Copperheads: Betrayal and Strange Runes and Burning Dead, oh my (short update 02/12)

[arwink]

“I don’t think they’re going to go for it.”
“You don’t know that.”

Geoffrey grunts from his place on the soft lizard-leather couch, staring intently at the doorway into the thane’s chamber. The quartet of dwarven guards ignores him, staring impassively forward.

“Then why is it taking so long to decide?” He demands. “It’s not going to work. I knew it as soon as they took the southerner in.”
“Not all the Old Kingdoms are opposed to the empire, you know,” Halgo points out.
“Most of them barely acknowledge the empire is there. Either his people don’t like us, or he’s barely going to say a thing.”

“Blarth bored,” the half-orc says from the other end of the couch. He scratches at his temples, looking aimlessly around the stone chamber. Apart from the door, the guards, and Yip amusing himself by performing flips and balancing tricks, there wasn’t much to see.

“We don’t care,” Halgo and Geoffrey point out in unison.

“Blarth sorry,” Blarth says, his eyes dropping to the floor.

Then the Mithril doors open, and Ogath ushers them back into the Thanes chambers.

The faces of the dwarven leaders are impossible to read, all of them looking dour and unhappy as they stare at the small band from Borr. Only the pale-skinned scholar in the corner shows any sign of emotion, happily making a crude sketch of the group as they stand before the council.

With great ceremony, Kivak High-Thane stands and looks down at the small group.

“We have spoken with our guest, Amarin from across the sea, and learned what he knows of your country. Now we must know if he speaks truth, to make sure there is no confusion or misunderstanding. He speaks of our kin among your lands, Bloodstone Dwarves like our people in Thorbeck. This is true?”

Halgo nods slowly.
“It is true, although there are few among the folk of Thorbeck. The People of the Blood Stones rarely emerge from their lands in the Empires West for reasons other than trade.”

The dwarven thanes trade glances, nodding slowly.

“Then we accept your offer of alliance,” Kivak says gravely. “The People of Thorbeck shall fight alongside the men of Borr, and we shall trade freely with your country. Representatives will be sent to your King to negotiate the details, alongside a small force of warriors as a sign of good faith. In return you four shall remain in the city until the Festival of Stonefast, to share with us the ways of your people and learn something of ours. Then, in the final night of the festival, the treaty will be sealed. Do you agree?”

“We agree,” Geoffrey says quickly. “Our thanks.”

“Then you shall stay as my guests,” Kivak says grandly. “Ogath shall be your guide to the city, and will show you to chambers you may use during your stay.”


Ogath escorts the Copperheads back through the city while a second dwarf accompanies Amarin a few steps behind. The young Charosian watches the other group with interest, carefully taking note of the way they interact and what they find interesting about the city. Eventually Halgo drops back a few steps to talk to the young scholar.

“I believe we owe you some thanks,” he says. “Assuming it was you that mentioned the Bloodstone Dwarves.”
“They found it very interesting,” Amarin says cheerfully. “Most excited. I’m not entirely sure why, though. I shall have to look that up when I get home.”
“Ah…yes,” Halgo says. There’s a strange gleam in the humans eye when he starts thinking about research. “I take it you’re a guest here?”
“Oh yes,” Amarin says quickly. “I found my way here near the end of last winter. Someone said the dwarves might know why this land was so cold, so I set out to find them. Interesting place, really. Strange approach to architecture, and very reclusive, but sociable enough. Almost welcoming, when they decide you’re worth talking too.”
“Did you find what you were looking for?”
“What?”
“The cold?”
“Oh, no. Not yet. The story was that they’d mined to far into the earth and broken into some fairy cavern. Or was it the story about the dwarven wizard that built a demi-plane for his elemental love that accidentally leaked into the real world. I’m not sure I remember, I shall have to check my notes, but they certainly remain close-mouthed on the topic of the cold.“
He pauses for a minute, thinking carefully.
“Although, with the heat in here, I’m not altogether surprised. I doubt anyone except the warriors who patrol the surface even notice the cold weather. Ah, here we are, my home away from home.”

Halgo looks around as the dwarven guards usher them into a large chamber. The room is laid out like an opulent lounge and dining room, large enough to seat a large number of people. Against the far wall are four sets of doors, all carved from white stone. One of them has two guards standing on either side of it, a pair of dog-like creatures dressed in pale surcoats that watch everyone enter with golden eyes.

“Social chambers,” Amarin says cheerfully. “Apparently the designer of these chambers thought it best if the non-dwarves that visited had something other than dwarves to socialize with.”

Halgo nods slowly, his eyes locked on the dog-like guards. It takes him a few moments to place them, but eventually he realizes that he’s seen their likeness in a treatise on Planar Creatures of Pure Law.

“Are they yours?” he asks, his voice a little wary.
“Of course not,” Amarin says cheerfully. “I’m in the next room. Those two work for the trade delegation who was here when I arrived. Attentive chaps, but not terribly sociable. I’ve barely seen …”

Halgo stops listening to the young mans voice, stepping forward to nudge Geoffrey’s leg.

“You recognize those, right?”
“Hlarden,” Geoffrey says, his voice almost approving. “Although I’m guessing they’re independent.”
“Certainly,” Halgo says. “Otherwise they’d be wearing the Iron Cross. The Charosian says they’re part of a trade delegation.”
“What kind of merchant hires Warden’s as guards?” Geoffrey demands.
“The honest kind,” Halgo says carefully.
Geoffrey nods.

Before they get a chance to investigate further, Ogath shows them their quarters and the view from the balcony.

“Nice,” Yip comments, standing out on the balcony and gazing at the lava hundreds of feet below. The kobold’s scales seem to shimmer in the rising heat, and he feels more comfortable than he’s been since they left Petrev. “Yip warm.”

“It’ll do,” Geoffrey says, eyeing the carefully crafted furniture that litters the room and small passages leading off to private sleeping chambers.

No one seems to notice Blarth looking at the balcony with abject horror, his eyes bulging as he realizes how far the drop is.

“Blarth not like heights,” he whispers quietly, but everyone ignores him.

 

[Lela]

“Nice,” Yip comments, standing out on the balcony and gazing at the lava hundreds of feet below. The kobold’s scales seem to shimmer in the rising heat, and he feels more comfortable than he’s been since they left Petrev. “Yip warm.”
<Snip>
“Blarth not like heights,” he whispers quietly

LOL!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

 

[arwink]

For most of the Copperheads, their first week in Thorbeck is a joy. Halgo immerses himself in the cities arcane culture, reveling in the opportunity to exchange lore and knowledge with people who share his learning and racial outlook for the first time since he mastered the arcane arts. Thorbeck’s wizards prove themselves to be skilled and respected, well versed in the arts of magic and artifice, and Halgo is quick to seize the opportunity to learn new spells and trade away some wands and scrolls for new and more interesting magic. The only drawback to the city is the constant cry of “Grow your beard” that seem to follow him wherever he goes in the city.

Geoffrey and Yip immerse themselves in the temple to Kuth Hammerhand, the dwarven manifestation of St Cuthbert. Yip spends many blissful hours training with the Order of the Hammerhand, learning dwarven techniques of unarmed tunnel fighting, and spending the non-training hours sampling the wide variety of dwarven ales brewed by the order. Geoffrey’s time is spent more constructively, engaging in hours of endless debates with Hammerhand's scholars in order to forge a common understanding of Law between the human empire and the dwarves. As time passes he becomes conversant enough with Thorbeckian Law that he can represent non-dwarven victims in court, and earns a few extra coins from grateful merchants.

Only Blarth seems to dislike the dwarven city. His nights are spent tossing and turning in his chamber, constantly aware of the sheer drop not twenty feet away on the other side of the cave wall. His days are spent training with the dwarven Rhakadar, an order of warriors who specialize in protecting Thorbeck from the psionic creatures that lurk beneath the earth. While the Thorbeck Dwarves have welcomed the others with something approaching courtesy, the natural xenophobia of the Rhakadar around psions causes them to shun the half-orc psi-warrior, and many of the training matches he takes part in come closer to real sword-play than he’s comfortable with. As the bruises mount up and the week wears on, his evening cries of “Puny Dwarves” slowly start to sound less and less convincing.

At the end of the first week, the group settles in on the balcony. In the distant, they can hear the rumbling hum of a dwarven hymn being sung in the cities churches, the baritone song echoing off the vast cavern. Everyone drinks chilled drinks, served from an enchanted keg kept in the rooms, and Blarth hugs the rear wall trying not to look over the edge.

“Hello!” Geoffrey calls, and pulls himself to his feet to answer the door. One of the canine wardens is on the far side, its body held stiff and to attention.

“Ah, Yes.” Geoffrey says, momentarily taken back by the creatures commanding aura. “How can we be of assistance to you?”

(Yip, watching from the balcony and unaware of the creature's planar background, tries to remember what he’s learned about dogs.
“Yip scratch behind ears?” he wonders quietly, but the Warden shows no sign of hearing him.)

“My employers wish you company for dinner,” it announces sternly.
“And your employers are?” Geoffrey says, digging for information.
“You’re fellow guests.”
“Ahh.” He pauses, considering how far this can be pushed. “What time?”
“They will meet you in the dinning room just after Sundown.”
“Before dinner?” Halgo asks, coming up to examine the outsider at close range.
“Before dinner,” the Warden says. “We have arranged for food to be brought from one of the restaurants below.”
“Excellent,” Geoffrey says, casting a glance at Blarth. “I shall start cleaning our bathwater.”
“Hey,” Blarth calls. “Blarth not smell.”
“That just because you’ve got something up your nose.”
“It’s his finger,” Halgo points out.
“And Blarth can take it out.”
He does so, waggling his fingers in front of his face to prove his statement.
“Yip clean too.”
“It doesn’t count when you rely on your own spittle,” Halgo tells him.
The kobold offers a pout.

The Warden clears its throat, and everyone remembers that it’s still standing there and listening.
“We’ll be there,” Geoffrey says.
“Excellent,”
The dog-like face looks at them all very carefully, as if cataloging their strangeness for future reference, then turns on its heel and returns to its post by the door of the trade delegates.

Everyone erupts into a frenzy of preparation, Geoffrey magically summoning bath water and cleaning himself, then forcing the less cleanly members of his team into something approaching presentability. Halgo avoids bathing by the simple expedience of leaving, but he returns later with a fresh Thorbeckian Toga and a clean tunic. Debate erupts over the politeness of wearing armor and weapons to dinner, with Blarth adamantly stating that there should be no problem and he has little else to wear. Geoffrey tries to advocate smaller blades and light clothing, but eventually even he’s forced to admit that the half-orcs armor is probably the most presentable of his clothes and matters of politeness can be explained away by putting Blarth in the uniform of his order.

When preparations are complete, they head out into the communal lounge.

A large table has emerged from no-where, its top filled with bottles of wine and gold goblets. Several copper serving trays hold steaming dishes of goat and rat meat, the staple diet of the dwarves, as well as thick slices of marinated fungi and strange fruit.
Geoffrey fills one of the goblets and sniffs it carefully.

“Goblin vintage,” he says carefully. “Ichor wine. Rare and expensive, probably the only thing the race got right.”
“You can tell that by smelling it?” Halgo asks, sniffing a second goblet dubiously.
“Practice,” Geoffrey says with a smile, and takes a cautious sip.

Another doorway opens, and Amarin steps into the room. The young scholar has dressed up for the occasion, wearing a crisp blue robe that has several glittering crystals sewn into its fabric. The style is unfamiliar to everyone, and it looks vaguely ridiculous as it hangs on the psion’s gangly frame.

“Hello again,” he says cheerfully. “Are all of you here too?”
“Greetings,” Geoffrey says. “I don’t believe we’ve been properly introduced. Geoffrey Cromwell.”
“”Oh, hello,” Amarin says, his smile broadening. “Amarin Yarrow.”

He shakes the clerics hand, looking from Geoffrey’s dress robes to Yip’s uniform.

“So are you the one with the kobold for a pet?”
Geoffrey tries to hide a grin.
“Yes, but don’t try to pet him, he’s not tame.”
“Yip resent that.”
“Oh my!” Amarin says, almost clapping his hands with glee. “You’ve taught it to talk. What else can it say?”
Yip snarls.
“Down boy,” Geoffrey orders.
“I think you’re upsetting our Yip,” Halgo says mildly.
Amarin looks taken aback.
“Really?”

He kneels down until he’s on eye level with the kobold.
“I’m sorry little fellow. Here have a treat.”
Amarin fishes around his belt pouch. Everyone else takes a step back from the oblivious sage and the angry kobold standing before him.
“Just so you know,” Geoffrey says. “The Church of St Cuthbert takes no responsibility for any injury that may occur when dealing with our Brother Yip’s.”
Yip simmers for a few moments, training warring with the desire to beat down the oblivious human that has so casually insulted him.
“That also includes your hand, should you try to feed him something.”

Fortunately, a dwarf bearing a tray enters the room before anything messy should happen. The waiter carefully lays out bows of soup, one at each table setting, before disappearing. The two Warden’s barely blink as everyone looks towards the door, and an uncomfortable silence descends as they realize that the host is unlikely to attend before the meal is started.

“There are only five places set,” Amarin points out. “Maybe he was held up by something?”
“Perhaps,” Geoffrey mutters, but it’s clear he’s put out by the absence of the man who invited them.
“So,” he asks, taking a seat. “What brings you here?”
“Well, there was a story that the dwarves dug down into the subterranean palace where Winter lived when it’s not winter. When they got him angry, he decided that it should always be winter here.”

Geoffrey pauses, a spoon midway to his lips. For a few seconds his thoughts wander to the holy symbol around his neck, and it’s magic that lets him determine truth from lie, but it seems inappropriate to use such extreme measure in polite company.
“You don’t really believe that, do you?”
He narrows his eyes, searching Amarin’s face for some clue that he’s lying.

There are none.

“Maybe,” the scholar says. “I’ve heard a lot of stories, and it’s obviously very cold. Colder than it should be, and so that’s one possibility. There are others, a lot of them…”

He trails off, realizing that everyone has stopped eating to stare at him in disbelief.

“No, really,” he says earnestly. “Look outside. Most of the continents cold.”
“Not cold to Blarth.”
Geoffrey looks at the half-orc with a raised eyebrow.
“What do you mean, not cold to Blarth? You were the one who was turning blue the other night.”
“And let us remind you,” Halgo says blandly, “that it isn’t a good reason…in fact, there’s never a good reason…for you to try and share blankets with the rest of us.”
“That not happen,” Blarth mutters sullenly, but Amarin has already pulled out a notebook and scribbled something down.
“Be quiet and enjoy your soup,” Geoffrey says. “It’s good. I wonder what’s in it?”
“Rat,” says Amarin eagerly. “Some mushrooms, but mostly rat-meat.”

Everyone suddenly becomes much less hungry.

One of the Hlarden’s coughs politely, drawing everyone’s attention. It’s partner reaches over and opens the doorway to the trade delegations guest room.

The being that emerges is tall, a little over six and a half feet, with chalk-white skin and black robes. It’s pale eyes flash golden when they catch the light, and it carries itself forward with a stiff gait that reminds everyone of an insect.

“What in hell is that,” Blarth thinks.
“Undead,” Geoffrey thinks, hand wandering to his holy symbol. “Maybe vampire.”
“Not nice,” Yip thinks, and wonders quietly whether there is garlic in their meal.
“Crap,” thinks Halgo.

The pale-skinned humanoid looks them over carefully, his mouth breaking into a wide smile when he sees the dwarven wizard.

“Oh my. Halgo” Kelpreth says. “We must say, this city has been a place for surprises.”

 

[Khynal]

It could've been Winter's palace. You never know.

 

[arwink]

Geoffrey glances across the table to the dwarven wizard.

“He recognizes you?” He asks. It’s obvious from his tone that he isn’t going to like the answer.
“Yes,” Halgo says.
“Was he one of the living last time you met?” Yip pipes up, but everyone ignores him.

Kelpreth ignores their reactions, walking across the room in a smooth glide to stand at the head of the table.
“Well Halgo, would you care to introduce your friends? I already know Amarin, we have had a long relationship with his family, but everyone else is unfamiliar to us.”

Halgo glares at the pale-skinned merchant, his face less than pleased.

“This is Geoffrey,” he says finally. “He’s a priest. Yip and Blarth.”
“They say don’t feed Yip,” Amarin adds helpfully.
“We wouldn’t dream of it,” Kelpreth says smoothly. “We have met others of the same breed from other worlds, and they have proved to be quite cantankerous from time to time. We would prefer to avoid offending them if at all possible.”
“There known to be a little surly on this world too,” Halgo mutters.

“And you are?” Geoffrey says. Instinct causes him to extend his hand, but he jerks it back quickly when he catches the golden gleam in the host’s eyes.
“You may call me Kelpreth,” Kelpreth says. “Our organization serves as a procurer of goods for beings beyond this world.”
“Oh,” Geoffrey says.
“Sounds like a lucrative business,” Yip suggests quietly, but for once a distrust of the creatures otherness overrides Geoffrey’s desire for gold.
“What that got to do with us?” Blarth asks.
“Nothing,” Kelpreth says blandly. “We were here to establish trade with the dwarves. Their weaponscraft is excellent, they have access to mithril, and they have fewer outlets for trade than many dwarven clans. It seemed that their isolation would work to our advantage – we have certain contacts that will pay handsomely for such weapons.”

He pauses, his eyes flashing as he considers the profit to be made from such a deal.

“You can imagine our surprise when we discovered young Amarin here,” Kelpreth continues. “His parents had said nothing of his wanderings when last we spoke, and we must say that it is quite fortuitous that we have found Halgo and his companions here as well.”

Eyebrows shoot up around the table. Halgo shifts uncomfortably in his seat as everyone turns towards him.

“So…where do you know Kelpreth from?” Geoffrey asks. His tone is polite and controlled, but there’s a dangerous undercurrent to the question.
“From trading, of course,” Kelpreth says.
“Of course,” Geoffrey says. His eyes don’t leave the dwarf.
“Of course,” Halgo says. He coughs slightly and looks at Kelpreth. “Fortuitous? I assume this means that we have something you need?”

“Oh, trading,” Amarin says suddenly, his eyes lighting up. “That reminds me.”
He digs around in his pack and pulls forth a coiled strand of wide thread. He leans over the table and taps Yip on the shoulder.
“Could you put this along one of your toes?” He asks. Yip glares at him.
“Go on,” Amarin urges. “Put it between your toes. It’ll help me measure how long they are.”
Yip snarls, his tail starting to twitch dangerously.
“No, well perhaps you can answer some questions. How tall are you? Where you born in captivity, or did they train you from the wilds.”
“Just so you know,” Geoffrey says, his gaze still not moving from Halgo. “If Yip attacks your face, I’m not going to pull him off. As he claws his way into your brain, I’m not going to pull him off. Understand?”

Amarin pauses, tape measure half-unfurled and pressed against Yip’s skull. For the first time he seems to notice the kobolds angry gaze, and he slowly takes the tape away and returns to his seat. Oblivious to the rising tension in the room, he starts taking notes.

“As you may have noticed, Amarin here has a curious streak,” Kelpreth says. He smiles gently as he says it, and his tone slides towards the paternal.
“We noticed,” Geoffrey says evenly. “Tell me, Amarin, during your childhood did you ever find and ants nest and stick flaming rags in it? Only to be bitten when they all came streaming out? This ring any bells?”
“Well, not a flaming rag,” Amarin says. He puts a finger to his chin and stares thoughtfully at the ceiling. “I just shot things down the hole like this.”
He points a finger and the ceiling and fires a short burst of flame.
“That sends them boiling out.”

“Uh-huh,” Geoffrey says. “And how many stung you?”
“Well, none,” Amarin says.
“Uh-huh.”
“I was hanging off a tree at the time,” Amarin continues.
“Uh-huh.”
“It’s just be silly otherwise,” Amarin finishes. “I mean, you don’t want to be that close to some angry ants.”
“Right,” Geoffrey finishes.

“As you can see, he has a tendency towards the analytical,” Kelpreth says, the soft buzz of his voice capturing people’s attention once more. “A thirst for knowledge that can lead to problems if left unchecked. This wasn’t a great concern when he was among his own kind, Charos is relatively civilized as such things go and his family was close enough to keep watch over him, but Borr is something of a different circumstance. As a favor to his parents, we were going to look for some dwarves that could keep an eye on him, but given your presence here and our preference for dealing with those we know, it seems logical to offer Halgo and the rest of you the job.”

He pauses, cocking his head to one side with an insectile buzz.

“Assuming Halgo is willing to vouch for your competence, of course.”

“Of course,” Geoffrey says. “Now, if you’ll pardon me for being blunt, what’s in it for us?”

 

[arwink]

Kelpreth, for the really curious, was created after I picked up a book of BROM's art at a local bookstore and decided I really needed to use them as illustrations during games. A copy of the picture that's essentially used for Kelpreth can be found here.

 

[arwink]

Geoffrey glances across the table, where Amarin is busy scribbling a sketch of Yip in a book.

“This does seem like a full-time job, you understand,” he says blandly.
“I don’t need that much taking care of,” Amarin says.
The response comes from Halgo, Geoffrey and Kelpreth in unison.
“Yes, you do.”
“Especially if you keep poking Yip,” Yip snarls.
“Well, it’s not necessarily full time,” Kelpreth explains. “It’s hardly as though Amarin is without worth on his own. As you’ve noticed, he does have a keen mind and a remarkable propensity for psionic powers.”
“Great,” Geoffrey murmers. “I feel like I’m being sold a wagon.”
“Still, Kelpreth, you must see that the job requires some sort of sweetner,” Halgo says. Recovering from the sudden shock of seeing the merchant, his tone becomes more confident.
“Indeed,” Geoffrey says.

“They’re very mercenary, aren’t they?” Amarin asks.
“Such things aren’t unknown to happen,” Kelpreth explains. “but I assure you they’ll be very skilled at the job.”
“Are you sure?” Amarin asks. “Well, yes, I guess they well. I mean, look, this fellow has a gnolls head on his belt. That’s very impressive.”

“I vote we let Yip take him,” Geoffrey mutters to Halgo.

“Most impressive,” Kelpreth agrees.
Blarth suddenly latches onto the conversation, the mention of heads and combat prowess giving him his first real moment of understanding since the conversation started.

“Blarth has more head!” Blarth cries.
“Really? I haven’t seen the rest of them.”
“Look,” Blarth says, and he tips the sack of heads on the table.

Amarin starts poking around, measuring the width of skulls. Kelpreth simply picks up the head of the cleric Blarth slew in the temple beneath the Tusk forest. Long fingers tip the skull back and forth as the merchant examines the horns and mishappen jaw.

“Impressive,” he says simply, then places it back on the table.

“What was that one?” Amarin asks. “I don’t recognize it.”
“Arrarch,” Kelpreth says. The language he uses is strange and angular, but Amarin nods in understanding.

“Did you understand that,” Geoffrey asks Halgo.
“Nope.”
“I don’t suppose you’d want to explain what that was in common?” He asks Kelpreth. The merchant looks him over.
“Not necessarily.”
“Someone you knew?” Halgo ventures.
“No,” Kelpreth says. “More a breed we’re familiar with. It is good that it’s slain, they are quite troublesome and difficult to deal with.”
“We found hitting it worked,” Halgo explains.
“Yes, that would,” Kelpreth says. “It’s amazing the number of creatures that cease being a problem when steel is run through their stomach.”
“Repeatedly,” Halgo adds.
“Quite.”

“Magical healing,” Halgo says suddenly, and everyone looks towards him.
“Pardon?” Kelpreth asks.
“Magical healing,” Halgo repeats. “If you owe us a favor for taking in Amarin, we could use some.”
“That seems adequate,” Kelpreth says. “What would you like?”
“What’s it worth to you?”

Kelpreth pauses for a moment, considering the question.

“The Yarrow family has been an excellent resource over the years,” he says finally. “It would pain us greatly if something was to happen to cause them grief. Let us say that it is worth quite a lot to keep Amarin safe.”

Halgo considers this for as few moments, weighing up his previous encounter with the planar merchant against what Kelpreth’s notion of a lot may be.

“Can you get us a scroll of True Ressurection?”
“Certainly,” Kelpreth says simply. “We could arrange for something around that caliber, yes. It may take some time.”
“We’ll be here for a few days yet.”
“Of course you will,” Kelpreth agrees. “You simply must stay for the festival. Quite an event – the opera is simply breathtaking.”
“Dwarves have opera?” Goeffrey mutters. “I’m suddenly afraid.”
“We’ll be staying until the festival,” Halgo agrees. “Are we agreed on the scroll then? Just in case it proves more difficult to keep young Amarin alive than we previously thought?”

“I can take care of myself, you know,” Amarin protests.
“Of course you can,” Geoffrey says.

Kelpreth simply grins, his eyes flashing.

“So we are agreed.”
“Agreed,” Halgo assures him.
“Excellent. I shall send Dukk with your payment when it is prepared.

Amarin blinks a few times, suddenly aware that his fate has been decided with very little input from him. He stares at the Copperheads with renewed interest, his eyes suddenly shining as he notices Halgo and discovers a new line of inquirey.

“So, Halgo,” he asks, readying his note-pad. “What did you get from Kelpreth?”
“What?”
“Well, I traded with him and got this tape measure,” Amarin explains, holding up the coiled device.
“Wow. You did well,” Halgo says.
“So what did you get?”
“I got some useful information,” Halgo explains.
“Yes?” Amarin urges. His quill is on the page, ready to write.
“That I would prefer to keep secret.”
“Oh,” Amarin says. His tone is disappointed. “I wonder why?”

“Why do I have a feeling where going to regret this?” Geoffrey asks.
“Because you always regret dealing with Kelpreth,” Halgo explains, eyeing the merchant carefully.
“This is the first time I’ve dealt with him.”
“Hopefully not the last,” Kelpreth adds.
“Its rarely a great idea,” Halgo says. “But the gains are always so tempting.”

Geoffrey scowls, turning his attention to Amarin.
“So,” he says, “If we’re stuck with you, perhaps you’d better tell us what you can do. What is your claim to fame?”
“Well,” Amarain says, “I think that call’s for a demonstration, doesn’t it?”

 

[Lela]

Well, I admit, Amarin does grow on you. He's kinda interesting. I can't wait to see more.

[At last, cought up with all the SH's that got updated over the weekend. Now to get back to . . .Crap. Okay, somebody update!]

 

[arwink]

Ask and you shall receive
____________
Amarin smiles, his eyes suddenly flashing with white fire as he concentrates. The psion’s skin takes on a silvery sheen before there is a loud pop. Standing on the table, crouched directly in front of Yip, is a three-foot tall kobold crafted from translucent silvery slime. Yip jumps, his seat falling back as he drops into a defensive stance. As he watches, the silvery kobold slowly grows wings, then launches itself into the air where it hovers and stares down at the startles Yip. Slowly the features of the hovering kobold shift and warp until they match Yip’s own.

“Astral construct,” Amarin says proudly.
Yip studies the construct carefully, his eyes flaring as he recognizes the features.
“Amarin try to make Yip mad,” he snarls. “Or Amarin not that smart?”
“Pardon?”
Amarin looks confused.

Blarth reaches over and pokes a finger at the hovering construct. The construct is squishy to touch, his finger disappearing into its bulk. When Blarth jerks his hand back, a thin layer of ectoplasm covers his finger.

“Yuk,” Blarth says, sniffing at the ectoplasm. “Feel like snot.”
“Just don’t lick it then,” Halgo reminds him.

“OK, let me get this right,” Geoffrey says. “You can make little gray men out of snot.”
“It’s interesting though,” Halgo points out. “He didn’t use magic.”
“On up side,” Blarth says, scratching his head. “Now Yip can mate.”
“Shut up, Blarth.”

Yip moves closer to the hovering construct, standing on his chair to reach it. His moves are measured, careful to avoid alarming the strange being, until he’s close enough to touch it. He pokes the construct carefully. It doesn’t react.

He lashes out with both hands, attempting to shove it away.

Yip moves fast, but the construct seems to be faster. Even as his hands shoot forward, it launches itself straight up and out of his grasp. Yip snarls, preparing to jump after it, but the construct has already wheeled around in mid-air and launched itself at the kobold. It darts past the monk’s defenses, using his lack of preparation against him, and tackles Yip to the floor. There is a loud clatter as the chair goes flying.

“Yip, that not how you mate,” Blarth offers blithely.
“You know, I’m worried that Blarth knows how Yip’s mate,” Geoffrey offers.
“Blarth knows how everything mates,” Blarth says proudly.
“More than we wanted to know.”

Amarin starts humming to himself as the construct and the kobold tussle on the floor. Yip has the advantage of training and weight, but the construct uses its wings to maintain leverage. It pins him on the floor, ignoring the awkward flail of his fists as he tries to push it off. Finally, he lashes out with his tail, plunging it deep into the constructs head. There is a sucking noise as he pulls it free, and the constructs features look distorted and wavy in the aftermath of his attack. The construct retaliates with a fist of its own, but Yip’s attack has left it confused and it smashes a blow into the floor instead.

“You may wish to cease and desist,” Geoffrey mentions to Amarain. “Or it could be the last thing you’ll ever do.”
“Once Yip kill silver-kobold,” Yip grunts, finally succeeding in pushing the construct off him. “Yip going to kill you.”
The small kobold throws a flurry of fists at the construct, many of them hitting it with loud splats that cause ectoplasm to splash across the room.

“Really, perhaps you’d better stop now,” Geoffrey suggests.
“But he looks like he’s having such fun,” Amarin says. “Are you having fun little fellow.”

Yip launches a flying kick at the construct, which dodges out of the way. His face is covered with ectoplasm, and occasionally he’s forced to snort to clear his nasal passages. His teeth are bared, and he makes small shrieks of frustration as yet another strike misses its target.

“See, he’s having fun.”
“Enough,” Geoffrey says.

The cleric pulls a mace from his belt and steps across the room. As the construct and Yip circle one another, he hammers the mace hard on the constructs head. The entire construct shimmers, then slowly melts away.

 

[Lela]

Amarin's really bringing out the personalities of the other party members. Sure, I know Blarth pritty well ("puny snot") but everyone else can't be so simple. Amarin's interaction is helping to define everything a little. Especially Yip. Very cool.

“Yip, that not how you mate,” Blarth offers blithely.
“You know, I’m worried that Blarth knows how Yip’s mate,” Geoffrey offers.
“Blarth knows how everything mates,” Blarth says proudly.
“More than we wanted to know.”

LOL!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!