(5.24 PBP) Vault of the Dracolich (IC) Redux

A studious looking young man of average build climbs the way to the tower listening to the sound of rainfall as it splashes against the fallen leaves of Autumn revealed by the melting snow and forms into rivulets that run between crannies in the rocks down the hill. As he passes through the garden, the rain's pitter-patter blends into the light sound of melodious drumming that emanates from the building's interior.

"It seems a party is underway," he thinks to himself as he turns the door handle, wondering who else has heeded the summons.

As he enters and makes his way through the room to the large table, his clothes, though damp with rain, can be seen to be the robes of the brotherhood of a nearby temple. He helps himself to a piece of cheese and a mug of beer and goes to dry himself by the fire.

He looks up at the tall men standing by the fire, water still dripping from the end of his nose, and greets them and the orc and the old man sitting on the bench as they listen to Shamal's song.

"Well met," he says, "my name is Terrin."
 
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"Terrin, Urgan." The orc reaches down to Terrin and offers his rough, calloused hands as he says his name. "Nothing happening yet," says the orc, as he sees the halfling's hand on the stairs pass through the illusory plant before it fades from view. She seems delighted, and the orc is gratified. Back to Terrin: "It seems all kinds have been drawn by the call. The lure of adventure, or the promise of reward. Do one of those bring you?"
 

Monk, or at least a temple scribe, a dark-haired thin man wearing robes enters quietly amd surveys the gathering.

He is carrying quite a large book in which he checks something

"Hello, I'm looking for the wizard who is looking for the adventurers, I didn't mean to break into a party."

Ooc: character tomorrow in RG
 

From the shadowed edge of Imani’s receiving room, Shade-9 watched.
The subtle shading and gradients of the Disguise Protocol shifting silently over its frame of smoked steel and matte obsidian plating, smoothing angles, softening its silhouette, adjusting the chromatic palate of its artificial dermis. The illusion was barely more than a trick of the light, but in the warm lamplight of the tower’s receiving room it was enough, it/he looked human - Unremarkable. Dull-eyed. Quiet - precisely the kind of adventurer no one looked at twice.
It had consider climbing the wall, circumventing the garden, slipping through a gap beneath the eaves, and dropping down from the rafters—but it lacked sufficient data on the wizard’s defenses. A misstep in an arcane perimeter could end the operation before it began and here among the general influx of mercenaries, wanderers, and hopeful sellswords, there was no need for unnecessary risk.

He stood now near the far wall, partially screened by a tall-backed chair and an embroidered hanging. Slowly scanning the room, identifying exits, obstacles, threats and locking onto each individual as they moved or spoke—an orc and his hyena, dressed in simple garb but carrying a fine carved staff; an elder man with a prosthetic leg, here in support of Imani; a sand-born man tapping rhythms on a drum; a talkative warrior, known to the Orc; a red-haired wanderer lurking at the edges, and a goliath with the appetite of a giant.

Shade-9’s focus narrowed: Urgan, Loklafd. Shamal, Merrick, __, Copper. Cataloguing details, simple travellers cloaks, intricately carved staves, eagerness for loot. The wizard Imani’s summons had been broadcast wide, a call to the many, was it a call of desperation or an opportunity?

His attention was drawn to the delightful squeal of a halfling, before switching to the later arrivals, a man wearing sodden temple robes and behind him a scribe carrying a large book.

"Disguise integrity: holding" the Warforged repeated in a subvocal tone, a low hum that helped maintain calibration as he set his micro-expressions to mild interest "Surveillance mode: scanning.
Crowd density: moderate. Environment stable
...

focus

1750088934678.png
Recommendation: Increase Surveillance
 
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From behind the table comes a dwarf, chewing on a sandwich. Maybe someone noticed him moving earlier, but he didn't speak until now.

"Hello, I'm Torhak Stoneveil." chew, swallow "Anyone knows when this thing starts?" chomp
He walks toward the main group and those at the table can see crossed blades on his back.


Torhak Stoneveil.png
 


Merrick Thorburn
Race: Human
HP: 41/41
AC:
17/19(with shield)
Buffs:
Rage: 3/3Inner Healing:4/4HD: 3/3
STR: 16+3(+5)
DEX: 13+1(+1)
CON:
16+3(+5)
INT: 8-1(+-1)
WIS: 10
+0(+0)
CHA:11 +0(+0)
Athletics+5
Intimidate: 2/5
Perception: 2/5
Performance 2
Stealth: 3/5
Survival: 2/5
Daily:
Alarm 1/1
At will
Thaumaturgy
Message


Merrick quietly hums along to Shamal as he gets used to the tune. When it is done, he claps politely,

He places a large helping of food on the table next to Urgan and sits, pushing a chair out as an invitation for Shamal to sit if he chooses,

Merrick pipes in to the conversation between Terrin, Urgan and anyone else who happens to be standing nearby,

"I heard a rumour of The Dragon Cult," he says, It sounds like Merrick is whispering some kind of secret information and you have to lean in to hear what tasty morsel he has to offer but then you realize that Merrick is just a 'low talker', "But I'm not sure."
 
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Bjorn pushed into the room with a harrumph, blowing out his whiskers and patting Bill, his weasel companion, on his shoulder. While his quiet life of beekeeping for Clan Ironshield was now far behind him, he still was not comfortable around crowds, or close quarters indoors. Better to be outside in the sun and fresh air - or better yet, in a cool, open cave with his hives.

Quickly surveying the room, he saw some familiar faces from Hap and the surrounding area. He took a double take, his eyes locking in on Torhak, another Ironshield dwarf he knew from his youth. It had been years since he last saw him.

"Ho, Torhak. So you came to answer the call as well, eh? Been a while. At least the wizard saw fit to feed us."

Bjorn moved towards the table and a grin split his normally solemn face seeing the hyena. "Hello, friend. Hungry too I see?" He took a lump of cheese and offered it to the creature while soothing Bill and making introductions.
 

Shamal finishes singing the story of the creation of the monsoons, and sees that the bearded man with the long polearm was pleased by the recitation and pulled out a chair for Shamal to sit in. He accepts the invitation and sits with Merric and the others, straining to hear the whispered words of this stranger. Dragon Cult? I know nothing of dragons.

Grinning, Shamal speaks. I know little of this area or why it is important to Rabb al-Raml that I am here. But what is written on the forehead must be seen by the eye.

Shamal gives a little shrug, smiles more broadly, and partakes of the food on the table expectantly.
 

Darius watches as more people arrive. His stomach rumbles and he glances at the table laden with food across the room from him. He shifts to sit up and then the air around him warps and he disappears. He reappears with a similar warping of the air next to the food and begins to make himself a sandwich. He finishes and moves to a space against the wall and begins to eat.
 

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