"Out of the Frying Pan" - Book II: Catching the Spark (Part Two) - {complete}
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el-remmen
Moderator Emeritus
Horacio said:
But the weekend passed too, and no update arrived
I was chillin' at the beach this weekend. RIght now I am as red as a lobster not the lovely brown I dreamed of
~ damn cheap sunblock! Aquerra was the furthest thing from my mind as I frollicked in the sun and surf . . .However, I will be posting something either later today or early tomorrow. . . depending on how busy work is today.
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el-remmen
Moderator Emeritus
Session #30 (part III)
Tholem, 18th of Dek – 564 H.E.
In the pre-dawn darkness of morning Martin used an illusion of the King of Gothanius to awaken Kazrack for the final watch.
“Was that magic?” Kazrack asked.
“Yes,” replied Martin laying in his bedroll, enjoying every moment of the blessed sleepiness that evaded him most of the time. He had never realized before the effect to of Lacan’s Demise had kicked in what a narcotic and desirous feeling it really was. Thomas was already curled up into a little sleeping ball on the watch-mage’s chest.
“I told you dwarves couldn’t be fooled by illusions,” Kazrack said, getting up.
Martin sighed and rolled over, plummeting into his nightly two hours of glorious sleep. He had begun to look forward to it more than anything else.
A couple of hours later, everyone was awake and making ready for the coming day.
Kazrack approached Beorth as he strapped on his armor, “I’m sorry to disturb your morning rituals, but this is weighing on my mind. I’m not sure of my ability to converse civilly with our hosts, so could you ask them for me what the purpose of the sickle is?”
“Kazrack, I would speak on your behalf if you like,” the paladin replied. “But I think your honor would suffer if I were to speak for you. They will not respect you.”
“I do not care for the respect of gnolls and monsters. If you will respect me less, that is another matter and I will do my own asking,” Kazrack said, his sullen and angry mood from the night before did not seem to have passed. He walked over and grabbed his set of masterwork smithing tools that he always carried with him.
At that moment, Efner the kobold druid, and the two robed figures that had accompanied him before arrived at their camp. One figure was nearly six feet tall, and wore its cloak so that it completely covered its body, including its face covered by a low-hanging cowl. However, the figure’s bare feet were visible. They were not human feet, or even humanoid feet, but reptilian three-toed feet (with one toe pointing backward). The scaly skin was mottled black and dark green. (130) It moved with an awkward gait, and a faintly unpleasant smell emanated from it. The other figure was barely five and half feet tall, and also wore a low cowl, but wore boots and seemed less imposing.
“Knap!” the kobold squeaked to get everyone’s attention. “We go cave. Cave get things. Get things to Glade.”
The non-reptilian figure stepped forward, and a flowing tenor voice emerged from under the hood, “What my diminutive and excitable companion is trying to say is that we shall guide you to a cave where ore and other resources for your task are stored, which you will then carry to the forge in the Glade of Hennaire to begin your work on the sickle.”
The party was led away from their camp and back towards the large clearing where they had met up Mardak the Elder the night before. Most of them left their gear at the camp, except Ratchis who always carried his full pack wherever he went, and Martin the Green, who was loathe to leave his spellbooks anywhere after being separated from his for so long after being the guests of the gnomes for so long (131). Kazrack only carried his tools.
They skirted the large clearing, and the followed another trail through the thick wood, but this one was not flanked by the tall thorn hedges. They moved through a series of forks in the narrow path and eventually came to a low squat rocky hill, with a cave entrance a third of the way up. The kobold deftly leapt up the rocky terrain followed by the party and then the other two druids.
“Carry! Carry! Knap!” the Effner cried as he led the way into the cave.
In the cave, Martin and Jana picked up a bunch of extra smithing tools to carry, while the four strong members of the party carried crates of the materials needed to make the sickle and run a forge.
“I wonder how these things got here?” Kazrack said, heft one of the boxes with Ratchis’ help.
“Probably a little bit of fair trade,” Beorth offered.
“I hope so,” Kazrack sighed, with visions of dwarven mining operations being raided and plundered by bugbears and gnolls in his mind.
The smooth-voiced druid took a moment in the cool darkness of the cave to remove his hood; his stark white hair glistened in the sunlight coming through the opening, and his delicate elven features were contrasted by his coal-black skin and his shining pink eyes.
Kazrack gasped, and almost dropped his end of the crate he and Ratchis bore.
“Yes?” the Novilunistani (133) asked in his mellifluous voice.
The dwarf did not reply.
They carried the things back through the narrow trails and back to the large clearing and then were led to another set of trails, which eventually brought them to the Glade of Hennaire. The Glade was strangely free of the deep snow that was prevalent everywhere that trails were not specifically made. Instead, there were random patches of snow here and there, that appeared to have been the remains of much more snow that had melted away. The sun was bright this day, but the air was crisp. There was no way as much snow as should have been there could have all melted off so quickly.
The Glade was encircled by a ring of particularly thick trees and one corner of the place was a gentle incline leading to a hilly area beyond. They were led to an area just off center of the glade. Here there were three stone and brick forges set up around an area with a stone platform and a large anvil. There was also a metal rack in the ground for the tools Martin and Jana were carrying. Behind the smaller forge about twenty feet away was a watering hole about 35 feet long and 15 feet wide. There was also a huge pile of stacked firewood.
“Knap! Nyah! Nyah!” Effner said. “You can start when you want. When you are ready to go back to camp for night, tell Bear.” He gestured over to the trail that had led them here, and saw the enormous bear of the night before come into the clearing and sit by the entrance.
“Will there be anything else?” the dark elf asked. He had brought his hood back up.
“What will the sickle be used for, elf?” Kazrack asked, gruffly.
“I am called Drenthis,” the dark elf replied. “And that is none of your concern.”
“Well, perhaps without that information I will not forge the sickle,” Kazrack replied. “Let’s see if you find that to be your concern.”
“You do know that if you fail in your quest and forfeit your life your spirit will not join those of your people in the realms of your gods, don’t you?” Drenthis asked. “Your spirit will be used as Osiris decided and you will be forever deprived of the honor to serve Natan-ahb in the afterlife.”
“I do not believe that,” Kazrack said.
“Believe what you will,” the dark elf said.
“So, you will not tell me?” the dwarf asked.
“You know the price for answers to questions not directly necessary for you to complete your task,” Drenthis replied. “All knowledge has a cost.”
Kazrack growled, and then bringing the middle finger of his broken arm to his mouth, he tore off the fingernail and spit it at the dark elf.
Jeremy winced.
The elf looked down at the bloody nail, and then back up at the dwarf. Kazrack was unable to see any expression the elf’s face. Effner picked up the nail.
“The sickle will serve a variety of purposes; for the gathering of mistletoe, for the cutting of grain, and for the sacrifice of the woman you saw,” Drenthis explained. “Anything else?”
Kazrack did not respond, but walked over to inspect the forges.
“I don’t think so,” Beorth said.
Drenthis, Effner and the reptile-footed druid left the clearing.
“What now? Are you going to do it?” Ratchis asked.
Kazrack looked up from looking over the anvil, “I need time to consult the rune-stones.”
The dwarf walked off to the other side of the waterhole and found a stone. There he sat in quiet contemplation for nearly an hour, and then threw the stones and spent another half hour, examining the patterns in the runes.
Eventually, Kazrack stood and walked back over to the party. (133)
“Jeremy, let me show you how to get a forge fire going and how to stoke it,” the dwarf said, grabbing what wood he could under one arm and taking it over to the large forge.
Jeremy grabbed a load of wood and followed. Ratchis brought some over as well. Kazrack instructed them on how to see to the fire. He then went into his pack pulled out one of the silver candlestick holders the party had retrieved from the Honeycombe (134).
“Would anyone mind if I melted this down to use the silver to help decorate the sickle?” the dwarf asked.
No one objected.
“I’d better make sure that is okay to do,” Kazrack said, and walked over to where the dire bear guarded the way into the glade.
“I have some questions about the decorating of the sickle blade,” Kazrack said, looking up at the immense beast. “I doubt you can answer me, so if you could convey the questions to the druids somehow I’d appreciate it.”
“You can ask me the questions,” the bear replied, in a deep bass voice that seemed to shake the ground under the dwarf’s feet.
Kazrack sighed. He had gotten to a point where nothing surprised him anymore.
“Can I use silver to decorate the blade with some symbols or sigils?” Kazrack asked.
“Silver is good,” the bear replied.
There was a long pause.
“Anything else?” the bear asked.
“I guess not,” the dwarf replied and walked back to get to melting down the candle-holder and smelting the metal for crafting the blade.
The day was spent mostly with preparation for the crafting of the blade, Ratchis, Jeremy and Beorth giving Kazrack aid whenever they could. Martin spent the day doodling in his journal and carving small wooden tokens that he kept hidden from the others. Thomas leapt from the top of the forge to the anvil and then the stone table. He leapt far, crying out “Watch Martin! Watch! Watch! Look how far I can jump!”
“That’s very good, Thomas, but be careful and don’t get in Kazrack’s way,” the watch-mage replied mentally to his familiar.
“I won’t,” Thomas replied, sounding annoyed.
In the early afternoon, after the party had chewed half-heartedly on their meager rations, Ratchis walked over to where the bear stood guard.
“Sorry to disturb you,” he said reverently. “But we will need food before too soon, and I did not want to hunt in this wood without permission.”
“You will supplied with food,” the bear replied in his incredibly deep voice.
Ratchis noticed that by the time he re-joined others the bear had leaf his post. A little more than an hour the bear returned, and approached the forge. In his huge maw, he held a wild boar by the neck. It squirmed in pain as it slowly died. The bear looked at Ratchis, while Martin looked away, and it squeezed its jaws giving the boar a killing blow. He dropped the carcass on the ground.
“Fresh,” he said.
Hour later the sun was setting, and Ratchis had gutted and cleaned the boar, butchering the meat for easy cooking and storage. Effner, Drenthis and the reptile-footed druid returned to lead the party back to their camping spot.
On the way back, Ratchis inquired about his being allowed to leave the Circle of Thorns temporarily.
“Knap! Mardak must be told,” Effner replied.
“Let him know that I wish to go scout out the ravine where the wild ponies are found to look for signs of the shape-shifting creature,” Ratchis explained.
The party ate roasted boar for dinner, and then got ready to settle down to sleep.
“Who will watch first?” Kazrack asked.
“We don’t need watches,” Jana replied. “If they wanted to kill or harm us they would have done so already.”
“But this forest may still be dangerous,” Kazrack insisted.
“Then you stay up,” Ratchis said, getting into his bedroll. “I agree with Jana.”
Kazrack sighed and shrugged his shoulders.
Everyone went to sleep; except Martin of course.
For the watch-mage, the night was long and cold, and he strained his eyes from reading and writing to the light of his candle.
It had been more hours fewer hours than he hoped, when all of a sudden the black leather case that Martin inherited from the warlock that had worked with Markle, Devon and the Square began to jerk around the camp of its own accord.
Martin grabbed the case and threw it open and Thomas leapt out.
“I figured out how to undo the clasps,” Thomas said happily.
“That’s good, Thomas,” Martin said, mentally. “But try not to get into too much mischief. Come here, let’s have another reading lesson.”
The rest of the night was spent teaching the struggling squirrel to read, until finally sleepiness came over Martin and he crawled into his spot in one of the tents.
Balem, 19th of Dek
The next morning, Effner, Drenthis and the reptile-footed druid led the party back to the Glade of Hennaire, so that Kazrack could continue his work.
“Knap! The wall will be opened for you tomorrow,” the kobold said to Ratchis. “But if you leave Mardak says you won’t be allowed back `til full moon. Knap! And, Bear busy today, might not be here. Don’t leave!”
Beorth asked Drenthis for a moment of his time, and he and the dark elf stepped away from the others.
“I was hoping your order would be able to help me with a problem I have,” Beorth sayd. “I in possession of a magical item that must be destroyed, but I do not know how. It is said a priest of great faith and power would be able to undo its enchantment, perhaps one of you could do it?”
Beorth pulled the fang-shaped malachite pendant from his breast pocket and held it up.
“A magical item?” Drenthis asked in his smooth voice. “What does it do?” He pulled back his hood and his pink eyes twinkled in the morning light. He reached for it.
“It allows one to control the undead,” Beorth replied.
The dark elf flinched and took back his hand. “Oh.”
“It is a corruption of the cycle of life,” Beorth added.
“Well, yes…” the drow said. “I will tell Larinth the Scholar. He may be able to help you, but as you know there will be a price.”
“Of course,” Beorth replied.
The day went by with Kazrack smelting the metal, with Jeremy and Ratchis’ help. At times when he did not need help, the three warriors took turns sparring, while Martin tried to teach Thomas how to count to ten. Jana maintained the large bonfire they had going, carrying armloads of wood from the dwindling pile.
As the sun plummeted in the late afternoon the party was led back to their campsite by Effner and the others.
They were within a few feet of the their clearing and shelter when Martin the Green stopped in his tracks, staring out beyond the clearing to the narrow path that led away from it. He saw a flashing hint of a golden flank stepping into the underbrush.
“Beorth?” The watch-mage grabbed the paladin’s shoulder. I thought I saw… No, it’s gone; that ram you spoke of. I thought I saw it.”
“You did?” Beorth said, surprised. “I thought I saw a glint of something up there too. I thought that might be it.”
Beorth asked Ratchis if he’d look beyond the camp for tracks, after the druids had left for the night. Beorth tried to help the ranger, but really had no idea what he was doing.
“Yes, there are tracks,” Ratchis confirmed.
“Of what?” Beorth asked.
“A huge ram,” Ratchis replied, kneeling down to point out the outline of the track. “I’ve never seen a ram that size before though.”
“It’s beautiful,” Beorth murmured.
“Well, regardless of its beauty, its tracks seem to come and go from nowhere,” Ratchis explained. “They seem to start there, come to about here and then go back and disappear again.”
The party laid down for the night, after eating some of the roasted boar they had left, and pondering the mystery of the great golden ram.
Of course, Martin sat by the fire and read and wrote his thoughts in his journal and looked at his maps for the thousandth time. He spent what time he could trying to teach Thomas a few more words and letter combinations – but the squirrel’s attention span was not exactly conducive all but the briefest lessons.
Teflem, 20th of Dek – 564 H.E.
Morning came once again. The party drank water made from melted snow, and chewed on some cold rations as they made ready for the arrival of the druids to be led back to the Glade of Hennaire for their third day of work.
However, suddenly Beorth cried out in horror. He had checked his breast pocket to reassure himself of the presence of the cursed amulet, as he often did, and it was gone!
“Who could have taken it?” Jeremy asked.
“One of the druids obviously,” Kazrack said, angrily.
“Did they even know about it?” Ratchis asked.
“Yes,” Beorth replied, meekly. “I showed it to Drenthis, and asked if the druids might be able to learn more about how to destroy it, or if perhaps they could do it.”
Kazrack slapped his own forehead, “You told a DROW about the evil cursed amulet?!? Have you lost your mind?”
“I was up most of the night and saw no one slip into our camp,” Martin said. “I wonder if Thomas smelled anything.”
The watch-mage sent a mental query to his familiar, but there was no response. Martin began to hyper-ventilate as he reached out with his mind to sense the position of his familiar. There was nothing.
“Isis have mercy! Thomas is gone!” Martin cried out. He looked around frantically, and then called out, “Thomas! Thomas!”
At that moment, the three druids that would escort them to the glade each day arrived.
Kazrack immediately turned to them, “Where is it? Where is the evil pendant?”
“Knap! What you speak of?” Effner asked, with a smirk.
Martin forced himself to calm down, “It appears that a cursed magical pendant that Beorth showed to one of your order has gone missing in the night, as has my squirrel familiar.”
“That is unfortunate, but what does that have to do with us?” Drenthis replied.
“It stands to reason that only one of your order could have taken it!” Kazrack snapped.
“It appears to me that reason may not be one of your strong suits, son of Jocham,” Drenthis said. “Or is it common for the dwarven people to insult their hosts?”
Kazrack was fuming. Ratchis stepped behind him, and placed a hand on his shoulder.
“Is it not reasonable to speculate that there is some other explanation for this disappearance?” the dark elf continued. “There are an infinite number of things and reasons in this world that you will die never having known. Could this not be one of those things? Or perhaps if you applied this reason you spoke of you might figure out a way to discover the truth?”
“Since you seem to know so much about reason, perhaps you can make a suggestion that is reasonable,” Kazrack said, scathingly.
“You know the price for answers,’ Drenthis said, with a smile. Kazrack did not hesitate this time. He tore the fingernail from his pinky with his teeth, and again spit it at the druids.
“We already have one from you,” Drenthis said. “It is useless to us.”
A fire as bright as that in a forge burned in the dwarf’s eyes.
“I will pay the price,” Beorth said, stepping forward. He held an open hand towards Ratchis, who handed him his huge hunting knife. The paladin knelt down and placed his hand on a stone, without showing a bit of emotion he cut the tip of his pinky off at the first knuckle. He handed the bloody thing to the dark elf.
“That was not necessary, but… ” Drenthis said.
“But much appreciated, I’m sure, “ Beorth said flatly, as Jana ran over to deal with the blood gushing out from the paladin’s small finger.
Drenthis passed the pit of finger to Effner who instinctually brought it to his mouth.
“Effner!” Drenthis scolded.
“Knap! Yes! Yes! Me no eat!” the kobold said, and slipped the thing into a pouch on his belt.
“I hope that this sacrifice will give us a more complete answer,” Kazrack said.
Drenthis ignored him.
“There is a creature that has come here unasked, but that we have no power over,” he said.
“The ram,” Martin said.
“Would it be so unreasonable to think this creature that leads you wants your attention for some other reason than you have discovered?” the dark elf looked right at Beorth. “Could it not be that this squirrel was in league with this thing, or its master?”
“Are you saying that someone is controlling Thomas?” Martin asked.
“Is that another question?” the dark elf raised an eyebrow.
“No,” Martin replied.
“I can tell you that your little rodent servant did not go the way we just came from,” Drenthis offered.
Martin looked at the narrow path that led beyond the campsite. They had never traversed that way, but the night before he had thought he had seen the golden ram at the edge of his vision on that very path.
“I have to find Thomas,” Martin said, looking at the others.
“I will go with you, Martin,” Beorth said. “I have seen this ram before the rest of you, even in my dreams and I think even before we even ever reached Gothanius. I have some part to play in this.”
“I would go with you, but I have much preparing to do if I am ever to get done with this sickle,” Kazrack said.
In the end it was decided that Jeremy and Ratchis would go with Kazrack to help with the sickle, while Beorth, Martin and Jana would seek out Thomas, the ram and the pendant. The latter three were not really directly helping the dwarf with his task, so this would give them something to do for the day.
Kazrack, Jeremy and Ratchis were led to the Glade of Hennaire once again, while they left their three companions to seek out the answer to this mystery.
“I hope Thomas is all right,” Kazrack said as they walked. “Truth be told, until recently I liked Thomas better than Martin, but Martin is starting to come around.”
“I still like Thomas better,” Ratchis replied.
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Notes
(130) Both Kazrack and Beorth recognized these as not being the feet of a lizardfolk, as they both has seen a handful in the Port District during their time in Verdun.
(131) See Session #15
(132) Novilustani is the elven word for “dark elf”, meaning “Children of the New Moon”.
(133) Kazrack did not ever share the results of his throwing the stones with the other members of the party.
(134) See Session #26
Tholem, 18th of Dek – 564 H.E.
In the pre-dawn darkness of morning Martin used an illusion of the King of Gothanius to awaken Kazrack for the final watch.
“Was that magic?” Kazrack asked.
“Yes,” replied Martin laying in his bedroll, enjoying every moment of the blessed sleepiness that evaded him most of the time. He had never realized before the effect to of Lacan’s Demise had kicked in what a narcotic and desirous feeling it really was. Thomas was already curled up into a little sleeping ball on the watch-mage’s chest.
“I told you dwarves couldn’t be fooled by illusions,” Kazrack said, getting up.
Martin sighed and rolled over, plummeting into his nightly two hours of glorious sleep. He had begun to look forward to it more than anything else.
A couple of hours later, everyone was awake and making ready for the coming day.
Kazrack approached Beorth as he strapped on his armor, “I’m sorry to disturb your morning rituals, but this is weighing on my mind. I’m not sure of my ability to converse civilly with our hosts, so could you ask them for me what the purpose of the sickle is?”
“Kazrack, I would speak on your behalf if you like,” the paladin replied. “But I think your honor would suffer if I were to speak for you. They will not respect you.”
“I do not care for the respect of gnolls and monsters. If you will respect me less, that is another matter and I will do my own asking,” Kazrack said, his sullen and angry mood from the night before did not seem to have passed. He walked over and grabbed his set of masterwork smithing tools that he always carried with him.
At that moment, Efner the kobold druid, and the two robed figures that had accompanied him before arrived at their camp. One figure was nearly six feet tall, and wore its cloak so that it completely covered its body, including its face covered by a low-hanging cowl. However, the figure’s bare feet were visible. They were not human feet, or even humanoid feet, but reptilian three-toed feet (with one toe pointing backward). The scaly skin was mottled black and dark green. (130) It moved with an awkward gait, and a faintly unpleasant smell emanated from it. The other figure was barely five and half feet tall, and also wore a low cowl, but wore boots and seemed less imposing.
“Knap!” the kobold squeaked to get everyone’s attention. “We go cave. Cave get things. Get things to Glade.”
The non-reptilian figure stepped forward, and a flowing tenor voice emerged from under the hood, “What my diminutive and excitable companion is trying to say is that we shall guide you to a cave where ore and other resources for your task are stored, which you will then carry to the forge in the Glade of Hennaire to begin your work on the sickle.”
The party was led away from their camp and back towards the large clearing where they had met up Mardak the Elder the night before. Most of them left their gear at the camp, except Ratchis who always carried his full pack wherever he went, and Martin the Green, who was loathe to leave his spellbooks anywhere after being separated from his for so long after being the guests of the gnomes for so long (131). Kazrack only carried his tools.
They skirted the large clearing, and the followed another trail through the thick wood, but this one was not flanked by the tall thorn hedges. They moved through a series of forks in the narrow path and eventually came to a low squat rocky hill, with a cave entrance a third of the way up. The kobold deftly leapt up the rocky terrain followed by the party and then the other two druids.
“Carry! Carry! Knap!” the Effner cried as he led the way into the cave.
In the cave, Martin and Jana picked up a bunch of extra smithing tools to carry, while the four strong members of the party carried crates of the materials needed to make the sickle and run a forge.
“I wonder how these things got here?” Kazrack said, heft one of the boxes with Ratchis’ help.
“Probably a little bit of fair trade,” Beorth offered.
“I hope so,” Kazrack sighed, with visions of dwarven mining operations being raided and plundered by bugbears and gnolls in his mind.
The smooth-voiced druid took a moment in the cool darkness of the cave to remove his hood; his stark white hair glistened in the sunlight coming through the opening, and his delicate elven features were contrasted by his coal-black skin and his shining pink eyes.
Kazrack gasped, and almost dropped his end of the crate he and Ratchis bore.
“Yes?” the Novilunistani (133) asked in his mellifluous voice.
The dwarf did not reply.
They carried the things back through the narrow trails and back to the large clearing and then were led to another set of trails, which eventually brought them to the Glade of Hennaire. The Glade was strangely free of the deep snow that was prevalent everywhere that trails were not specifically made. Instead, there were random patches of snow here and there, that appeared to have been the remains of much more snow that had melted away. The sun was bright this day, but the air was crisp. There was no way as much snow as should have been there could have all melted off so quickly.
The Glade was encircled by a ring of particularly thick trees and one corner of the place was a gentle incline leading to a hilly area beyond. They were led to an area just off center of the glade. Here there were three stone and brick forges set up around an area with a stone platform and a large anvil. There was also a metal rack in the ground for the tools Martin and Jana were carrying. Behind the smaller forge about twenty feet away was a watering hole about 35 feet long and 15 feet wide. There was also a huge pile of stacked firewood.
“Knap! Nyah! Nyah!” Effner said. “You can start when you want. When you are ready to go back to camp for night, tell Bear.” He gestured over to the trail that had led them here, and saw the enormous bear of the night before come into the clearing and sit by the entrance.
“Will there be anything else?” the dark elf asked. He had brought his hood back up.
“What will the sickle be used for, elf?” Kazrack asked, gruffly.
“I am called Drenthis,” the dark elf replied. “And that is none of your concern.”
“Well, perhaps without that information I will not forge the sickle,” Kazrack replied. “Let’s see if you find that to be your concern.”
“You do know that if you fail in your quest and forfeit your life your spirit will not join those of your people in the realms of your gods, don’t you?” Drenthis asked. “Your spirit will be used as Osiris decided and you will be forever deprived of the honor to serve Natan-ahb in the afterlife.”
“I do not believe that,” Kazrack said.
“Believe what you will,” the dark elf said.
“So, you will not tell me?” the dwarf asked.
“You know the price for answers to questions not directly necessary for you to complete your task,” Drenthis replied. “All knowledge has a cost.”
Kazrack growled, and then bringing the middle finger of his broken arm to his mouth, he tore off the fingernail and spit it at the dark elf.
Jeremy winced.
The elf looked down at the bloody nail, and then back up at the dwarf. Kazrack was unable to see any expression the elf’s face. Effner picked up the nail.
“The sickle will serve a variety of purposes; for the gathering of mistletoe, for the cutting of grain, and for the sacrifice of the woman you saw,” Drenthis explained. “Anything else?”
Kazrack did not respond, but walked over to inspect the forges.
“I don’t think so,” Beorth said.
Drenthis, Effner and the reptile-footed druid left the clearing.
“What now? Are you going to do it?” Ratchis asked.
Kazrack looked up from looking over the anvil, “I need time to consult the rune-stones.”
The dwarf walked off to the other side of the waterhole and found a stone. There he sat in quiet contemplation for nearly an hour, and then threw the stones and spent another half hour, examining the patterns in the runes.
Eventually, Kazrack stood and walked back over to the party. (133)
“Jeremy, let me show you how to get a forge fire going and how to stoke it,” the dwarf said, grabbing what wood he could under one arm and taking it over to the large forge.
Jeremy grabbed a load of wood and followed. Ratchis brought some over as well. Kazrack instructed them on how to see to the fire. He then went into his pack pulled out one of the silver candlestick holders the party had retrieved from the Honeycombe (134).
“Would anyone mind if I melted this down to use the silver to help decorate the sickle?” the dwarf asked.
No one objected.
“I’d better make sure that is okay to do,” Kazrack said, and walked over to where the dire bear guarded the way into the glade.
“I have some questions about the decorating of the sickle blade,” Kazrack said, looking up at the immense beast. “I doubt you can answer me, so if you could convey the questions to the druids somehow I’d appreciate it.”
“You can ask me the questions,” the bear replied, in a deep bass voice that seemed to shake the ground under the dwarf’s feet.
Kazrack sighed. He had gotten to a point where nothing surprised him anymore.
“Can I use silver to decorate the blade with some symbols or sigils?” Kazrack asked.
“Silver is good,” the bear replied.
There was a long pause.
“Anything else?” the bear asked.
“I guess not,” the dwarf replied and walked back to get to melting down the candle-holder and smelting the metal for crafting the blade.
The day was spent mostly with preparation for the crafting of the blade, Ratchis, Jeremy and Beorth giving Kazrack aid whenever they could. Martin spent the day doodling in his journal and carving small wooden tokens that he kept hidden from the others. Thomas leapt from the top of the forge to the anvil and then the stone table. He leapt far, crying out “Watch Martin! Watch! Watch! Look how far I can jump!”
“That’s very good, Thomas, but be careful and don’t get in Kazrack’s way,” the watch-mage replied mentally to his familiar.
“I won’t,” Thomas replied, sounding annoyed.
In the early afternoon, after the party had chewed half-heartedly on their meager rations, Ratchis walked over to where the bear stood guard.
“Sorry to disturb you,” he said reverently. “But we will need food before too soon, and I did not want to hunt in this wood without permission.”
“You will supplied with food,” the bear replied in his incredibly deep voice.
Ratchis noticed that by the time he re-joined others the bear had leaf his post. A little more than an hour the bear returned, and approached the forge. In his huge maw, he held a wild boar by the neck. It squirmed in pain as it slowly died. The bear looked at Ratchis, while Martin looked away, and it squeezed its jaws giving the boar a killing blow. He dropped the carcass on the ground.
“Fresh,” he said.
Hour later the sun was setting, and Ratchis had gutted and cleaned the boar, butchering the meat for easy cooking and storage. Effner, Drenthis and the reptile-footed druid returned to lead the party back to their camping spot.
On the way back, Ratchis inquired about his being allowed to leave the Circle of Thorns temporarily.
“Knap! Mardak must be told,” Effner replied.
“Let him know that I wish to go scout out the ravine where the wild ponies are found to look for signs of the shape-shifting creature,” Ratchis explained.
The party ate roasted boar for dinner, and then got ready to settle down to sleep.
“Who will watch first?” Kazrack asked.
“We don’t need watches,” Jana replied. “If they wanted to kill or harm us they would have done so already.”
“But this forest may still be dangerous,” Kazrack insisted.
“Then you stay up,” Ratchis said, getting into his bedroll. “I agree with Jana.”
Kazrack sighed and shrugged his shoulders.
Everyone went to sleep; except Martin of course.
For the watch-mage, the night was long and cold, and he strained his eyes from reading and writing to the light of his candle.
It had been more hours fewer hours than he hoped, when all of a sudden the black leather case that Martin inherited from the warlock that had worked with Markle, Devon and the Square began to jerk around the camp of its own accord.
Martin grabbed the case and threw it open and Thomas leapt out.
“I figured out how to undo the clasps,” Thomas said happily.
“That’s good, Thomas,” Martin said, mentally. “But try not to get into too much mischief. Come here, let’s have another reading lesson.”
The rest of the night was spent teaching the struggling squirrel to read, until finally sleepiness came over Martin and he crawled into his spot in one of the tents.
Balem, 19th of Dek
The next morning, Effner, Drenthis and the reptile-footed druid led the party back to the Glade of Hennaire, so that Kazrack could continue his work.
“Knap! The wall will be opened for you tomorrow,” the kobold said to Ratchis. “But if you leave Mardak says you won’t be allowed back `til full moon. Knap! And, Bear busy today, might not be here. Don’t leave!”
Beorth asked Drenthis for a moment of his time, and he and the dark elf stepped away from the others.
“I was hoping your order would be able to help me with a problem I have,” Beorth sayd. “I in possession of a magical item that must be destroyed, but I do not know how. It is said a priest of great faith and power would be able to undo its enchantment, perhaps one of you could do it?”
Beorth pulled the fang-shaped malachite pendant from his breast pocket and held it up.
“A magical item?” Drenthis asked in his smooth voice. “What does it do?” He pulled back his hood and his pink eyes twinkled in the morning light. He reached for it.
“It allows one to control the undead,” Beorth replied.
The dark elf flinched and took back his hand. “Oh.”
“It is a corruption of the cycle of life,” Beorth added.
“Well, yes…” the drow said. “I will tell Larinth the Scholar. He may be able to help you, but as you know there will be a price.”
“Of course,” Beorth replied.
The day went by with Kazrack smelting the metal, with Jeremy and Ratchis’ help. At times when he did not need help, the three warriors took turns sparring, while Martin tried to teach Thomas how to count to ten. Jana maintained the large bonfire they had going, carrying armloads of wood from the dwindling pile.
As the sun plummeted in the late afternoon the party was led back to their campsite by Effner and the others.
They were within a few feet of the their clearing and shelter when Martin the Green stopped in his tracks, staring out beyond the clearing to the narrow path that led away from it. He saw a flashing hint of a golden flank stepping into the underbrush.
“Beorth?” The watch-mage grabbed the paladin’s shoulder. I thought I saw… No, it’s gone; that ram you spoke of. I thought I saw it.”
“You did?” Beorth said, surprised. “I thought I saw a glint of something up there too. I thought that might be it.”
Beorth asked Ratchis if he’d look beyond the camp for tracks, after the druids had left for the night. Beorth tried to help the ranger, but really had no idea what he was doing.
“Yes, there are tracks,” Ratchis confirmed.
“Of what?” Beorth asked.
“A huge ram,” Ratchis replied, kneeling down to point out the outline of the track. “I’ve never seen a ram that size before though.”
“It’s beautiful,” Beorth murmured.
“Well, regardless of its beauty, its tracks seem to come and go from nowhere,” Ratchis explained. “They seem to start there, come to about here and then go back and disappear again.”
The party laid down for the night, after eating some of the roasted boar they had left, and pondering the mystery of the great golden ram.
Of course, Martin sat by the fire and read and wrote his thoughts in his journal and looked at his maps for the thousandth time. He spent what time he could trying to teach Thomas a few more words and letter combinations – but the squirrel’s attention span was not exactly conducive all but the briefest lessons.
Teflem, 20th of Dek – 564 H.E.
Morning came once again. The party drank water made from melted snow, and chewed on some cold rations as they made ready for the arrival of the druids to be led back to the Glade of Hennaire for their third day of work.
However, suddenly Beorth cried out in horror. He had checked his breast pocket to reassure himself of the presence of the cursed amulet, as he often did, and it was gone!
“Who could have taken it?” Jeremy asked.
“One of the druids obviously,” Kazrack said, angrily.
“Did they even know about it?” Ratchis asked.
“Yes,” Beorth replied, meekly. “I showed it to Drenthis, and asked if the druids might be able to learn more about how to destroy it, or if perhaps they could do it.”
Kazrack slapped his own forehead, “You told a DROW about the evil cursed amulet?!? Have you lost your mind?”
“I was up most of the night and saw no one slip into our camp,” Martin said. “I wonder if Thomas smelled anything.”
The watch-mage sent a mental query to his familiar, but there was no response. Martin began to hyper-ventilate as he reached out with his mind to sense the position of his familiar. There was nothing.
“Isis have mercy! Thomas is gone!” Martin cried out. He looked around frantically, and then called out, “Thomas! Thomas!”
At that moment, the three druids that would escort them to the glade each day arrived.
Kazrack immediately turned to them, “Where is it? Where is the evil pendant?”
“Knap! What you speak of?” Effner asked, with a smirk.
Martin forced himself to calm down, “It appears that a cursed magical pendant that Beorth showed to one of your order has gone missing in the night, as has my squirrel familiar.”
“That is unfortunate, but what does that have to do with us?” Drenthis replied.
“It stands to reason that only one of your order could have taken it!” Kazrack snapped.
“It appears to me that reason may not be one of your strong suits, son of Jocham,” Drenthis said. “Or is it common for the dwarven people to insult their hosts?”
Kazrack was fuming. Ratchis stepped behind him, and placed a hand on his shoulder.
“Is it not reasonable to speculate that there is some other explanation for this disappearance?” the dark elf continued. “There are an infinite number of things and reasons in this world that you will die never having known. Could this not be one of those things? Or perhaps if you applied this reason you spoke of you might figure out a way to discover the truth?”
“Since you seem to know so much about reason, perhaps you can make a suggestion that is reasonable,” Kazrack said, scathingly.
“You know the price for answers,’ Drenthis said, with a smile. Kazrack did not hesitate this time. He tore the fingernail from his pinky with his teeth, and again spit it at the druids.
“We already have one from you,” Drenthis said. “It is useless to us.”
A fire as bright as that in a forge burned in the dwarf’s eyes.
“I will pay the price,” Beorth said, stepping forward. He held an open hand towards Ratchis, who handed him his huge hunting knife. The paladin knelt down and placed his hand on a stone, without showing a bit of emotion he cut the tip of his pinky off at the first knuckle. He handed the bloody thing to the dark elf.
“That was not necessary, but… ” Drenthis said.
“But much appreciated, I’m sure, “ Beorth said flatly, as Jana ran over to deal with the blood gushing out from the paladin’s small finger.
Drenthis passed the pit of finger to Effner who instinctually brought it to his mouth.
“Effner!” Drenthis scolded.
“Knap! Yes! Yes! Me no eat!” the kobold said, and slipped the thing into a pouch on his belt.
“I hope that this sacrifice will give us a more complete answer,” Kazrack said.
Drenthis ignored him.
“There is a creature that has come here unasked, but that we have no power over,” he said.
“The ram,” Martin said.
“Would it be so unreasonable to think this creature that leads you wants your attention for some other reason than you have discovered?” the dark elf looked right at Beorth. “Could it not be that this squirrel was in league with this thing, or its master?”
“Are you saying that someone is controlling Thomas?” Martin asked.
“Is that another question?” the dark elf raised an eyebrow.
“No,” Martin replied.
“I can tell you that your little rodent servant did not go the way we just came from,” Drenthis offered.
Martin looked at the narrow path that led beyond the campsite. They had never traversed that way, but the night before he had thought he had seen the golden ram at the edge of his vision on that very path.
“I have to find Thomas,” Martin said, looking at the others.
“I will go with you, Martin,” Beorth said. “I have seen this ram before the rest of you, even in my dreams and I think even before we even ever reached Gothanius. I have some part to play in this.”
“I would go with you, but I have much preparing to do if I am ever to get done with this sickle,” Kazrack said.
In the end it was decided that Jeremy and Ratchis would go with Kazrack to help with the sickle, while Beorth, Martin and Jana would seek out Thomas, the ram and the pendant. The latter three were not really directly helping the dwarf with his task, so this would give them something to do for the day.
Kazrack, Jeremy and Ratchis were led to the Glade of Hennaire once again, while they left their three companions to seek out the answer to this mystery.
“I hope Thomas is all right,” Kazrack said as they walked. “Truth be told, until recently I liked Thomas better than Martin, but Martin is starting to come around.”
“I still like Thomas better,” Ratchis replied.
------------------------------------------------------------
Notes
(130) Both Kazrack and Beorth recognized these as not being the feet of a lizardfolk, as they both has seen a handful in the Port District during their time in Verdun.
(131) See Session #15
(132) Novilustani is the elven word for “dark elf”, meaning “Children of the New Moon”.
(133) Kazrack did not ever share the results of his throwing the stones with the other members of the party.
(134) See Session #26
MavrickWeirdo
First Post
Weaponsmithing
You do realize that Kazrack can make "a" sickle in about two days (acording to the craft rules in the PHB) but he can't make a Masterwork Sickle in a month.
Assuming he is level 6 and his weaponsmithing rank is 9. +2 dwarf bonus, +2 Int, +2 if he has Masterwork tools, +2 for each assistent who makes a Cooperation roll (int DC10). Then we have an effictive skill of 19. Average roll of 10.5 on a D20 gives you 29.5 * 20 = 590 sp/week or 59 gp/week average. Over 4 weeks thats 236 gp of work. Masterwork weapons require 300 gp of work. To do it in a month he needs to roll 18 or more every week. (Of course all of this means nothing if Nemerle "rule 0"s)
You do realize that Kazrack can make "a" sickle in about two days (acording to the craft rules in the PHB) but he can't make a Masterwork Sickle in a month.
Assuming he is level 6 and his weaponsmithing rank is 9. +2 dwarf bonus, +2 Int, +2 if he has Masterwork tools, +2 for each assistent who makes a Cooperation roll (int DC10). Then we have an effictive skill of 19. Average roll of 10.5 on a D20 gives you 29.5 * 20 = 590 sp/week or 59 gp/week average. Over 4 weeks thats 236 gp of work. Masterwork weapons require 300 gp of work. To do it in a month he needs to roll 18 or more every week. (Of course all of this means nothing if Nemerle "rule 0"s)
el-remmen
Moderator Emeritus
While I used the craft rules as listed - my rules for the cost of masterwork items is different - I base it on the item itself - so it could be +300 sp (remember, Aquerra has a silver standard) or could be less or could be more. . .
Aren't they all? I would say one out of every two and a half sessions has no combat at all - and even when there is combat the RPing never stops.
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