(Adventure) The Haunted Halls of Stonepike

[dpdx]

[My absolute best wishes for your mother's speedy recovery, Uriel. And oh, yeah - if there's ta be a drinkin' contest, ye ken well nigh c'nsider Rur'k ta be remainin' o' the hall. Finally, thank you for doing what you do so well, Uriel, and that's to DM a fine PbP, and to its conclusion, ONCE AGAIN. You're a credit to LEW, and PbP. Enjoy - I hope Ozzy decides to show up for you.]

Putting down the masterwork mail almost as soon as he had ascertained its value, Rurik returned with the others as he was bidden to do. A good dwarf died in that mail - it therefore belonged with that good dwarf's spirit as he joined Chennet' at the Great Forge, and so Rurik wouldn't 'need' it. As they walked, he patted his chainmail as if to reinforce himself of that belief.

...

The intervening days Rurik used for drink, rest, drink, cleaning and sharpening his things, organizing them more comfortably in his pack, rest, drink, honing his talents in fighting [Rurik gains Weapon Focus: Dwarven Waraxe - sucks for him to not yet qualify for Great Cleave.] and making weapons and armor [Craft:Weap, Craft:Arm, 1 each] to gain Chennet's favor and blessing.

...

Rurik looked with wide-eyed appreciation at the owlbear cloak, and with fondness at those of the Manor who labored to make it for him. As Urgan presented him with the one with the dark blue lining, and Algram adorned it with the clasp, Rurik wrapped them both up in as much of an embrace as dwarven arms would allow, and squeezed the unsuspecting Jasperfists with the affectionate strength of a rooting bugbear.

Stepping back, he turned and bowed to those assembled, and in his best attempt at formal court dwarven, he addresses them:

"My Brothers and Sisters of Stonepike Hall, you honor me deeply with your presence and with this beautiful garment. Know that the hearth of Clan Axebender will warm you as long as you live, and its forge will burn white with the remembrance of your generosity.

I will invert my stein many times in your fair honor, even as I intend to drink every one of your best men and women under the table, and face to face with the gentle imprint of the Chennet' Ma'chuth! For your courage, cooperation, and response under duress, I salute you, one and all."

Rurik turned to raise his cap in salute, facing each wall of the room. By the time he faced in the opposite direction, he found himself face-to-face with the Gorim, the Old Man. Duly humbled, he followed the Lord of Stonepike, took one knee before him when the gelt was presented, then got up and followed the Chamberlain to the banquet.

...

It was a tottering, but still upright Rurik that followed the Gorim down to the Treasury. Forgetting for a minute where and with whom he was, his jaw hung open as he sidled along the weapon wall:

"S'looks ta be a fine axe 'ere, fit ta be swung at Ev'l fer tha glory o' Chennet'. This be my choice."

And down came a dwarven waraxe (+1). As Rurik gripped it, it contoured and conformed to the right hand he held it in. It slid easily into a belt loop when Rurik put it away.

[I'll wait to shop until everybody checks in, and Uriel gets another chance to post. But would Bag of Holding 1 be out of the question?]

 

[nimisgod]

Ishmael awoke in the healer's room. It felt like a dawning of the new day for the Deep Halfling. At the same time, it felt like something in his life had ended. For Ishmael, the path of the Paladin ended here. All those who mocked him in the Order were right. Sir Mazan had chosen an unworthy student. Ishmael could not progress far into the ranks of Paladinhood, not matter how he tried. Paladinhood was a calling and for him, the summons ended here.

Just as his collapse was violent, his sleep was not at all peaceful. Antideluvian, powerful whispers in the darkness of his unconscious mind spoke to him of secrets arcane. The lecture was not in mere words, but in the flow of his blood and the beat of his heart. T'was as if his body were unveiling to him the mysteries of the Arts arcane. T'was as if... his body, nay, his soul itself was an ancient one.

However, the education did not happen over-night, recalled the Halfling with clarity. Even his mentor, Sir Mazan, must have known about his squire's supernatural abilities. Memories, once buried deep, were now unearthed. His abilities manifested long ago, even before Sir Mazan arrived to save his village. That was the main reason why his mother subtely coerced him to leave with Sir Mazan. His main reason for expulsion from the village was the surgence of these powers. And these powers hindered his training with the dwarf Paladin as well. There were other signs as well: his prediliction for arcane lore being the least subtle of them.

Ishmael did not blame his family nor the villagers of Malach's way for rejecting him. Neither could he place hate unto his own abilities. Sir Mazan always taught him to make what he could with the situation. If his blood, if his soul, gave him this sorcerous ability and if his path to Paladinhood had ended, so be it. He would continue his fight for the forces of good in his own way... no matter how eclectic it would be

Ishmael took the wet cloth off of his forehead. He smelled the medicinal herbs on the cloth as he put it on the table beside him. The healer's room was a simple one, and one also occupied by the bodies of those too wounded to be healed with magick.

Sitting up on the bed bunk, he assessed his current situation. He could feel the Power dancing at his fingertips. If he willed it, he could sense the auras of magick in the room (though he could not identify their exact properties). There were other things he could do, but some of these needed the gestures for spellcasting. Others needed strange components such as a miniature wooden replica of an archery target or a clear crystal prism. He would have to use what lore he knew of the arcane as well as his innate lore to determine what he needed.

Though his magicks were arcane, he felt that he walked the path alone. No one else could help him here. The thought filled Ishmael with pride, strangely enough. He got off the bed, donned his clothes then went off to meet and greet his comrades. His progress had indeed ended, but another path had lit up for him to tread upon.

ooc: Ishmael is going to buy a spell component pouch from the dwarves of Stonepike. He's also going to ask if he could do some reading in their library (for knowledge: arcana). I'm definately considering spending some of that 2K gp on a magick item

 

[Guilt Puppy]

Sturm picks up a +1 scythe from the stores, naturally (he takes a look at the mithral shirt, but deems them "unnergarments fer pointy nightwenches"). Urgan's cloak he greets with gratitude and excitement that would seem sarcastic from any other source. ("O! Red slashie, like fer puttin' 'cross a vexin' beastie! I get it!") The gold he pockets unceremoniously: Gold is gold, even if it's above what's offered.

After the others pay their homages and whoop-dee-doos, Sturm retires to the bar, where he spends some time warming up for the drinking contest (and as the evening wears on, some warm-ups with his new scythe as well, much to the furniture's dismay.)

OoC: Yep, I'm back. Still catching up, wanted to check in as quickly as possible. And I'd like to second everything dpdx said (the blue part, at least) -- I couldn't put it any better, so I won't try, but know that the opinion is shared by more than a few.

 

[Keia]

Thurgan - Init: +2; AC: 19; HP: 36/36; Atk: W-axe +8 (1d10+4), X-bow +5 (1d8+1)

OOC: Leveled and ready ta go!!

Thurgan spent much of the time others spent celebrating working in the armory and forge. He had made acquaintance with a dwarven wizard who assisted him in enchanting a shirt of mithral. In exchange, Thurgan gave up his own crafted armor as well as several minor items.

Thurgan looked forward to the drinking contest, having worked hard after their adventure against the cloak beasties.

 

[nimisgod]

ooc: so... what's gonna happen next?

 

[dpdx]

It looks like everyone still paying attention has grabbed the stuff, added it to their sheets, leveled up, and returned to the tavern, or, in Rurik's case, gone back to the Halls of Clan Axebender to take a forgin' an' smithin' break (at least until his player gets broadband again).

 

[Uriel]

Hey all...

OoC: So, is it back to the RDI then? Honestly, I took it that everyone was going to do just that, so as to maybe jump into some other adventures. I'd haye to have folks think that I was highjacking this group for some extended mini-campaign, as someone did a few months back(We'll not mention her SN,though...).

 

[Guilt Puppy]

OoC: I was just waitin' for the drinking contest. I'll just assume Sturm won, and spent his prize on beatin' people up.

 

[nimisgod]

Ishmael took some time to recover from the recent changes he had underwent. He tried to make himself useful around the Dwarfhold, though he spent most of his time in the library. There, he stocked up on arcane lore and dwarf linguistics.

Two days after the celebration, he bid a fond farewell to the dwarves of Stonepike as well as those of his companions who were staying longer than he was. He and Courage trod upon the road to Orussus, his new owlbear cloak fluttering in the breeze.

Passing by a Roadwarden station on his way, he donated some of his gold to Orphans-of-the-Road (200 GP to be exact).

 

[Uriel]

This was really Fun to roll out...

OoC: I was just waitin' for the drinking contest. I'll just assume Sturm won, and spent his prize on beatin' people up.

Eight entrants, the Dwarf heroes (the only ones mentioning the contest), the Jasperfists and several of the young Stonepike Dwarves.
Aranel didn't make it past the Prelims...

The Drinking Contest

Sturm Fort +7
Ruri Fort +7
Thurgan Fort +6
Algram Jasperfist Fort +5
Urgan Jasperfist Fort +5
Dorgan Stonepike Fort +8
Artunar Stonepike Fort +4
Kreln Stonepike Fort +3

Round One: Ales...
Fort Tests, best of 4 rolls.

Sturm Fort +7 Totals :13,11,17,22
Rurik Fort +7 Totals 9,19,18,19
Thurgan Fort +6 Totals 17,17,11, 25
Algram Jasperfist Fort +5 Totals 13,24,16,14
Urgan Jasperfist Fort +5 Totals 23,21,23,20
Dorgan Stonepike Fort +8 Totals 19,18,13, 18
Artunar Stonepike Fort +4 Totals 14,11,21, 19
Kreln Stonepike Fort +3 Totals 11,17,14, 6

Pounding mug after mug of thick dark ale, the eight Dwarves grinned and faced one another as they might face Goblins across a rocky slope. This was battle, and each intended to be the victorious army this day. Unfortunately, things have a way of mucking up on a battlefield...
Starting with young Kreln Stonepike, who choked on his sixth mug (to cries of 'You drink like an Elf, Kreln!!!), who couged and then unceremoniously spewed his libations back upon the table (and his lap, and a bit on his older brother Dorgan, who promptly smacked him across the jaw, causing even more libations to come back up...). Dorgan and Artunar fared a bit better, making it to their 9th and 10th Mugs respectively, a full hour into the Bout. The young Rurik, as well, stayed with them, but, like them, could not get past his 11th Mug...

Alas, Clan Axebender would have to make a showing a year from this night...

Round Two: Whiskey...

Sturm Fort +7 Totals 14,9,20,21
Thurgan Fort +6 Totals 25,'Natural 1',19,18
Algram Jasperfist Fort +5 Totals 20,10,10,12
Urgan Jasperfist Fort +5 Totals 8,11,7,8

Moving on to fine old Dwarf Whiskey, (single malt, of course...), the two Heroes quickly outpaced the Jasperfists, who, it would seem, were more used to beer than the 'ard stuff'. Other than an almost 'back up' that Thurgan nearly belched onto the table (freshly wiped after Kreln's fumble...), the names of Sturm and Thurgan were quickly muttered and whispered around the Hall, growing into two camps of clashing sound, as each name was chanted louder than the other, back and forth.

Round Three: Brandy

Sturm Fort Save +7 Totals 'Natural 1', 13,13,18
Thurgan Fort Save +6 Totals 13,17,24,21

Lord Stonepike himself set down upon the table a bottle of aged brandy, straight from his celler. With a slamming of his fist upon the table, the final round began...

Things took an immediate dark turn when Sturm nearly chocked on his first shot, getting the bulk of it down, though staining his beard with an aromatic dousing. His brain clouded from the battles, as well as his pre Contest warm-ups, the mad Barbarian followed over a dozen mugs of ale and 10 shots of Whiskey with a half-hearted swallow of one, two and then three brandies before standing, yelling 'Gerwycht!!!' and crashing to the table, stone drunk and passed out cold. Cheers arose for Thurgan Hammer, a dwarf who had never felt particularly dwarven, raised so far from a Dwarfhold. Cheers also arose for Sturm, as drunken Dwarfs swarmed over to him, patting him and trying (with little success) to rouse him. had the know that he had been subject to many wounds over the last few days, thenmaybe they would have understood what toll had been taken upon him. Finally, Rurik took his companion from the Hall, aided by two stumbling Jasperfists, making their way back to the Inn.

Lord Stonepike approached Thurgan, the Silver Chalice in hand and said 'Well, lad...I'd Strike yer name-Rune meself if ya Like though I'd think that all would want you to show proper Dwarvish endurance and make the mark yerself.'

Holding out the chisel and jewelers hammers, Lord Stonepike watched as Thurgan slowly (and through bleary eyes...) struck his name upon the mug, to the cheers of the assembled Folk...