Swamp Trek III: The Search for Ter-raen

Weel Naxel, human cleric

covaithe said:

[sblock=Karl and Weel]Inside are about twenty five human men, some middle aged or even a bit elderly, and some in their mid teens, but most in the prime of adulthood. They are even more filthy and bedraggled than you are, despite several days of travelling through swamps. A handful bear minor wounds, and two are badly wounded, laid out in the center of the camp on makeshift blankets made of the least filthy clothing at hand. Some of the men are bare chested, having given their tunics to the cause.

As the lizardfolk close the door behind you, all eyes turn to you. A black-haired man, bare chested and heavily muscled, with half a dozen minor wounds criss-crossing on top of old scars, demands roughly, "Who are you?"
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[sblock=Weel and Karl go to jail]Weel's self-pity melts as he sees the severely wounded men in the camp. He squares his previously-slumped shoulders, sets his jaw, and when the imposing man demands introductions, he turns his own scowl on him.

"I'm blessed of Phyrah, and it looks like those two can use the healing gifts my goddess gave me. So do you want me to help them, or would you rather we keep standing here measuring our roosters? I mean ... nevermind, you know what I mean."[/sblock]

Karl smiles at the idea that he was trying to hold in his anger and simply lets Weel let loose the righteoul anger being issued forth on the men before them. he stands on guard to protect the priest if need be.

[sblock=Gildrim]

Trouvere said:

Gildrim knows a test when he hears one.

"He carries a spear," he says, pauses just long enough to let doubt arise, and concludes, "but he is more dangerous with the shortbow that we took from a forest bandit and gave to him in gratitude for his guidance through your lands. He killed an undead thing with one arrow."

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Tatupu blinks, and his crest lowers noticeably. Where it had been stiff and upright, it now looks flexible, if not completely relaxed, then at least not quite so tense. "Yes, that is him. He has spoken of you. I thought... Many of us thought he... Well, embellished. For effect, mind you. Not lies, just telling a good story. And it was a good story. But I guess you know that."

"I still need to bring you back to see the Elders," he adds. "Sorry about that. But you'll be cleared of charges in no time. There weren't any dwarves in the invasion, and with Apikotoa to speak for you... But I can't just let you go right now. Sorry. Things are tense, now."

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[sblock=Karl and Weel]

Scott DeWar said:

"We are friends of a great person named Gildrum Nurazak. We were out trapsing here in this swamp when we fell victum to a creature. We lost two of our numbers to a Hydra."

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The muscular man's eyes narrow, and he turns to a smaller man next to him with a bad squint. "Gildrim. I know that name, Banners. What from?"

The squinty man, who must be Banners, responds "Er, it's the dwarf, captain. The one who was lost in this swamp."

"Right, the dwarf," the muscular man nods firmly. He looks like he does everything firmly as a matter of principle. "Killed by these same damnable lizardfolk, I thought. You saying that's not true? I'm Corvin Tanabar, Sheriff of Cragger's Rest and captain of this rescue expedition. As you can see, the mission is not going well."

jkason said:

Weel's self-pity melts as he sees the severely wounded men in the camp. He squares his previously-slumped shoulders, sets his jaw, and when the imposing man demands introductions, he turns his own scowl on him.

"I'm blessed of Phyrah, and it looks like those two can use the healing gifts my goddess gave me. So do you want me to help them, or would you rather we keep standing here measuring our roosters? I mean ... nevermind, you know what I mean."

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Corvin's tanned face darkens, and his fists clench; whether with anger or shame it's hard to say. "Right," he bites out. "First things first. If you can help my men, I'd be glad for it, priest." He steps aside.

ooc: two heal checks, please. Or, if you plan to use spells or other resources, please keep track of what you use. This is still the same day as the hydra fight.
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Weel Naxel, human cleric

covaithe said:

[sblock=Karl and Weel]Corvin's tanned face darkens, and his fists clench; whether with anger or shame it's hard to say. "Right," he bites out. "First things first. If you can help my men, I'd be glad for it, priest." He steps aside.

ooc: two heal checks, please. Or, if you plan to use spells or other resources, please keep track of what you use. This is still the same day as the hydra fight.
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[sblock=Weel/Karl]
Weel gives the barest nod to Corvin, moving to the two wounded. He does his best to assess their wounds.

"I'm not sure I can make either of them whole, but I can guarantee they both live through the night, at least," he says.

The acolyte of Phyrah does his best triage, first touching the man he feels is most greivously wounded. He mutters something only barely heard, and though the man's wounds aren't noticeably different, he's clearly breathing easier.

Then Weel places his hands on the chest of the second man, entreating Phyrah a second time. This time the glow of magic is unmistakable, and while again the man is not whole, the smaller cuts on his face fade away, and the larger wounds begin to knit as if his body has been resting a few days.

((OOC: Not sure if it's required for an assessment as opposed to first aid, but heal check to decide who's in the worst shape: Heal check. (1d20+3=17)

He'll convert Mending to Cure Minor Wounds in order to guarantee the man who's worst off is stable, then convert Divine Favor to Cure Light Wounds to heal the 'better' of the two for 8 damage))
[sblock=Spells]
Orisons (4; DC 13): Create Water, Detect Magic, Mending, Light
Level 1 (3+1; DC 14): Bless, Shield of Faith, Divine Favor, (D)Longstrider[/sblock][/sblock]

[sblock=Karl and Weel]Weel wastes no more time, and moves to the aid of the wounded men. Both are unconscious and, in Weel's professional opinion, may not last the night without help, though are unlikely to drop dead right this minute. Weel's prayers quickly stabilize the more badly wounded man, a middle-aged fellow with iron-gray hair and a slight paunch, suffering from a deep puncture near his left shoulder. His breathing changes from a labored wheeze to a light snore under Weel's hands; clear proof that he seems to be resting easier. The other man, in his early twenties by the tentativeness of his scraggly beard, has haphazard and none-too-clean bandages wrapped around a head wound. As Weel's hands, glowing visibly with divinely infused life, touch him, the wound quickly scabs over and peels away, revealing fresh new pink skin beneath. The lad opens his eyes and struggles to his feet.

"My thanks, Blessed of Phyrah. Jephas looks much eased, and Werrick, well... Corvin smiles broadly, showing even white teeth, as he nods to the young man, now surrounded by friends who are smiling and taking turns slapping him on the back. "Truly, the gods smile upon our enterprise, to have sent you to us in this dark hour. Tell me, if you will, how did you come to be here?"

[sblock=Sense Motive DC 15]The bit about the favor of the gods being demonstrated by your actions was spoken a little more loudly than necessary, as if directed at someone else here. Sure enough, Several of the men watching the interchange frown and exchange glances with each other at that sentence.
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[sblock=Gildrim]The rest of the trip passes quietly, and a few hours after dark you find yourself walking into a makeshift lizardfolk village. Even for the nomadic lizardfolk, the encampment is crude and haphazard, giving the impression that it was constructed in haste and not intended to last. It lies on a cluster of four small islands close together. Crude shelters of wood and woven leaves are held up by rough-cut saplings, split at the top and lashed together with their own bark around crooked ridge-poles, and driven into the ground. Small fires burn here and there, over which roast various unidentifiable swamp denizens on spits.

Dozens of lizardfolk pause their conversations and watch you silently as you are led by. Lizardfolk children huddle together in the leaf shelters, and watch with frightened eyes. Another party of lizardfolk hunters approaches, led by one carrying a shortbow, who bears the marks of several recent wounds. Even without the shortbow you would have recognized him as Apikotoa, for when he sees you he cries out in delight and breaks into a run. "Geeldreem! he cries in his thickly accented Common. "They told me you were dead, eaten by a hydra! Praise the gods that thees ees not so!

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Karl's sense motive:
1d20+2=10

Karl watches the re-union and takes note of the commeradery

Weel Naxel, human cleric

[sblock=Karl & Weel]

covaithe said:

"My thanks, Blessed of Phyrah. Jephas looks much eased, and Werrick, well... Corvin smiles broadly, showing even white teeth, as he nods to the young man, now surrounded by friends who are smiling and taking turns slapping him on the back. "Truly, the gods smile upon our enterprise, to have sent you to us in this dark hour. Tell me, if you will, how did you come to be here?"

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Weel breathes easy himself as the men are stablized and healed, and backs away to let Werrick to let his fellows congratulate his recovery. though as Corvin speaks, and the cleric turns to see some of the faces in the crowd, his dour mood quickly returns. He opens his mouth to speak, closes it, then calmly manages words, making sure his voice carries to the full group as he mentions their companion's name.

"I think you may have my lady confused with one of her kin. Mine is a peaceful sort who wishes to learn from the many people to be met on a man's travels.

"As to our own road, we came here just a day or so ago in the company of the good Gildrim, a hearty dwarven companion who had passed through here a short while ago. We hoped to reconnect with the lizardfolk who had proved both noble and helpful to him on his last journey. Perhaps some of you have heard of him?"

[sblock=OOC]Sense Motive check. (1d20+3=18)[/sblock][/sblock]

[sblock=Gildrim]Gildrim does his best to march into the ramshackle village with his shoulders square, head up and beard bristling. "Ach, whit a boorachie boorach," he mutters to himself.

He gives short nods to lizardfolk who meet his gaze, and waves awkwardly at the children. He's about to ask his guides, or captors, what happens next, when he's hailed.

"Apikotoa! Ah'm glad tae see ye!" He gives the warrior a deep bow, and switches to Draconic with a raised voice. "Axun, wer jaesk sonea ve, mrith shio jlatak fothisevi, shar batobot jahus ti zlonzic ekess ve svent! Mrith vethicaex-"

"Wait... wha tauld ye? It can anely be -"[/sblock]