doesn't know anything about him. He probably died long ago.

Enialis spoke something, but Taz didn't understand the words. She was sure, tho, that he used that Draconic tongue, which she would have learned already, if she would be listening to his teachings more often. He fluently switched to the Elven tongue, seeing her puzzled look.

“You have much to learn yet, young lady! Now get into the kitchen and help your mother with the lunch!”

Taz nodded and quickly headed into the house...

“Ah, there you are!”

Her "mother" - Lia - was obviously happy to see her at home and not roaming the streets, as she did oftentimes, forgetting everything else on the way.

“Here, take this knife and prepare the vegetables.”

Taz stretched her arm towards the knife and it moved into her grasp, guided by an invisible hand. Lia smiled faintly.

Half an hour later, the lunch was ready. They gathered around the table, as usual. Enialis recited a short prayer to the goddess of nature before they started. It tasted great, as always.

Taz shakes her head vigorously. She needs focus like Enialis has always tried to teach her. Distractions... no, her family are not mere distractions, the memory of them casts a happy smile on her face. Still, she needs to focus on the matters at hand. What was that noise? Oh... Taz sighed slightly. Only the rooster's cry, telling everybody about the new morning. That smell of freshly bakened bread. Mmmhhh. Time to get up, Taz thinks to herself...