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Message: <blockquote data-quote="reichtfeld" data-source="post: 672908" data-attributes="member: 10264">Timmay Scheppen, gnome enchanter extraordinaire, had arrived late along with the elven bowman Alrissian to the aide of their embattled companions within the hobgoblin stronghold.  But that delay was certainly well-spent to see the potency of magics that Scheppen employed, having perfected them in the company of the august wizard Eliar at the keep of Peldan's Helm.  He even chided Bartol in good humor for sending the barbarian's ogre captor into a sobbing, quivering mass with a simple enchantment.  Against goblins, of which the gnome's hatred had been well-demonstrated with the few uses of his crossbow, his spells were of great potency.  Yet against strange and unliving foes they were of almost no avail as was seen in the group's chaotic melee with the dragon construct.  Indeed they all brought strengths and weaknesses to the collective, but together as one they were a phalanx of sword and spell, bow and staff, strength of arms and strength of will all brought to bear against the foes of good-hearted Dalesfolk.  There was no questioning what kept the party together despite the terrible risks they always faced: imprisonment most recently for Bartol and death for them all, but perhaps the girl Bernadette most of all, as she was so often wont to tempt that grim fate.  They had come quite a ways together since the fateful Shieldmeet, which, even for the long-lived gnome seemed to be more distant than it truly was.  Together they shared great risks in the defense of their home and their values, but those risks were not without reward.  Certainly each drew comfort and delight from the service they rendered the Dales and its peoples, yet the end of each battle saw little Timmay concerned with one reward in particular...Treasure.  Praise be Oghma, the piles and piles of it, enough shining coins for him to bathe in.  The gnomish wizard sat cross-legged on the smoothed stone floor of the chamber surrounded by mounds of gold, silver, and copper coins; stacks of swords, bows, and suits of armor all of various make; gems, potions, and everything else that he'd made his duty to tally.  Tim adjusted the spectacles he always wore for this ceremonious event and lowered his summoned quill back to the parchment spread over his lap.  The engraving upon the fine silver blade names it as Hoardmaster, which its demonstrated ability would seem to substantiate, having conjured forth a "dragon" composed of its deceased owner's wealth, or hoard.  The engraving includes the tale of its origin as a gift to the treasurer of doomed Myth Drannor.  "Hoardmaster" also bears the crafting mark of fabled dwarven smith Duergeddin, although the twin daggers that composed the conjured dragon's fangs do not bear his stamp despite what is, to my untrained eye, impressive craftsmanship that would suggest a link.  No doubt there will be intense debate amongst my companions as to this weapon's fate.  Delivering it to Glen for an appraisal would be an affront if we should decide to deny them the blade pending its value, although there is none but our elven scout that would put it to best use, magical properties notwithstanding.  I would like to think that the dwarves would offer as generous a bounty as demonstrated in the past for the blade's return, and if so that should leave all parties satisfied.Tim raised the quill and scratched at the singed remains of his blonde goatee.  If the company had been cursed for pride having mocked Bernadette's baldness then it certainly wouldn't explain Thane's escape from the merciless flame.  Of all the places to find his head uncovered it had to be within the dank and cold of a dungeon such as this.  The gnome would have scowled as he dismissed the quill into oblivion if not for the boom of a familiar voice."Timmay!"  A muscled half-elven figure stepped into the doorframe, prompting a smile from the enchanter.  "Well if it isn't my favorite POW," he murmured in a friendly tone while rising up and turning to face the barbarian.  "And just when I needed a good, strong fellow to start loading the horses.  What superb timing!"  Of course any sarcasm was lost on Bartol, who relied exclusively on his swordarm rather than any wits.  "I'll go fetch Alrissian as you haul the gear outside."  He trusted the ranger to best secure the burden of loot onto their respective mounts, perhaps with Thane's assistance as well if the druid could be trusted not to 'misplace' any treasure into his own personal pack.  As the gnome scurried out in search of their aide he wondered at what use a druid could have for any wealth within the woods.  Then again, it wasn't the woods they would travel to, but Tilverton.  And if there were an alchemist then Thane would find a new home for his share, spent on bottled fire.The enchanter idly rubbed a hand over his bald scalp, cursing the substance with coarse whispered words.  It would serve as a severe reminder of Bartol's monopoly on door-bashing until Bernadette could finish her research to replace the loss.  Until then, though, Timmay was left to consider the sale of their treasure and what provisioning would be necessary for the acquisition of more.  Because their work was certainly not over within the hostile confines of the forge, rather it had only just begun: more foes to defeat, more treasure to liberate, and always more riddles to answer in the ongoing battle with Erlend.  His acolytes defeated, it would not be long until the enemy came against them himself.  Would they be prepared?---They say this cat Timmay is a bad motherShut your mouth!I'm talkin' 'bout Timmay. Then we can dig it!He's a complicated gnome But no one understands him but his froggyTimmay!</blockquote>

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