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Message: <blockquote data-quote="Joshua Randall" data-source="post: 1258754" data-attributes="member: 7737">The Dreadwood Wyvern, Part IKednor put his foot down, figuratively and literally. “We serve a higher power, Brogun. Order. Discipline. Strength. Those are our watchwords. Not anarchy and deceit.” The cohort glared at his master, eyes flashing. “And all our efforts to play by the rules have failed.” Brogun was undeterred. He stood chest-to-chest with Kednor, their faces only inches apart. Traces of white spittle began to build up in the corner of Brogun’s mouth as he ranted. “Breaking into Volpone’s house was the smartest thing we’ve done since we got here. Now we know that he’s involved in the drug —” “We do not know that!” shouted Kednor. “All that we know is that Volpone is cheating his gladiators. This crime is not the same as poisoning them with drugs. Furthermore, we gained that knowledge through theft, making us no better than him.” “Nonsense!” Brogun roared in righteous fury. “We are better than him. It is our obligation to stop him, by any means necessary.” Kednor took two paces backward and spat on the ground at Brogun’s feet. “Those words are the words of immorality. There can be no compromise where Goodness is concerned. Our methods must be as pure as our motives.” Brogun, panting, wiped his mouth with the back of his shaking hand. “Very well, Kednor. We shall do things your way.” For now, he thought to himself. = = = A chastened Brogun returned the documents to Volpone. Or at least most of the documents. The dwarf retained certain key papers that implicated the gladiator, hoping they would prove useful at a later date. [And the DM began considering imposing penalties for this breach of alignment….] The Kestrels’ next breakthrough in their investigation came when they traced the faraja leaves to a supplier in the local bazaar. An herbalist named Fra Lorenzo confirmed that he had sold “many shipments” of the strong-smelling plant to Paramezzus Nod, the alchemist who served the Veins as a healer. The adventurers’ visit to Paramezzus, however, was a disaster. The alchemist refused to let them into his laboratory, and when someone mentioned his son, he began raving and howling. “My son was a god. A god! And she cut him down like a pig. Damn you! Damn your souls to Naar! Get out! Guards!” Fortunately, Brogun was able to talk his way out of an awkward confrontation with Veins security. But he could not talk the group’s way out of an “impromptu” match pressed upon them by Commissioner Hafiz. “Oh yes, a most excellent opportunity,” the fat man chortled. “I have been waiting for you to be ready to face one of our most celebrated creatures.” Kell coughed softly. “What, uh, kind of creature?” Hafiz laughed, his paroxysms of humor shaking the man’s rolls of flesh. “You shall see, yes? Very soon, you shall see.” = = = Brogun, Kednor, Otieno, and Kell stood on one side of the arena, protected from the blazing sun by multiple applications of endure elements. Kell strung his bow and withdrew two arrows from a quiver, fitting one to the string and holding the other vertically between the fourth and fifth fingers of his shooting hand. Otieno took several paces away from the rest of the group and readied a spell: he intended to blast whomever appeared before they could orient themselves. The two dwarves hefted their weapons and stood shoulder-to-shoulder, their philosophical differences forgotten for the moment. In his luxury box, Commissioner Hafiz heaved himself to his feet and addressed the crowd, his voice augmented by magic. “Ladies and gentlemen, people of Casiorn, esteemed guests and worthy visitors,” he began. Get on with it, Kell thought to himself. Hafiz was continuing his introduction. “… know them as Brogun’s Bears!” Scattered applause rippled through the crowd. “Today,” Hafiz whispered, his voice distinctly audible, sounding disconcertingly close, “they face their greatest challenge. A creature so horrible, it once ate twenty men in a night! A creature so fearsome it took an entire day to subdue! I present — the Dreadwood Wyvern!” On cue, hidden chains beneath the arena floor were cranked, drawing aside a massive trapdoor on the opposite side of the arena. Sand poured down into the opening, and for a moment, there was neither motion nor sound. Then, with a rush, something burst forth from the aperture. It was a mottled mixture of brown and blue, its hide a mess of warts and bumps. A pair of wings, ugly but functional, jutted from the creature’s back, and they flapped powerfully, bearing it aloft. The first impression was one of size and bulk: the thing was easily twenty feet long, its wingspan probably half-again that much. Its tail arched up over its back, and ended in a wicked-looking stinger that visibly glistened with venom. Two stubby legs trailed below its body, these appendages ending in thick talons, each the size and shape of a shovel head. As the Dreadwood Wyvern heaved itself into flight, its head swiveled to take in the creatures arrayed before it: four tasty morsels of flesh. The thing opened its jaws and let loose a deep-throated growl, the sound a mixture of a lion’s roar and a bull alligator’s cough. In the stands, the crowd’s roar echoed in bloodthirsty appreciation.</blockquote>

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