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"Out of the Frying Pan"- Book IV - Into the Fire [STORY HOUR COMPLETED - 12/25/06]
- Thread starter el-remmen
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el-remmen
Moderator Emeritus
Session #69 (part ii)
Isilem, the 16th of Ter – 565 H.E.
The next morning Martin slept until nearly noon, his head heavy with the wine and spirits of the night before.
Dorn explored Nikar, while Ratchis and Kazrack began their respective training. Gunthar was nowhere to be found. Roland slept into the afternoon.
Impatiently, Martin went by Daphne’s house in the afternoon. She was on her way out as he arrived.
“Oh, I thought our lunch was tomorrow,” she said, confusion in her voice.
“Yes, well… I am sorry to be impatient. I just wanted to know if you had spoken to Lady Lydia about my need to confer with her,” Martin asked, embarrassedly.
“Oh yes,” Daphne hefted the pile of papers she held to her chest, and awkwardly pushed her spectacles closer to her big brown eyes. “As I said, she is very busy and we have not gone over her appointments for the week; that is actually where I am going now.”
Martin motioned for the pile of papers, and Daphne hesitantly handed them to him. They began to walk together towards the stairs up to the Upper Tier and the Council Hall.
“I did mention to her that you were looking for someone to assist you in your arcane studies, and she gave me a name,” Daphne said with a smile, as if she approved of the recommendation. “I was going to tell you at lunch tomorrow, but I guess I can tell you now. Her name is Vaysalia. She lives down in the Gnomish Quarter.”
“Was she an adventuring companion of Lydia the Holy?”
“Only peripherally. She has helped my mistress with this or that over the years. She is an illusionist, like you and, uh… a bit of adventurer. She should be the right fit,” Daphne explained. “Normally, I would send a message ahead to her, but in this case I think it’d be okay if you just say that Lydia sent you.”
“How will I find her?”
“Go to Fizzlepop’s Tavern in the Gnomish Quarter and ask for her,” Daphne said. “They are very friendly down there. Someone will direct you.”
“Thank you very much,” Martin bowed slightly, handing the pile of papers back to Daphne as they arrived at the Council Hall. “Please thank Lady Lydia for me and that I hope to meet her soon, and I look forward to our own lunch tomorrow.
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The street of the Gnomish District were narrow, and were made even more narrow by the long shale awnings that pointed low into the street, forcing the tall (and these days, lanky), Martin the Green to walk with great care. He ducked at each corner of the winding streets, and looked up to get his bearings as well. He had long ago lost the pudginess of his early days with the party. Now his face and joints were lined with stretch marks, and deep wrinkles bagged under his muted green eyes.
The streets were crowded with gnomish homes of various sizes, most built into the ground and then haphazardly stretching out around other houses. It was all made of stone and clay, and the narrow alleys felt cool, even though the sun glared on the upper tiers. Many of the homes also had storefronts, and a myriad of signs swung every which way advertising tinkers, coopers, smiths, jewelers, tailors and haberdashers. The watch-mage was surrounded with the many chattering voices of gnomes, most of whom smiled and tipped their caps as they saw him walk by.
Martin the Green ducked into the low-ceilinged tavern with its tin roof painted red and gold and was immediately reminded of the pub back in Garvan. A sunken section of the floor held a rack that reached from wall to wall that held over two dozen tapped kegs of beer and spirits. The bar was very low, and all the stools were cut for gnome-sized patrons, though a halfling and most dwarves would have been comfortable as well.
A handful of gnomes and one curly topped halfling were discussing a loudly snoring human crammed into one of the booths. His hand still held the mug of ale he had apparently recently spilled all over himself. It was Gunthar.
Martin smiled weakly at the gnomes, one of which seemed to be proprietor, and walked over to Gunthar, awkwardly kicking the man’s boot.
“Uh…Wha?” Gunthar snorted, and then sat up startled, dropping the mug and patting at his wet stomach and crotch. He looked up at Martin and winked. “I was dreaming of me Ma. Now, what do you want? You guys miss me already?”
“I am here on other business, but seeing you I wanted to make sure you were not off giving the party a bad name,” Martin replied.
“Naw! These gnomes are good guys,” Gunthar slurred. He grabbed his mug and stood, banging his head. He crouched and walked over to where the kegs were, cursing. “I can drink all I want and I pay when I leave, though I have to serve myself, but if you ask someone they’ll get you a drink, though I think they spit in it.”
“Hmm, I wonder why’d they do that?”
“Eh, who cares?” Gunthar shrugged his shoulders and took a deep gulp of beer from his recently filled mug, and wiped the foam from his mustache. He looked up at Martin and winked again. “Anyway, I spit in the ones I get for others just in case.”
Martin turned to notice that the group of gnomes and the one halfling were carefully watching the whole exchange.
“Hey Gunthar! Who’s this? Your girlfriend?” the gnome behind the low bar called. He wore a green bandanna and had a golden beard and a flat and wide nose that flared out past either side of his face. The other gnomes and the halfling laughed and turned to their drinks.
“Oh sh*te! I thought it was yer Ma, but then I noticed he hasn’t got a pr*ck,” Gunthar snapped back, and the group of exploded into laughter, including the bartender.
Martin was agog.
Gunthar smiled. “Was there something else you wanted, Shirley?”
“Well, I suppose I should be happy you have made some friends,” Martin replied. “Anyway, I did want to remind you to meet us at the Inn of Friendly Flame an hour before sundown so we can go do that thing.”
“Uh-uh.”
Martin walked over to the bar and got down on one knee.
“Good sir, might I ask you if you could direct me to the home of Visalyia the Illusionist?”
“Maybe if you buy a drink, Shirley,” the gnome cracked. Martin tossed a silver into the copper urn on the bar.
“Heh.” The gnome explained how to find it.
Despite being confused by the short and winding streets with frequent name changes, Martin eventually found the small clay house that belonged to Visalyia. She had woolen gray hair, and great corpulent crags around her cracked nose. She painted her eyelids deep purple and wore crimson paint on her lips.
She laughed silently at the end of every sentence she spoke, and rubbed her wrinkled little hands together frequently, turning her head to one side to look at Martin from behind her hair that hung down in long bangs over her face.
After explaining that he was sent by Lydia the Holy over tea in the cramped little cottage, Martin and Visalyia negotiated payment of 350 pieces of silver and the choice of a couple of spells from his found spellbooks.
“Oh, you watch-mages are always so stingy,” she said and then covered her mouth as if laughing. “But I know how to get you to open your money pouches and you spellbooks.”
“Oh? You’ve dealt with watch-mages before?”
“One or two.”
“Alexandra the Lavender?”
“Pshaw! No, not her,” Visalyia crinkled her face. “No, that brown fellow in Ettinos, and Richard the Red.”
“You know Richard the Red?”
“Oh, I remember him when he was just pipsqueak, and when he first got his cloak. Nice cloak.”
“Well, he is very stylish.”
“I meant that is allows him to enter the realm of shadow,” Visalyia let an actual laugh escape her, and then she coughed. “I identified it for him.” (1)
“Oh, can you do that for me? My companions and I have some things that give off magical auras,” Martin asked.
After further negotiation, she would get second choice of what was identified, as long as Martin provided the pearl needed to cast the spells.
The training would begin in a few days, but in the meantime, Martin could come back the next day to bring the magical items for identification.
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The common room of the Inn of Friendly Flame began to get crowded as sundown approached. The party formerly known as the Fearless Manticore Killers readied their gear in one of the suites above, as they waited for Roland and Gunthar to arrive, and discussed what they might name themselves.
“I don’t even like the idea of naming ourselves,” Kazrack said. “It seems arrogant.”
“If we do not name ourselves then others always will,” Martin explained. “People enjoy a shorthand way of referring to a group of people.”
“Dorn, do you have a suggestion?” Ratchis asked his newest companion.
The shaggy-haired man poured himself a goblet of wine and shrugged, “It’s your group.”
As they bandied about possibilities, Gunthar arrived. They all spied a small figure that seemed to be following him in.
“You guys divvy the loot yet? I want my cut. Funds are lower than yer momma’s teats,” Gunthar said, immediately grabbing the bottle of wine from Dorn.
Both Kazrack and Ratchis glowered at the blonde Neergaardian, and then looked down to see who was with him. It was young lithe gnome woman with long brown hair with light blue frosting tied back in a braid and big brown eyes that shone above her prodigious nose. She wore a flower-patterned skirt, furry boots and ruffled blouse; one of her ears had several piercing.
“This here is Neela,” Gunthar introduced. “She and I, uh… are friends.”
The gnome woman looked down bashfully, and then back up and smiled at Kazrack and Martin. She did not make eye-contact with Ratchis.
“Is she your new girlfriend?” Ratchis asked.
“This here is Ratchis,” Gunthar said to Neela, stroking her hair gently. “He’s ugly and mean, but he’s alright. But still, more ugly and mean than alright.”
“Yes, yes. Right, right,” Neela giggled, quickly. She covered her mouth with her hand and looked up from under her bangs.
Martin stepped forward and got down on one knee to meet Neela at eye-level. He put out a hand to shake.
“Hello, I am Martin the Green, one of Gunthar’s companions,” Martin smiled.
She giggled and pulled her hands away.
“Right, right. Hi, hi… I…uh, Nisilla,” the gnome girl said.
“Gunthar! Does she even speak the common tongue?” Ratchis roared. The brutish half-orc pushed the Neergaardian out of the way and he looked down at the gnome girl. “Can you speak Common?”
“Eep!” Neela (or Nisilla, as she called herself) leapt behind Martin and then hurried over beside Gunthar and reached up for his hand.
Gunthar knelt down beside her.
“Don’t worry, pun’kin. His bark is worse than his bite, but his breath, well, that’s worse than a dog’s,” Gunthar smoothed her hair with affection, and winked up at Ratchis.
She rubbed her nose in his blonde scruff.
“In all our travels, this is perhaps the most disturbing of all we have seen,” Kazrack intoned.
“Kazrack, we’ve seen a pit full of zombie half-orc infants being devoured by rats,” Ratchis spat.
The dwarf bowed his head.
“Not having seen that and having seen this,” Dorn said, taking the opportunity to grab the wine back from Gunthar. “I can only imagine that this ranks somewhere close.”
Both Gunthar and Ratchis scowled at the cohort.
Gunthar walked the gnome to the door of the suite to see her off, explaining that he’d come see her later. She looked confused and then hurriedly nodded, saying, “Right, right. Bye-bye.”
He gave her a kiss on the nose and she left.
Ratchis was right up in his face the moment he turned around.
“If I find out that you coerced or tricked her in anyway you’ll be finding out what my fist tastes like!”
Gunthar shrugged and walked back towards Dorn and the bottle of wine without a sign that he took the threat seriously, “I always figured it tasted like the inside of Kazrack’s ass.”
Ratchis took a step towards him, but Kazrack raised a hand and turned to the irascible Northrop brother.
“Gunthar, we feel you have a lot to learn about camaraderie and friendship, and about respecting your…ahem…peers,” the dwarf said.
“I need to learn about rotting camaraderie and friendship?” Gunthar scoffed. “Who was it that didn’t allow Aldovar to kill you when all, but Dough… I mean, Martin, were half-dead on the floor? Who told you about his plan to kill the dragon and let you have a piece of it? Who has put up with your dour-pusses and grandma points of view for all these weeks?”
“None of those things change that you have not paid us proper respect due companions,” Kazrack said.
“Go take a sh*te on your respect,” Gunthar responded. “I want my cut of the magic. I know we found a bunch of potions and other things and I am owed some.”
“I have negotiated with the woman I am training with to get her to identify their magical properties,” Martin explained. “But as I was explaining to Kazrack and Ratchis before, we need to provide her with a pearl worth at least 100 pieces of silver.”
“I have a pearl,” Gunthar said. “But I want to be reimbursed for three-fourths of it by yous, and first choice of what we get.”
“Is it worth enough?” Ratchis asked. He turned to the dwarf. “Kazrack can you appraise it?”
“It is worth bloody enough,” Gunthar said.
“Pearls are worthless trash, what do I know of what silly humans or elves would pay for it,” Kazrack added. (2)
“You will donate freely as part of our group, or we will simply have to do without knowing what the items do,” Ratchis said.
“You can’t afford it, can ya?” Gunthar smirked. “Spent all your pennies on that fancy-schmancy new sword. Ha! Let the pig-c*cker loose in the city and he buys the whole damn candy shop!”
“This is exactly the kind of thing we are talking about,” Kazrack said.
“I can hear you ladies bickering way down the hall,” a voice said as the door to the suite slammed shut. It was Roland. He wore a chain shirt that hung loosely on him, clearly it was not yet fastned correctly. A crossbow was slung on his left side, and a quiver was on his back. He wore a rapier at his belt. A tiny metal skullcap rested on his curly brown locks. “Perhaps you should keep it down, and join me in a drink or three before we go out there. I have learned some things.”
“And I saw something today ya might want to know,” Gunthar added.
“What are you talking about?” Ratchis turned back to the Neergaardian.
“First, I want to make an agreement beforehand about any loot we collect on whatever it is we are about to do in the cemetery.”
“No one will be looting the cemetery!” Ratchis said through clenched teeth.
“You know for someone who supposedly upholds freedom you sure do bloody tell people what to do an awful lot!”
“Is this a bad time?” Roland asked, glibly. He began to open the bottles of wine he had brought with him and pouring some. “Should we cancel the foray against evil so you all can finish your little spat?”
There was a long pause.
“You had some information?” Martin finally asked. He declined the Bastite’s offer of wine.
“Groups of youths have been sneaking off to the cemetery at night since the monks abandoned their monastery in the Garden of Stones,” Roland explained. “They go there to be rebellious and for trysts and the like.”
”So they might have disturbed something, released some undead?” Martin speculated.
“That doesn’t seem unlikely,” Roland replied.
“Heh,” grunted Gunthar as he re-filled his glass. A thin stream of wine poured down his chin. “You got one thing wrong there, ponce. The monks ain’t abandoned sh*te.”
“What do you mean? There have been no monks since they left for their convocation early last year,” Roland said.
“I saw some monks today. They walked right through town leaving by the western gate,” Gunthar said. “There was three of them. Black cloaks, wooden sandals, tiny clubs connected with chains, hooked dagger shaped like fangs, the usual worthless sh*te.”
“But the western gate is in the other direction from the Garden of Stones,” said Roland. “And if the monks were back the Council would know, and that means I would know.”
Kazrack raised an eyebrow.
“Yes, if it were monks of Anubis, but more likely it is monks of that other sect. The ones we suspect truly worship Rakhefet.”
“Ah, yes you mentioned them at Mercy’s,” Roland said. “But you never mentioned they had strayed so far from their faith that they’d create, control or even condone undead.”
“I would put nothing past them,” Ratchis said.
“Our previous lenience to these monks was for the sake of our former companion Beorth,” Kazrack added. “If we meet them again we will let justice prevail instead.”
Ratchis nodded.
“All this talk has gotten me in the mood to do some killing. Let’s go,” Gunthar gulped his last glass of wine and grabbed his weapon belt from the back of the chair.
They all prepared to leave.
“Oh! What about the name?” Martin asked.
“Let’s just use the last one we though up,” Kazrack said, obviously bored of the topic. “It represents what we are trying to do… I guess…”
“Remember your peace-knots,” Martin said.
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Ratchis, Kazrack, Martin, Roland, Gunthar and Dorn climbed the stairs down to the Central Tier and to the great gated tunnel that went east onto the Mountain Door. (3) Ra’s Glory hung low behind them, a mere glimmer that cast long shadows that turned quickly round the corners of the white and gray little houses.
A trio of armed dwarves approached them as they neared the gate.
“Leaving town, rune-thrower?” the center dwarf asked Kazrack. He eyed the rest of the group, letting his vision linger on Roland first and then up at Ratchis.
“Yes, my companions and I are going to investigate the reports of undead in the cemetery above.”
“At the Council’s bidding?” the dwarf sounded confused.
“I was not aware that we needed their permission to do so,” Kazrack replied, sincerely.
“Well, sir, I am not really sure. I will have to report this to the Captain, though.”
“We have nothing to hide.”
“But, you do understand that the outer gate is closed at sundown and is not re-opened until just before dawn,” the dwarf said solemnly. “If you leave now you will not be able to return until morning.”
“We’ll be fine,” Kazrack replied, looking at his companions and nodding.
“Okay, I will let you through,” the dwarf said. “But I’ll need your names. What do you call yourselves again?”
“The Keepers of the Gate,” said Ratchis. The dwarven looked to Kazrack to confirm this. The rune-thrower nodded.
The gate was opened and they walked through two at a time into the huge dark tunnel. As they marched Martin explained that he had found a spell that would help alert them to be scryed, but that he would need help acquiring the component. After a quick discussion of cost and logistics, Kazrack agreed to make some the needed small brass horns (5) while doing his training and forging his armor.
They had emerged from the tunnel and were on their way up the partially enclosed stones steps carved into the cliff face when the heard the echoing clang of the black outer gate closing.
Ratchis led the way out of the stairway and onto the marble plaza marled the entrance to the cemetery, and led to the open foyer of the monastery building. A damp breeze cut through the barren trees that dotted the cemetery and roiled a light mist that obscured vision. Marble headstones of different sizes and shapes dotted the green and brown hill that the cemetery was comprised of, with several tombs seemed to have been built into the side of the hill itself. The monastery was built into a cleft in the hill, and a archway in the eastern wall that flanked the plaza led to a steep marble stairway that the party has climbed to get here when they first arrived from Gothanius. (4)
Ratchis, Gunthar and Kazrack spread out into the cemetery. Ratchis went furthest in, signaling the others to stay back while he looked for signs of tracks. Roland pulled his cloak closer around his shoulder, as the breeze was quite cold, and he stayed close to Martin, as the Watch-Mage entered the plaza and looked around. Dorn stood between the two groups and loaded his crossbow.
Ratchis had just noticed fresh tracks heading both deeper into the cemetery and back towards the plaza, when he heard Gunthar call out. The half-orc jerked to his feet and looked where the Neergaardian warrior was pointing. A dark crouched moved haphazardly from stone to stone, looking to nearly be pushing off them and grabbing on to them as it moved along, moaning softly.
“Looks like a zombie over here!” Gunthar said.
“Bast grant me your divine sight to divine the presence of evil,” Roland chanted, flicking his ruffled shirtsleeves and grabbing hold the gold ankh about his neck. It was engraved with a cat’s eye.
“Well, is it evil?” Kazrack asked.
“I cannot tell. It is too far away,” Roland replied. “Let us get closer.”
The Bastite moved forward and Kazrack inched over to join him. Gunthar looked confused at the hesitation, as he had already drawn both of his swords. Martin began to walk over as well.
“Let us be careful we do not accidentally harm any of the village youths if they are hear,” Martin warned.
There was the sudden sound of movement in some bushes on the far side of the closest tomb as several humanoid figures burst from there. They were tattered clothing, and had slavering jaws with fanged teeth. Their skin had sallow look to it, and their eyes were swollen and rheumy.
“Something fresh,” one of them hissed. They moved with hungry speed, spreading out in twos towards each of the three adventurers in the forefront.
“Ghouls!” Ratchis cursed.
Gunthar ignored them and took the opportunity to hustle over to the first figure.
“Dorn! Watch our rear flank!” Ratchis barked commands in battle as he often did, drawing his masterwork greatsword from his back. “Gunthar! Get back here!”
“Natan-ahb! Judge these creatures and have them flee from your wrath!” the dwarf called to his god, grabbing hold of the pouch of runestones about his neck. A wave of positive energy washed out from him in all directions and the six closest ghouls shrieked as they collapsed into dust, leaving just a pile of musty clothing in their place.
“Ha! Ha!” Gunthar cheered, still moving to catch up to the stumbling figure. “Stumpy sure showed them where it’s at!”
Dorn and Roland heard a sound behind them and spun around. A squat and broad dwarf-like figure was charging across the plaza from the rear archway towards Dorn. It seemed to be covered in black carapace that reached back over its head and down it back, connecting to its arms with a wing-like membrane. Its eyes glowed a bright red, and held warhammer before it, punching out at the warrior as it arrived at him.
End of Session #69
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Notes:
(1) The Realm of Shadow is another name for oft-misnamed ethereal plane.
(2) Dwarven culture does not consider pearls to be precious gems.
(3) “The Mountain Door” is the main road leading from the southeastern coast of Derome-Delem into its mountainous inner lands.
(4) See session #67
(5) DM’s Note: The spell in question was Detect Scrying.
Isilem, the 16th of Ter – 565 H.E.
The next morning Martin slept until nearly noon, his head heavy with the wine and spirits of the night before.
Dorn explored Nikar, while Ratchis and Kazrack began their respective training. Gunthar was nowhere to be found. Roland slept into the afternoon.
Impatiently, Martin went by Daphne’s house in the afternoon. She was on her way out as he arrived.
“Oh, I thought our lunch was tomorrow,” she said, confusion in her voice.
“Yes, well… I am sorry to be impatient. I just wanted to know if you had spoken to Lady Lydia about my need to confer with her,” Martin asked, embarrassedly.
“Oh yes,” Daphne hefted the pile of papers she held to her chest, and awkwardly pushed her spectacles closer to her big brown eyes. “As I said, she is very busy and we have not gone over her appointments for the week; that is actually where I am going now.”
Martin motioned for the pile of papers, and Daphne hesitantly handed them to him. They began to walk together towards the stairs up to the Upper Tier and the Council Hall.
“I did mention to her that you were looking for someone to assist you in your arcane studies, and she gave me a name,” Daphne said with a smile, as if she approved of the recommendation. “I was going to tell you at lunch tomorrow, but I guess I can tell you now. Her name is Vaysalia. She lives down in the Gnomish Quarter.”
“Was she an adventuring companion of Lydia the Holy?”
“Only peripherally. She has helped my mistress with this or that over the years. She is an illusionist, like you and, uh… a bit of adventurer. She should be the right fit,” Daphne explained. “Normally, I would send a message ahead to her, but in this case I think it’d be okay if you just say that Lydia sent you.”
“How will I find her?”
“Go to Fizzlepop’s Tavern in the Gnomish Quarter and ask for her,” Daphne said. “They are very friendly down there. Someone will direct you.”
“Thank you very much,” Martin bowed slightly, handing the pile of papers back to Daphne as they arrived at the Council Hall. “Please thank Lady Lydia for me and that I hope to meet her soon, and I look forward to our own lunch tomorrow.
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The street of the Gnomish District were narrow, and were made even more narrow by the long shale awnings that pointed low into the street, forcing the tall (and these days, lanky), Martin the Green to walk with great care. He ducked at each corner of the winding streets, and looked up to get his bearings as well. He had long ago lost the pudginess of his early days with the party. Now his face and joints were lined with stretch marks, and deep wrinkles bagged under his muted green eyes.
The streets were crowded with gnomish homes of various sizes, most built into the ground and then haphazardly stretching out around other houses. It was all made of stone and clay, and the narrow alleys felt cool, even though the sun glared on the upper tiers. Many of the homes also had storefronts, and a myriad of signs swung every which way advertising tinkers, coopers, smiths, jewelers, tailors and haberdashers. The watch-mage was surrounded with the many chattering voices of gnomes, most of whom smiled and tipped their caps as they saw him walk by.
Martin the Green ducked into the low-ceilinged tavern with its tin roof painted red and gold and was immediately reminded of the pub back in Garvan. A sunken section of the floor held a rack that reached from wall to wall that held over two dozen tapped kegs of beer and spirits. The bar was very low, and all the stools were cut for gnome-sized patrons, though a halfling and most dwarves would have been comfortable as well.
A handful of gnomes and one curly topped halfling were discussing a loudly snoring human crammed into one of the booths. His hand still held the mug of ale he had apparently recently spilled all over himself. It was Gunthar.
Martin smiled weakly at the gnomes, one of which seemed to be proprietor, and walked over to Gunthar, awkwardly kicking the man’s boot.
“Uh…Wha?” Gunthar snorted, and then sat up startled, dropping the mug and patting at his wet stomach and crotch. He looked up at Martin and winked. “I was dreaming of me Ma. Now, what do you want? You guys miss me already?”
“I am here on other business, but seeing you I wanted to make sure you were not off giving the party a bad name,” Martin replied.
“Naw! These gnomes are good guys,” Gunthar slurred. He grabbed his mug and stood, banging his head. He crouched and walked over to where the kegs were, cursing. “I can drink all I want and I pay when I leave, though I have to serve myself, but if you ask someone they’ll get you a drink, though I think they spit in it.”
“Hmm, I wonder why’d they do that?”
“Eh, who cares?” Gunthar shrugged his shoulders and took a deep gulp of beer from his recently filled mug, and wiped the foam from his mustache. He looked up at Martin and winked again. “Anyway, I spit in the ones I get for others just in case.”
Martin turned to notice that the group of gnomes and the one halfling were carefully watching the whole exchange.
“Hey Gunthar! Who’s this? Your girlfriend?” the gnome behind the low bar called. He wore a green bandanna and had a golden beard and a flat and wide nose that flared out past either side of his face. The other gnomes and the halfling laughed and turned to their drinks.
“Oh sh*te! I thought it was yer Ma, but then I noticed he hasn’t got a pr*ck,” Gunthar snapped back, and the group of exploded into laughter, including the bartender.
Martin was agog.
Gunthar smiled. “Was there something else you wanted, Shirley?”
“Well, I suppose I should be happy you have made some friends,” Martin replied. “Anyway, I did want to remind you to meet us at the Inn of Friendly Flame an hour before sundown so we can go do that thing.”
“Uh-uh.”
Martin walked over to the bar and got down on one knee.
“Good sir, might I ask you if you could direct me to the home of Visalyia the Illusionist?”
“Maybe if you buy a drink, Shirley,” the gnome cracked. Martin tossed a silver into the copper urn on the bar.
“Heh.” The gnome explained how to find it.
Despite being confused by the short and winding streets with frequent name changes, Martin eventually found the small clay house that belonged to Visalyia. She had woolen gray hair, and great corpulent crags around her cracked nose. She painted her eyelids deep purple and wore crimson paint on her lips.
She laughed silently at the end of every sentence she spoke, and rubbed her wrinkled little hands together frequently, turning her head to one side to look at Martin from behind her hair that hung down in long bangs over her face.
After explaining that he was sent by Lydia the Holy over tea in the cramped little cottage, Martin and Visalyia negotiated payment of 350 pieces of silver and the choice of a couple of spells from his found spellbooks.
“Oh, you watch-mages are always so stingy,” she said and then covered her mouth as if laughing. “But I know how to get you to open your money pouches and you spellbooks.”
“Oh? You’ve dealt with watch-mages before?”
“One or two.”
“Alexandra the Lavender?”
“Pshaw! No, not her,” Visalyia crinkled her face. “No, that brown fellow in Ettinos, and Richard the Red.”
“You know Richard the Red?”
“Oh, I remember him when he was just pipsqueak, and when he first got his cloak. Nice cloak.”
“Well, he is very stylish.”
“I meant that is allows him to enter the realm of shadow,” Visalyia let an actual laugh escape her, and then she coughed. “I identified it for him.” (1)
“Oh, can you do that for me? My companions and I have some things that give off magical auras,” Martin asked.
After further negotiation, she would get second choice of what was identified, as long as Martin provided the pearl needed to cast the spells.
The training would begin in a few days, but in the meantime, Martin could come back the next day to bring the magical items for identification.
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The common room of the Inn of Friendly Flame began to get crowded as sundown approached. The party formerly known as the Fearless Manticore Killers readied their gear in one of the suites above, as they waited for Roland and Gunthar to arrive, and discussed what they might name themselves.
“I don’t even like the idea of naming ourselves,” Kazrack said. “It seems arrogant.”
“If we do not name ourselves then others always will,” Martin explained. “People enjoy a shorthand way of referring to a group of people.”
“Dorn, do you have a suggestion?” Ratchis asked his newest companion.
The shaggy-haired man poured himself a goblet of wine and shrugged, “It’s your group.”
As they bandied about possibilities, Gunthar arrived. They all spied a small figure that seemed to be following him in.
“You guys divvy the loot yet? I want my cut. Funds are lower than yer momma’s teats,” Gunthar said, immediately grabbing the bottle of wine from Dorn.
Both Kazrack and Ratchis glowered at the blonde Neergaardian, and then looked down to see who was with him. It was young lithe gnome woman with long brown hair with light blue frosting tied back in a braid and big brown eyes that shone above her prodigious nose. She wore a flower-patterned skirt, furry boots and ruffled blouse; one of her ears had several piercing.
“This here is Neela,” Gunthar introduced. “She and I, uh… are friends.”
The gnome woman looked down bashfully, and then back up and smiled at Kazrack and Martin. She did not make eye-contact with Ratchis.
“Is she your new girlfriend?” Ratchis asked.
“This here is Ratchis,” Gunthar said to Neela, stroking her hair gently. “He’s ugly and mean, but he’s alright. But still, more ugly and mean than alright.”
“Yes, yes. Right, right,” Neela giggled, quickly. She covered her mouth with her hand and looked up from under her bangs.
Martin stepped forward and got down on one knee to meet Neela at eye-level. He put out a hand to shake.
“Hello, I am Martin the Green, one of Gunthar’s companions,” Martin smiled.
She giggled and pulled her hands away.
“Right, right. Hi, hi… I…uh, Nisilla,” the gnome girl said.
“Gunthar! Does she even speak the common tongue?” Ratchis roared. The brutish half-orc pushed the Neergaardian out of the way and he looked down at the gnome girl. “Can you speak Common?”
“Eep!” Neela (or Nisilla, as she called herself) leapt behind Martin and then hurried over beside Gunthar and reached up for his hand.
Gunthar knelt down beside her.
“Don’t worry, pun’kin. His bark is worse than his bite, but his breath, well, that’s worse than a dog’s,” Gunthar smoothed her hair with affection, and winked up at Ratchis.
She rubbed her nose in his blonde scruff.
“In all our travels, this is perhaps the most disturbing of all we have seen,” Kazrack intoned.
“Kazrack, we’ve seen a pit full of zombie half-orc infants being devoured by rats,” Ratchis spat.
The dwarf bowed his head.
“Not having seen that and having seen this,” Dorn said, taking the opportunity to grab the wine back from Gunthar. “I can only imagine that this ranks somewhere close.”
Both Gunthar and Ratchis scowled at the cohort.
Gunthar walked the gnome to the door of the suite to see her off, explaining that he’d come see her later. She looked confused and then hurriedly nodded, saying, “Right, right. Bye-bye.”
He gave her a kiss on the nose and she left.
Ratchis was right up in his face the moment he turned around.
“If I find out that you coerced or tricked her in anyway you’ll be finding out what my fist tastes like!”
Gunthar shrugged and walked back towards Dorn and the bottle of wine without a sign that he took the threat seriously, “I always figured it tasted like the inside of Kazrack’s ass.”
Ratchis took a step towards him, but Kazrack raised a hand and turned to the irascible Northrop brother.
“Gunthar, we feel you have a lot to learn about camaraderie and friendship, and about respecting your…ahem…peers,” the dwarf said.
“I need to learn about rotting camaraderie and friendship?” Gunthar scoffed. “Who was it that didn’t allow Aldovar to kill you when all, but Dough… I mean, Martin, were half-dead on the floor? Who told you about his plan to kill the dragon and let you have a piece of it? Who has put up with your dour-pusses and grandma points of view for all these weeks?”
“None of those things change that you have not paid us proper respect due companions,” Kazrack said.
“Go take a sh*te on your respect,” Gunthar responded. “I want my cut of the magic. I know we found a bunch of potions and other things and I am owed some.”
“I have negotiated with the woman I am training with to get her to identify their magical properties,” Martin explained. “But as I was explaining to Kazrack and Ratchis before, we need to provide her with a pearl worth at least 100 pieces of silver.”
“I have a pearl,” Gunthar said. “But I want to be reimbursed for three-fourths of it by yous, and first choice of what we get.”
“Is it worth enough?” Ratchis asked. He turned to the dwarf. “Kazrack can you appraise it?”
“It is worth bloody enough,” Gunthar said.
“Pearls are worthless trash, what do I know of what silly humans or elves would pay for it,” Kazrack added. (2)
“You will donate freely as part of our group, or we will simply have to do without knowing what the items do,” Ratchis said.
“You can’t afford it, can ya?” Gunthar smirked. “Spent all your pennies on that fancy-schmancy new sword. Ha! Let the pig-c*cker loose in the city and he buys the whole damn candy shop!”
“This is exactly the kind of thing we are talking about,” Kazrack said.
“I can hear you ladies bickering way down the hall,” a voice said as the door to the suite slammed shut. It was Roland. He wore a chain shirt that hung loosely on him, clearly it was not yet fastned correctly. A crossbow was slung on his left side, and a quiver was on his back. He wore a rapier at his belt. A tiny metal skullcap rested on his curly brown locks. “Perhaps you should keep it down, and join me in a drink or three before we go out there. I have learned some things.”
“And I saw something today ya might want to know,” Gunthar added.
“What are you talking about?” Ratchis turned back to the Neergaardian.
“First, I want to make an agreement beforehand about any loot we collect on whatever it is we are about to do in the cemetery.”
“No one will be looting the cemetery!” Ratchis said through clenched teeth.
“You know for someone who supposedly upholds freedom you sure do bloody tell people what to do an awful lot!”
“Is this a bad time?” Roland asked, glibly. He began to open the bottles of wine he had brought with him and pouring some. “Should we cancel the foray against evil so you all can finish your little spat?”
There was a long pause.
“You had some information?” Martin finally asked. He declined the Bastite’s offer of wine.
“Groups of youths have been sneaking off to the cemetery at night since the monks abandoned their monastery in the Garden of Stones,” Roland explained. “They go there to be rebellious and for trysts and the like.”
”So they might have disturbed something, released some undead?” Martin speculated.
“That doesn’t seem unlikely,” Roland replied.
“Heh,” grunted Gunthar as he re-filled his glass. A thin stream of wine poured down his chin. “You got one thing wrong there, ponce. The monks ain’t abandoned sh*te.”
“What do you mean? There have been no monks since they left for their convocation early last year,” Roland said.
“I saw some monks today. They walked right through town leaving by the western gate,” Gunthar said. “There was three of them. Black cloaks, wooden sandals, tiny clubs connected with chains, hooked dagger shaped like fangs, the usual worthless sh*te.”
“But the western gate is in the other direction from the Garden of Stones,” said Roland. “And if the monks were back the Council would know, and that means I would know.”
Kazrack raised an eyebrow.
“Yes, if it were monks of Anubis, but more likely it is monks of that other sect. The ones we suspect truly worship Rakhefet.”
“Ah, yes you mentioned them at Mercy’s,” Roland said. “But you never mentioned they had strayed so far from their faith that they’d create, control or even condone undead.”
“I would put nothing past them,” Ratchis said.
“Our previous lenience to these monks was for the sake of our former companion Beorth,” Kazrack added. “If we meet them again we will let justice prevail instead.”
Ratchis nodded.
“All this talk has gotten me in the mood to do some killing. Let’s go,” Gunthar gulped his last glass of wine and grabbed his weapon belt from the back of the chair.
They all prepared to leave.
“Oh! What about the name?” Martin asked.
“Let’s just use the last one we though up,” Kazrack said, obviously bored of the topic. “It represents what we are trying to do… I guess…”
“Remember your peace-knots,” Martin said.
----------------------------
Ratchis, Kazrack, Martin, Roland, Gunthar and Dorn climbed the stairs down to the Central Tier and to the great gated tunnel that went east onto the Mountain Door. (3) Ra’s Glory hung low behind them, a mere glimmer that cast long shadows that turned quickly round the corners of the white and gray little houses.
A trio of armed dwarves approached them as they neared the gate.
“Leaving town, rune-thrower?” the center dwarf asked Kazrack. He eyed the rest of the group, letting his vision linger on Roland first and then up at Ratchis.
“Yes, my companions and I are going to investigate the reports of undead in the cemetery above.”
“At the Council’s bidding?” the dwarf sounded confused.
“I was not aware that we needed their permission to do so,” Kazrack replied, sincerely.
“Well, sir, I am not really sure. I will have to report this to the Captain, though.”
“We have nothing to hide.”
“But, you do understand that the outer gate is closed at sundown and is not re-opened until just before dawn,” the dwarf said solemnly. “If you leave now you will not be able to return until morning.”
“We’ll be fine,” Kazrack replied, looking at his companions and nodding.
“Okay, I will let you through,” the dwarf said. “But I’ll need your names. What do you call yourselves again?”
“The Keepers of the Gate,” said Ratchis. The dwarven looked to Kazrack to confirm this. The rune-thrower nodded.
The gate was opened and they walked through two at a time into the huge dark tunnel. As they marched Martin explained that he had found a spell that would help alert them to be scryed, but that he would need help acquiring the component. After a quick discussion of cost and logistics, Kazrack agreed to make some the needed small brass horns (5) while doing his training and forging his armor.
They had emerged from the tunnel and were on their way up the partially enclosed stones steps carved into the cliff face when the heard the echoing clang of the black outer gate closing.
Ratchis led the way out of the stairway and onto the marble plaza marled the entrance to the cemetery, and led to the open foyer of the monastery building. A damp breeze cut through the barren trees that dotted the cemetery and roiled a light mist that obscured vision. Marble headstones of different sizes and shapes dotted the green and brown hill that the cemetery was comprised of, with several tombs seemed to have been built into the side of the hill itself. The monastery was built into a cleft in the hill, and a archway in the eastern wall that flanked the plaza led to a steep marble stairway that the party has climbed to get here when they first arrived from Gothanius. (4)
Ratchis, Gunthar and Kazrack spread out into the cemetery. Ratchis went furthest in, signaling the others to stay back while he looked for signs of tracks. Roland pulled his cloak closer around his shoulder, as the breeze was quite cold, and he stayed close to Martin, as the Watch-Mage entered the plaza and looked around. Dorn stood between the two groups and loaded his crossbow.
Ratchis had just noticed fresh tracks heading both deeper into the cemetery and back towards the plaza, when he heard Gunthar call out. The half-orc jerked to his feet and looked where the Neergaardian warrior was pointing. A dark crouched moved haphazardly from stone to stone, looking to nearly be pushing off them and grabbing on to them as it moved along, moaning softly.
“Looks like a zombie over here!” Gunthar said.
“Bast grant me your divine sight to divine the presence of evil,” Roland chanted, flicking his ruffled shirtsleeves and grabbing hold the gold ankh about his neck. It was engraved with a cat’s eye.
“Well, is it evil?” Kazrack asked.
“I cannot tell. It is too far away,” Roland replied. “Let us get closer.”
The Bastite moved forward and Kazrack inched over to join him. Gunthar looked confused at the hesitation, as he had already drawn both of his swords. Martin began to walk over as well.
“Let us be careful we do not accidentally harm any of the village youths if they are hear,” Martin warned.
There was the sudden sound of movement in some bushes on the far side of the closest tomb as several humanoid figures burst from there. They were tattered clothing, and had slavering jaws with fanged teeth. Their skin had sallow look to it, and their eyes were swollen and rheumy.
“Something fresh,” one of them hissed. They moved with hungry speed, spreading out in twos towards each of the three adventurers in the forefront.
“Ghouls!” Ratchis cursed.
Gunthar ignored them and took the opportunity to hustle over to the first figure.
“Dorn! Watch our rear flank!” Ratchis barked commands in battle as he often did, drawing his masterwork greatsword from his back. “Gunthar! Get back here!”
“Natan-ahb! Judge these creatures and have them flee from your wrath!” the dwarf called to his god, grabbing hold of the pouch of runestones about his neck. A wave of positive energy washed out from him in all directions and the six closest ghouls shrieked as they collapsed into dust, leaving just a pile of musty clothing in their place.
“Ha! Ha!” Gunthar cheered, still moving to catch up to the stumbling figure. “Stumpy sure showed them where it’s at!”
Dorn and Roland heard a sound behind them and spun around. A squat and broad dwarf-like figure was charging across the plaza from the rear archway towards Dorn. It seemed to be covered in black carapace that reached back over its head and down it back, connecting to its arms with a wing-like membrane. Its eyes glowed a bright red, and held warhammer before it, punching out at the warrior as it arrived at him.
End of Session #69
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Notes:
(1) The Realm of Shadow is another name for oft-misnamed ethereal plane.
(2) Dwarven culture does not consider pearls to be precious gems.
(3) “The Mountain Door” is the main road leading from the southeastern coast of Derome-Delem into its mountainous inner lands.
(4) See session #67
(5) DM’s Note: The spell in question was Detect Scrying.
Last edited:
handforged
First Post
Hooray for the Keepers of the Gate!!!
Really? What makes you say that?Manzanita said:
Gunthar can be a jerk and quite vile at times, but he does know a bit about honor. He continues to aid the party even though he had already fulfilled his part of the bargin that he made with the party (and even though the party refused to honor their end of the bargin with Gunthar). He might not be the most pleasant person to be around, but he has shown he is trustworthy.
Dherys Thal
First Post
Daphne and Lydia
Am I the only one who thinks that Daphne may well be Lydia herself?
Am I the only one who thinks that Daphne may well be Lydia herself?
I agree wth your first statement. Most people wouldn't like that or want to be around it.monboesen said:
On the other hand, the KotG have enemies all around and very few people whom they can fully trust (if they can trust them at all). So, they really don't have much room to be so picky about who their friends are. Especially when that friend is one who has showen that they can be trusted.
handforged
First Post
I see Gunthar as an interesting challenge for the group. They have wronged him, and have to figure out a way to deal with it. Could it even be worth XP? Admittedly, they may have already paid him in full by dealing with his insults without attacking him.
I hadn't thought of Daphne=Lydia, but it makes a certain amount of sense. I guess we'll have to wait and see, because I doubt that mmen is going to tell us ahead of time.
~hf
I hadn't thought of Daphne=Lydia, but it makes a certain amount of sense. I guess we'll have to wait and see, because I doubt that mmen is going to tell us ahead of time.
~hf
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