"Out of the Frying Pan"- Book IV - Into the Fire [STORY HOUR COMPLETED - 12/25/06]
- Thread starter el-remmen
- Start date
<staggers into the light>
I'm in...the present? How strange.
I've been reading your story hour for a while now and wanted to give you the obligatory thank you and keep it going post.
I love your critical hits table. I ran the idea past my players of using it but they got all quiet and just looked at each other and mumbled.
I'm in...the present? How strange.
I've been reading your story hour for a while now and wanted to give you the obligatory thank you and keep it going post.
I love your critical hits table. I ran the idea past my players of using it but they got all quiet and just looked at each other and mumbled.
el-remmen
Moderator Emeritus
meleeguy said:<staggers into the light>
I'm in...the present? How strange.
I've been reading your story hour for a while now and wanted to give you the obligatory thank you and keep it going post.
I love your critical hits table. I ran the idea past my players of using it but they got all quiet and just looked at each other and mumbled.
Wow.
You labored through all of that stuff just to catch up to the "present" (really about a year and a half ago), and as your reward you gte to wait weeks between installments!
Hooray!
Feel free to drop a bump to bug me, and thanks a lot for joining in. . .Now that you have read this far, any particular favorite parts or characters?
Oh, and don't let your players wimp out - tell them about the one hit decapitation of the vampire in the Necropolis of Doom and they'll be wanting to do it too!
el-remmen said:
That's a big question, considering the volumes you've written.
The dwarven citadel incursion really made me feel like I was 'there', deep in a place drenched with history. That it was there before I came, and will be there when I've left.
That is the single best feeling I can get from a game or story.
I can't wait 'til they go back - and perhaps mess around with ancient dwarven weapon installations? heh
So, in terms of around the table reactions, when do you know you've become a RBDM? My mother told me it was good to have goals.
![:]](http://www.enworld.org/forum/images/smilies/devious.png "Devious :]")
el-remmen
Moderator Emeritus
meleeguy said:So, in terms of around the table reactions, when do you know you've become a RBDM? My mother told me it was good to have goals.
Typically, when a player or player has made what they think is the best course of action, but when the consequences are revealed they turn to you and scowl, declaring "You bastard!"
el-remmen
Moderator Emeritus
Session #69 (part i)
Martin navigated the narrow streets on the “shade side” of the central tier (1), following Sherinian’s directions to Daphne’s house.
He found the small white cottage, as he came around a corner, nearly bumping into a pale gaunt young man, dressed in gray and wearing spectacles. Daphne was on her hands and knees in the garden out front, scooping out holes with a spade. Her woolen black hair was tied back with a kerchief, and her ample hips bsulged against a white apron.
“Miss Daphne?”
She looked up, dirt staining her chubby cheeks. She stood, pushing a set of black spectacles up to her big blue eyes. She had a soft prettiness.
“I am Martin the Green, watch-mage of the Academy of Wizardry,” Martin announced, puffing himself up a little. “I was informed I might make an appointment to speak with Lydia the Holy with you?”
“Oh, Mister the Green. I had heard of your arrival,” she put out a dirty gloved hand and then yanked it back embarrassedly and pulled it off and then offered it again more demurely.
Martin shook it.
“Well, my mistress is very busy for the next few days,” Daphne said. “Why don’t you come inside and let me clean up and we can figure something out.”
Martin the Green followed the young woman into the cluttered main room of the cottage. There were several potted plants on a table, otherwise covered in papers, and every free space of wall was covered in shelves holding myriad ceramic curios.
Daphne ducked into a room, and emerged a moment later wearing a simple white dress and sandals.
“Tea?”
“Yes, thank you,” Martin smiled.
Daphne fussed in the tiny adjoining kitchen, commenting on the weather and asking about the condition of the roads from the east.
“Umm, when do you think Lady Lydia will be available?” Martin asked, as he took a cup and saucer from the smiling maid. She placed a plate of cookies on the table in front of him.
“Well, she is very busy, but honestly I cannot answer that question until I look at her calendar, which is back in the Council Hall. I plan to go by there first thing tomorrow to get some things before my daily meeting with my mistress. I will be certain to speak to about it then, but… can you tell me what it is in regards to?”
Martin paused.
“Well, I would rather not divulge the details to any but her, but sufficed to her that the fate of Derome-Delem hangs in the balance.”
Daphne’s eyes opened wide and she dropped her tea. “Really?”
“Yes.”
“How imminent is the danger?” Daphne stood.
“Well… uh, um… we can’t really say exactly when it will happen if it does,” Martin began.
“So it may not happen?”
“That is what my companions and I are trying to prevent.”
Daphne wiped up the tea and the pieces of the broken cup and then collected Martin’s. She appeared a lot calmer.
“I will be certain to try to convey the gravity of the situation,” Daphne said. “Perhaps, tomorrow… No, let’s say the day after why don’t you return and I am sure I will have an appointment with Lady Lydia then.
“Why don’t we make it lunch at the inn,” Martin suggested. “It will be my treat and we can talk more at length. I am staying at the Inn of Friendly Flame.”
Daphne agreed with a broad smile.
“There was one other thing,” Martin added as he was shown to the door. “I was hoping Lydia, or perhaps you might… uh, be able to recommend me someone to help me in my arcane studies. I would think that a priestess of Isis would know someone, uh… appropriate.”
“Um, yes… I am sure my mistress can help you with that,” Daphne said. “I will make sure to mention to her as well. I can think of one or two people that might be appropriate, though of course that would be up to Lady Lydia.”
Martin the Green left the small cottage to return to the upper tier and the inn, in order to prepare for dinner at Mercy’s, as the afternoon was growing long.
As he turned to the right out on the street, he did a double-take as he noticed the morose young man in the spectacles again. The young man turned away quickly from where he was standing across from Daphne’s house and hastily walked in the other direction.
“How odd,” Martin said aloud.
----------------------------------------------
Martin the Green found his companions at the Inn of the Friendly Flame preparing for dinner as well. He related to them much of what he had learned in his day about town, and speculated aloud as to the political landscape of the town.
“There are two mages on Ruling Council,” Martin explained. “One is a priestess of Isis, and the other is a necromancer.”
“Is he a known…?” Kazrack began to ask.
“No, he is too tall to be a gnome,” Martin replied.
“I meant, is he a known necromancer,” Kazrack frowned.
“Haw! Haw!” Gunthar came strutting into the suite. “You get yer jaw fixed and people still can’t understand you.”
“Where have you been all day?” Ratchis asked Gunthar.
“Exploring this sh*te-covered excuse of a burg,” Gunthar replied. “Now what’s for dinner?”
“We are going over to the house of my former mentors,” Ratchis explained. “To talk with their daughter, Mercy and priest of Bast that may be joining us. I have already told them all of what has happened to us, and what might happen still if Mozek is not stopped.”
“A Bastite? You can never trust a Bastite!” Gunthar protested.
“I might have handled it differently, myself,” Martin said. “But what is done, is done. Let us go meet him.”
-------------------------------
Several hours later found them sitting around Mercy’s house, drinking after a huge dinner of game hens stuffed with bacon, baked apples, and huge pieces of rye bread with slabs of cheese and butter. Gunthar was very drunk and alternately dozed on the over-stuffed chair and awoke to mumble curses and eye Mercy lasciviously.
“How did you get stuck with him anyway?” Roland asked. He had reiterated his promise over dinner, and had even given Ratchis some silver to go towards the party’s needs while in town.
“I forget,” Kazrack replied. Roland smiled broadly, and his apple cheeks flushed even more red. He took a deep sip of his wine. The dwarf made note of how much the Bastite had had to drink already.
“You know, I don’t think we need a little priss like this ponce with us,” Gunthar stood and turned to face Roland, and swayed. “It’s a rough world out there, girly. I think you might muss your hair or smear your face powder if you try to take on the kind of things heroes like us have to deal with all the friggin’ time.”
“Oh Gunthar, you’re awake!” Roland said, not bothering to hide insincerity. “I am sure a hero like you would be more than enough to keep me well-protected.”
“I don’t think I want you getting that close to me,” Gunthar said, and he sat back down. “Let’s talk about the magic items.”
“What about them?” Ratchis asked.
“I want my share. What have we got? This is party business right? Then let’s get it done so we can get back to the inn and get to the real drinking.” Gunthar stood again, and walked over to the table, which Ratchis had helped Mercy clear. He grabbed the nearly empty bottle of wine and drained the last bit of it right into his mouth. Red wine spilled over his chin and through his blonde scruff and down his neck. He looked at Mercy and pointed to it. “Hey! Wanna lick that?”
“Gunthar!” Ratchis stomped over to him, and Kazrack stood up, but Mercy stepped between the towering half-orc and the foul-mouthed warrior, and pushed the latter hard towards the door.
“Why don’t you just go now?” Mercy said to him calmly, but Martin noticed her tensing a fist.
Roland just looked away with a smile, and then looked back straight-faced. “It seems like you have offended the lady,” he said to Gunthar.
“I don’t care how you feel, bloody poofter!” Gunthar counter, and then he turned back to Mercy. “You must be a powerhouse in the sack.”
She pushed him again, and Ratchis opened the door.
“I’ll see ya at the inn,” Gunthar said to his companions from the doorway. “And I want my fair share of the magic stuff and gems, but I’m sure I have nothing to worry about, you are the filthy virtuous ones.”
And with that he left.
“He truly is a test for you from Nephthys,” Mercy said to Ratchis, letting her anger subside and smiling and slapping him good-naturedly on his broad chest. “I am glad I was not armed, for I might have smashed my mace into his face.”
“Whenever I feel like my anger is going to explode at him I remind myself that he was probably not loved enough as a child,” Ratchis replied.
“Oh, Ratchis! You are so big-hearted,” she lay her hand softly on his chest this time, as if to touch that heart. “Mother and father were right about you.”
“As crass as he is, he does have a point,” Kazrack said, sitting down across from Roland. “You have agreed to come with us, but we have not all agreed to let you do the coming. What skills do you bring to our party?”
Roland smiled even wider and then playfully mimicked the stern expression of the dour dwarf. “There is much my goddess has endowed me with in way of her miracles, and to adopt the exalted form.”
“The what?” the dwarf asked.
“I can transform into a panther,” Roland said, matter-of-factly.
Kazrack scoffed.
“I have heard of such things,” Ratchis said.
“As have I,” said Martin.
“I can demonstrate,” Roland offered.
“No, better to not squander the power your goddess gives you just to satiate our interest,” Kazrack said.
“It would not be squandering. Sometimes I think I prefer that form. Oh, I can also turn into a house cat, which is very useful for sneaking about… uh, I mean, you do, you know, sneak around some, right?”
“Ratchis does the sneaking,” Kazrack replied. “But we will take you at your word.”
The conversation meandered on for a time. It was agreed that the party would use some of their funds to purchase pearls for use in identifying their magical items, and that Roland would do what he could to discover as much as possible about the Ruling Council, and Mylor the Mystical in particular. Martin mentioned the warning posted in the Council Hall about the undead in the Garden of Stones, and they party decided they would look into it the following night.
“Where there is undead there is a necromancer, and since we already have a necromancer, all we need to do is connect the dots,” Roland reasoned.
Mercy begged off returning to the inn with the others, but Roland said he’d meet them there. He just needed to go by the temple of Bast where he was staying and change into something more suiting an evening in a tavern, than a private dinner.
-------------------------------------------
Roland paused in the foyer of the temple of Bast to stroke a lynx that was luxuriating in the moonlight through a glass pane. He was washed and changed and dripping perfume, and on his way over to the Inn of Friendly Flame to meet up with his new companions.
“Oh, he came back,” a song-like woman’s alto said from behind him.
“Oh, hello Norena,” Roland stood and turned, bowing slightly to his fellow priest. (2)
“When we first decided to establish this temple I took his presence as a sign from Bast that this was the proper place,” she said, kneeling to stroke the wild cat herself. It purred. “He does not come back every year, and when he does it is only for a few days, and never in winter.” (3)
She stood again.
Norena was tall, taller than Roland, and her svelte frame was much more comely on her than it was on him. She had sharply defined features, and narrow green eyes outlined in black pencil, which contrasted with her long curly red locks. She wore a simple low-cut maroon dress, and amber cat’s eye encased in gold on a fine chain just long enough to make the medallion draw more attention to the cut of the dress.
“I was coming to find you, Roland,” Norena’s broad smile implied laughter, and her eyes twinkled. “I am going to the dinky little inn that serves as high society around here to meet up with my new companions. I fear I will be leaving Nikar for a time very soon.”
Roland put his arm out and Norena took it and he began to lead her out of the temple.
“Now isn’t that strange? I was going to do the same to you,” Roland laughed. “I have found some new companions as well, but in my case we will not be leaving for a while. Whom have you joined up with and to what end?”
“You first.”
Roland’s smile widened even more and he took a deep breath. “They are friends of Mercy of Nephthys, you know Mercy?”
Norena nodded.
“Ratchis is a half-orc, but he is a friar as well, and he has watch-mage and a rune-thrower with him, and some cheap warrior muscle following them around,” Roland explained. “They are hear to do some training and gather information for a little pickle going on up in the Little Kingdoms.”
“The Little Kingdoms, hmmm? Was there not word of a dragon in those parts?”
”So they say,” Roland’s eyes narrowed. “You were going to tell me about who you leaving with.”
“Oh friends of a friend,” Norena said nonchalantly. “One of the infamous Brothers Greyish and a Librarian of Thoth. We’re taking the road out to Cutter Jack’s to help him find some thing.”
“What thing?”
“I don’t know,” Norena giggled. “I never pay too much attention to details.”
And with that she burst through the swinging doors of the Inn of Friendly Flame.
The place was alive with sound, sight and smell. The wood paneled walls and ceiling glowed an orange brown from the tiny colored lanterns at each table and above the hearth. One large bronze lantern hung in the center of the common room. It was carved with flying human figures wreathed in fire. A halfling was playing a hurdy-gurdy in a corner leading a group of happily drunken dwarven singers in a funeral song. Groups of friends and couples ate and drank and talked, while Huggert and his two half-dwarven barmaids hurried back and forth serving and delivering.
“Norena!” someone cried, and she hurried in to exchange insincere kisses. Roland surveyed the room and saw Ratchis’ imposing form at a long bench with Martin beside him. They had their backs to the door. The bastite joined them, taking a seat beside Gunthar. Kazrack and Dorn were squeezed in at the end of the bench.
“Drink up, Schnuffles!” Gunthar slurred, gesturing with a full shot glass to the two dozen shot glasses lined up in rows on the table before them; each of them brimming with dwarf spirits.
“Snuffles?” Roland asked, reaching for one of the shots as he grabbed Huggert’s attention to bring wine to the table.
“Because of his pig snout,” Kazrack explained, and took a shot.
“I do not have a pig snout,” Ratchis said matter-of-factly, glaring at Gunthar, and then taking a shot. “I have big nostrils.”
Gunthar was leaning over to his right, with his head lolling on his arms, but sat up suddenlt letting out a laugh and a stream of spit and liquor on Roland. “I’m starting to think you’re getting a friggin’ sense of humor, Snuffles,” Gunthar coughed out. He noticed Roland glaring at him as he frantically wiped at his velvet jacket with a napkin. “What the in the Nine Hells are you lookin’ at, prissy?”
“A drunken lout,” Roland replied.
Gunthar burped and let his head slide back to the table again.
“Good come back,” Roland added, snidely.
Gunthar sat up again, straightened himself up and took another shot. He had noticed Norena approaching the table.
“Oh, Roland these must be the companions you told me about,” She said, looking at each of them in the eye. Her gaze stopped on Gunthar, who flashed her a mischievous smile. “Oh, who do we have here?”
“Hey, come over here and sit on my lap,” Gunthar offered.
“Oh, okay,” Norena said, pushing her hair from her face and going around Roland, but letting a hand trace the back of his neck. She plopped down on Gunthar’s lap with an exaggerated wiggle to get comfortable.
Kazrack coughed on a shot of spirits, blushing at the behavior.
Roland introduced each of his new companions to Norena of Bast, as she absently played with Gunthar’s long blonde hair.
“What happened to your ear?” She asked, grimacing.
“An orc even uglier than Ratchis,” Gunthar replied with a wink.
“Oh, he must have been really ugly!” Norena said, throwing a playful wink to Ratchis. “And for what it’s worth, I believed your side of the story all along, you know, when that unfortunate thing happened.”
“Thank you,” Ratchis replied.
“Of course, few other people in this town are as open-minded as I am,” she flashed her eyelashes.
“What unfortunate incident?” asked Kazrack.
“The guard mentioned it when we arrived,” Ratchis said. (4) He took another shot. Martin took his first and coughed, causing Gunthar to laugh at him. One of the barmaids arrived with a flagon of wine and several tin cups.
“Oh.”
“And, Martin the Green! Alumnus of the Academy!” Norena said, allowing Gunthar to pour her some wine. “You know, one of my old adventuring companions is a watch-mage. Perhaps you have met her? Alexandra the Lavender?”
Martin nodded. “Yes, I met her on my way to Gothanius.” (5)
There was an explosion of laughter at the far end of the bar on the right side of the common room. There, a group of people, mostly women, was gathered around a figure at the corner of the bar. It was slight man in a billowy sailcloth shirt, and a feathered hat on the bar. He had long slicked-back bluish-gray hair, sharp powdered features, bright white teeth and the slightest point to his thin ears.
He was intriguingly handsome, and his obvious half-elven heritage lent him and air of mischievousness in his smile.
He looked over at Norena, who stood up and he did the same. “Norena, my dear!”
The man came over to the table gracefully. He carried a slender blade at his waist.
“This is Razzle Greyish, one of the infamous Brothers Greyish of Ettinos,” Norena introduced him.
“And renown throughout Aquerra as the finest swordsmen to draw breath,” Razzle added with a bow and a flourish. “I, of course, am the finest even among my brothers, though I am but the youngest.”
“Razzle is one of my companions coming with me,” Norena said.
“And where is it you are going?” Martin asked, standing and introducing himself.
“Oh, one can never share one’s secrets, can one?” Razzle replied.
“Well, I did not mean to pry, but as a watch-mage I thought I might be able to add something to your lore or quest,” Martin said. “Is it not the watch-mages that people come to when they need someone they can trust?”
“Ah, but the same is said of the Brothers Greyish, and are you about to divulge your own secrets?”
“Touché.”
“Ha, ya might as well tell him all the secrets, Ratchis tells them to every bloody poofter that comes around anyway,” Gunthar stood, annoyed and still drunk. Norena was holding Razzle close, with a hand around his slender waste and the other stroking his chest. “I’m going to the Gnomish Quarter where they really know how to throw a party.”
He stumbled out cursing.
“And when is it that you leave, Norena?” Roland asked, pouring himself more wine,
“In perhaps a week’s time,” she replied.
“No need to rush it, I have just arrived and have not yet gotten a chance to see what the town has to offer in the ways of wine and women!” Razzle added, and with that he dipped Norena to his left and planted a big kiss on her lips. She came back up laughing and the bard by the hearth struck up an upbeat tune, joined by drummers and a horn-player that had just arrived. Many couples leapt to their feet and tables were pushed aside, as drunken dancing and singing bloomed.
Several hours later, Martin the Green found himself staggering down the narrow rear hall to the common room, returning from outhouse. While he had not kept up with Kazrack and Ratchis, he thought he could at least keep up with Roland, and found that he failed. Suddenly, Norena was right in front of him.
“Ooh, Martin, but are you looking out of sorts,’ She cooed.
“I think I will be getting some water and going to bed,” Martin slurred.
“Is that an invitation?” Norena leaned in close to Martin, and looked at him, her full lips shining in the torchlight.
“Um, well… uh…”
She laid a big open mouth kiss on him, and sputtered and gasped.
“I… uh…” He felt a strange tingling, as if his mind were becoming more foggy than even all the wine and dwarven spirits hasd made it, and then he shook it off.
“Oh, you’re as green as the come,” Norena laughed. “I guess I know why your classmates dubbed you as they did.” (6)
She winked and then slipped past him, heading towards the outhouses.
Martin wiped his mouth with the back of his hand and continued on into the smoky and still loud common room. Dorn helped him to bed, while Kazrack and Ratchis left to go to the Temple of the Grandfathers and the Mercy’s house respectively. Roland had disappeared much earlier in the night, amid the dancing, with nary a ‘good night’.
---------------------------------------------------
Notes:
(1) The north and south sides of the cliff tiers of Nikar are referred to as “shade side” and “sun side”, respectively, because of the way the shadow of the cliff above falls at certain times of the day, the north sides tend to be more shaded.
(2) Hierarchy in the Church of Bast is not steadfast. Priests who found temples can establish any kind of internal organization and hierarchy they like. While usually it is established in terms of who gains the most favor from Bast (i.e. levels), this is not always the case and a Bastite visitor only has the title of ‘guest priest’, wherever that might fall in the established organization.
(3) Temples of Bast are home to many kinds of cats and other felines. Even otherwise wild or dangerous animals like lions and leopards will spend time around them, leaving alone priests and visitors alike, as long as they are unmolested.
(4) See Session #67
(5) The rest of the party met Alexandra the Lavender in Session #7
(6) Graduates of the Academy are granted their color by their fellow students of the same graduating year (with approval of the Faculty).
Martin navigated the narrow streets on the “shade side” of the central tier (1), following Sherinian’s directions to Daphne’s house.
He found the small white cottage, as he came around a corner, nearly bumping into a pale gaunt young man, dressed in gray and wearing spectacles. Daphne was on her hands and knees in the garden out front, scooping out holes with a spade. Her woolen black hair was tied back with a kerchief, and her ample hips bsulged against a white apron.
“Miss Daphne?”
She looked up, dirt staining her chubby cheeks. She stood, pushing a set of black spectacles up to her big blue eyes. She had a soft prettiness.
“I am Martin the Green, watch-mage of the Academy of Wizardry,” Martin announced, puffing himself up a little. “I was informed I might make an appointment to speak with Lydia the Holy with you?”
“Oh, Mister the Green. I had heard of your arrival,” she put out a dirty gloved hand and then yanked it back embarrassedly and pulled it off and then offered it again more demurely.
Martin shook it.
“Well, my mistress is very busy for the next few days,” Daphne said. “Why don’t you come inside and let me clean up and we can figure something out.”
Martin the Green followed the young woman into the cluttered main room of the cottage. There were several potted plants on a table, otherwise covered in papers, and every free space of wall was covered in shelves holding myriad ceramic curios.
Daphne ducked into a room, and emerged a moment later wearing a simple white dress and sandals.
“Tea?”
“Yes, thank you,” Martin smiled.
Daphne fussed in the tiny adjoining kitchen, commenting on the weather and asking about the condition of the roads from the east.
“Umm, when do you think Lady Lydia will be available?” Martin asked, as he took a cup and saucer from the smiling maid. She placed a plate of cookies on the table in front of him.
“Well, she is very busy, but honestly I cannot answer that question until I look at her calendar, which is back in the Council Hall. I plan to go by there first thing tomorrow to get some things before my daily meeting with my mistress. I will be certain to speak to about it then, but… can you tell me what it is in regards to?”
Martin paused.
“Well, I would rather not divulge the details to any but her, but sufficed to her that the fate of Derome-Delem hangs in the balance.”
Daphne’s eyes opened wide and she dropped her tea. “Really?”
“Yes.”
“How imminent is the danger?” Daphne stood.
“Well… uh, um… we can’t really say exactly when it will happen if it does,” Martin began.
“So it may not happen?”
“That is what my companions and I are trying to prevent.”
Daphne wiped up the tea and the pieces of the broken cup and then collected Martin’s. She appeared a lot calmer.
“I will be certain to try to convey the gravity of the situation,” Daphne said. “Perhaps, tomorrow… No, let’s say the day after why don’t you return and I am sure I will have an appointment with Lady Lydia then.
“Why don’t we make it lunch at the inn,” Martin suggested. “It will be my treat and we can talk more at length. I am staying at the Inn of Friendly Flame.”
Daphne agreed with a broad smile.
“There was one other thing,” Martin added as he was shown to the door. “I was hoping Lydia, or perhaps you might… uh, be able to recommend me someone to help me in my arcane studies. I would think that a priestess of Isis would know someone, uh… appropriate.”
“Um, yes… I am sure my mistress can help you with that,” Daphne said. “I will make sure to mention to her as well. I can think of one or two people that might be appropriate, though of course that would be up to Lady Lydia.”
Martin the Green left the small cottage to return to the upper tier and the inn, in order to prepare for dinner at Mercy’s, as the afternoon was growing long.
As he turned to the right out on the street, he did a double-take as he noticed the morose young man in the spectacles again. The young man turned away quickly from where he was standing across from Daphne’s house and hastily walked in the other direction.
“How odd,” Martin said aloud.
----------------------------------------------
Martin the Green found his companions at the Inn of the Friendly Flame preparing for dinner as well. He related to them much of what he had learned in his day about town, and speculated aloud as to the political landscape of the town.
“There are two mages on Ruling Council,” Martin explained. “One is a priestess of Isis, and the other is a necromancer.”
“Is he a known…?” Kazrack began to ask.
“No, he is too tall to be a gnome,” Martin replied.
“I meant, is he a known necromancer,” Kazrack frowned.
“Haw! Haw!” Gunthar came strutting into the suite. “You get yer jaw fixed and people still can’t understand you.”
“Where have you been all day?” Ratchis asked Gunthar.
“Exploring this sh*te-covered excuse of a burg,” Gunthar replied. “Now what’s for dinner?”
“We are going over to the house of my former mentors,” Ratchis explained. “To talk with their daughter, Mercy and priest of Bast that may be joining us. I have already told them all of what has happened to us, and what might happen still if Mozek is not stopped.”
“A Bastite? You can never trust a Bastite!” Gunthar protested.
“I might have handled it differently, myself,” Martin said. “But what is done, is done. Let us go meet him.”
-------------------------------
Several hours later found them sitting around Mercy’s house, drinking after a huge dinner of game hens stuffed with bacon, baked apples, and huge pieces of rye bread with slabs of cheese and butter. Gunthar was very drunk and alternately dozed on the over-stuffed chair and awoke to mumble curses and eye Mercy lasciviously.
“How did you get stuck with him anyway?” Roland asked. He had reiterated his promise over dinner, and had even given Ratchis some silver to go towards the party’s needs while in town.
“I forget,” Kazrack replied. Roland smiled broadly, and his apple cheeks flushed even more red. He took a deep sip of his wine. The dwarf made note of how much the Bastite had had to drink already.
“You know, I don’t think we need a little priss like this ponce with us,” Gunthar stood and turned to face Roland, and swayed. “It’s a rough world out there, girly. I think you might muss your hair or smear your face powder if you try to take on the kind of things heroes like us have to deal with all the friggin’ time.”
“Oh Gunthar, you’re awake!” Roland said, not bothering to hide insincerity. “I am sure a hero like you would be more than enough to keep me well-protected.”
“I don’t think I want you getting that close to me,” Gunthar said, and he sat back down. “Let’s talk about the magic items.”
“What about them?” Ratchis asked.
“I want my share. What have we got? This is party business right? Then let’s get it done so we can get back to the inn and get to the real drinking.” Gunthar stood again, and walked over to the table, which Ratchis had helped Mercy clear. He grabbed the nearly empty bottle of wine and drained the last bit of it right into his mouth. Red wine spilled over his chin and through his blonde scruff and down his neck. He looked at Mercy and pointed to it. “Hey! Wanna lick that?”
“Gunthar!” Ratchis stomped over to him, and Kazrack stood up, but Mercy stepped between the towering half-orc and the foul-mouthed warrior, and pushed the latter hard towards the door.
“Why don’t you just go now?” Mercy said to him calmly, but Martin noticed her tensing a fist.
Roland just looked away with a smile, and then looked back straight-faced. “It seems like you have offended the lady,” he said to Gunthar.
“I don’t care how you feel, bloody poofter!” Gunthar counter, and then he turned back to Mercy. “You must be a powerhouse in the sack.”
She pushed him again, and Ratchis opened the door.
“I’ll see ya at the inn,” Gunthar said to his companions from the doorway. “And I want my fair share of the magic stuff and gems, but I’m sure I have nothing to worry about, you are the filthy virtuous ones.”
And with that he left.
“He truly is a test for you from Nephthys,” Mercy said to Ratchis, letting her anger subside and smiling and slapping him good-naturedly on his broad chest. “I am glad I was not armed, for I might have smashed my mace into his face.”
“Whenever I feel like my anger is going to explode at him I remind myself that he was probably not loved enough as a child,” Ratchis replied.
“Oh, Ratchis! You are so big-hearted,” she lay her hand softly on his chest this time, as if to touch that heart. “Mother and father were right about you.”
“As crass as he is, he does have a point,” Kazrack said, sitting down across from Roland. “You have agreed to come with us, but we have not all agreed to let you do the coming. What skills do you bring to our party?”
Roland smiled even wider and then playfully mimicked the stern expression of the dour dwarf. “There is much my goddess has endowed me with in way of her miracles, and to adopt the exalted form.”
“The what?” the dwarf asked.
“I can transform into a panther,” Roland said, matter-of-factly.
Kazrack scoffed.
“I have heard of such things,” Ratchis said.
“As have I,” said Martin.
“I can demonstrate,” Roland offered.
“No, better to not squander the power your goddess gives you just to satiate our interest,” Kazrack said.
“It would not be squandering. Sometimes I think I prefer that form. Oh, I can also turn into a house cat, which is very useful for sneaking about… uh, I mean, you do, you know, sneak around some, right?”
“Ratchis does the sneaking,” Kazrack replied. “But we will take you at your word.”
The conversation meandered on for a time. It was agreed that the party would use some of their funds to purchase pearls for use in identifying their magical items, and that Roland would do what he could to discover as much as possible about the Ruling Council, and Mylor the Mystical in particular. Martin mentioned the warning posted in the Council Hall about the undead in the Garden of Stones, and they party decided they would look into it the following night.
“Where there is undead there is a necromancer, and since we already have a necromancer, all we need to do is connect the dots,” Roland reasoned.
Mercy begged off returning to the inn with the others, but Roland said he’d meet them there. He just needed to go by the temple of Bast where he was staying and change into something more suiting an evening in a tavern, than a private dinner.
-------------------------------------------
Roland paused in the foyer of the temple of Bast to stroke a lynx that was luxuriating in the moonlight through a glass pane. He was washed and changed and dripping perfume, and on his way over to the Inn of Friendly Flame to meet up with his new companions.
“Oh, he came back,” a song-like woman’s alto said from behind him.
“Oh, hello Norena,” Roland stood and turned, bowing slightly to his fellow priest. (2)
“When we first decided to establish this temple I took his presence as a sign from Bast that this was the proper place,” she said, kneeling to stroke the wild cat herself. It purred. “He does not come back every year, and when he does it is only for a few days, and never in winter.” (3)
She stood again.
Norena was tall, taller than Roland, and her svelte frame was much more comely on her than it was on him. She had sharply defined features, and narrow green eyes outlined in black pencil, which contrasted with her long curly red locks. She wore a simple low-cut maroon dress, and amber cat’s eye encased in gold on a fine chain just long enough to make the medallion draw more attention to the cut of the dress.
“I was coming to find you, Roland,” Norena’s broad smile implied laughter, and her eyes twinkled. “I am going to the dinky little inn that serves as high society around here to meet up with my new companions. I fear I will be leaving Nikar for a time very soon.”
Roland put his arm out and Norena took it and he began to lead her out of the temple.
“Now isn’t that strange? I was going to do the same to you,” Roland laughed. “I have found some new companions as well, but in my case we will not be leaving for a while. Whom have you joined up with and to what end?”
“You first.”
Roland’s smile widened even more and he took a deep breath. “They are friends of Mercy of Nephthys, you know Mercy?”
Norena nodded.
“Ratchis is a half-orc, but he is a friar as well, and he has watch-mage and a rune-thrower with him, and some cheap warrior muscle following them around,” Roland explained. “They are hear to do some training and gather information for a little pickle going on up in the Little Kingdoms.”
“The Little Kingdoms, hmmm? Was there not word of a dragon in those parts?”
”So they say,” Roland’s eyes narrowed. “You were going to tell me about who you leaving with.”
“Oh friends of a friend,” Norena said nonchalantly. “One of the infamous Brothers Greyish and a Librarian of Thoth. We’re taking the road out to Cutter Jack’s to help him find some thing.”
“What thing?”
“I don’t know,” Norena giggled. “I never pay too much attention to details.”
And with that she burst through the swinging doors of the Inn of Friendly Flame.
The place was alive with sound, sight and smell. The wood paneled walls and ceiling glowed an orange brown from the tiny colored lanterns at each table and above the hearth. One large bronze lantern hung in the center of the common room. It was carved with flying human figures wreathed in fire. A halfling was playing a hurdy-gurdy in a corner leading a group of happily drunken dwarven singers in a funeral song. Groups of friends and couples ate and drank and talked, while Huggert and his two half-dwarven barmaids hurried back and forth serving and delivering.
“Norena!” someone cried, and she hurried in to exchange insincere kisses. Roland surveyed the room and saw Ratchis’ imposing form at a long bench with Martin beside him. They had their backs to the door. The bastite joined them, taking a seat beside Gunthar. Kazrack and Dorn were squeezed in at the end of the bench.
“Drink up, Schnuffles!” Gunthar slurred, gesturing with a full shot glass to the two dozen shot glasses lined up in rows on the table before them; each of them brimming with dwarf spirits.
“Snuffles?” Roland asked, reaching for one of the shots as he grabbed Huggert’s attention to bring wine to the table.
“Because of his pig snout,” Kazrack explained, and took a shot.
“I do not have a pig snout,” Ratchis said matter-of-factly, glaring at Gunthar, and then taking a shot. “I have big nostrils.”
Gunthar was leaning over to his right, with his head lolling on his arms, but sat up suddenlt letting out a laugh and a stream of spit and liquor on Roland. “I’m starting to think you’re getting a friggin’ sense of humor, Snuffles,” Gunthar coughed out. He noticed Roland glaring at him as he frantically wiped at his velvet jacket with a napkin. “What the in the Nine Hells are you lookin’ at, prissy?”
“A drunken lout,” Roland replied.
Gunthar burped and let his head slide back to the table again.
“Good come back,” Roland added, snidely.
Gunthar sat up again, straightened himself up and took another shot. He had noticed Norena approaching the table.
“Oh, Roland these must be the companions you told me about,” She said, looking at each of them in the eye. Her gaze stopped on Gunthar, who flashed her a mischievous smile. “Oh, who do we have here?”
“Hey, come over here and sit on my lap,” Gunthar offered.
“Oh, okay,” Norena said, pushing her hair from her face and going around Roland, but letting a hand trace the back of his neck. She plopped down on Gunthar’s lap with an exaggerated wiggle to get comfortable.
Kazrack coughed on a shot of spirits, blushing at the behavior.
Roland introduced each of his new companions to Norena of Bast, as she absently played with Gunthar’s long blonde hair.
“What happened to your ear?” She asked, grimacing.
“An orc even uglier than Ratchis,” Gunthar replied with a wink.
“Oh, he must have been really ugly!” Norena said, throwing a playful wink to Ratchis. “And for what it’s worth, I believed your side of the story all along, you know, when that unfortunate thing happened.”
“Thank you,” Ratchis replied.
“Of course, few other people in this town are as open-minded as I am,” she flashed her eyelashes.
“What unfortunate incident?” asked Kazrack.
“The guard mentioned it when we arrived,” Ratchis said. (4) He took another shot. Martin took his first and coughed, causing Gunthar to laugh at him. One of the barmaids arrived with a flagon of wine and several tin cups.
“Oh.”
“And, Martin the Green! Alumnus of the Academy!” Norena said, allowing Gunthar to pour her some wine. “You know, one of my old adventuring companions is a watch-mage. Perhaps you have met her? Alexandra the Lavender?”
Martin nodded. “Yes, I met her on my way to Gothanius.” (5)
There was an explosion of laughter at the far end of the bar on the right side of the common room. There, a group of people, mostly women, was gathered around a figure at the corner of the bar. It was slight man in a billowy sailcloth shirt, and a feathered hat on the bar. He had long slicked-back bluish-gray hair, sharp powdered features, bright white teeth and the slightest point to his thin ears.
He was intriguingly handsome, and his obvious half-elven heritage lent him and air of mischievousness in his smile.
He looked over at Norena, who stood up and he did the same. “Norena, my dear!”
The man came over to the table gracefully. He carried a slender blade at his waist.
“This is Razzle Greyish, one of the infamous Brothers Greyish of Ettinos,” Norena introduced him.
“And renown throughout Aquerra as the finest swordsmen to draw breath,” Razzle added with a bow and a flourish. “I, of course, am the finest even among my brothers, though I am but the youngest.”
“Razzle is one of my companions coming with me,” Norena said.
“And where is it you are going?” Martin asked, standing and introducing himself.
“Oh, one can never share one’s secrets, can one?” Razzle replied.
“Well, I did not mean to pry, but as a watch-mage I thought I might be able to add something to your lore or quest,” Martin said. “Is it not the watch-mages that people come to when they need someone they can trust?”
“Ah, but the same is said of the Brothers Greyish, and are you about to divulge your own secrets?”
“Touché.”
“Ha, ya might as well tell him all the secrets, Ratchis tells them to every bloody poofter that comes around anyway,” Gunthar stood, annoyed and still drunk. Norena was holding Razzle close, with a hand around his slender waste and the other stroking his chest. “I’m going to the Gnomish Quarter where they really know how to throw a party.”
He stumbled out cursing.
“And when is it that you leave, Norena?” Roland asked, pouring himself more wine,
“In perhaps a week’s time,” she replied.
“No need to rush it, I have just arrived and have not yet gotten a chance to see what the town has to offer in the ways of wine and women!” Razzle added, and with that he dipped Norena to his left and planted a big kiss on her lips. She came back up laughing and the bard by the hearth struck up an upbeat tune, joined by drummers and a horn-player that had just arrived. Many couples leapt to their feet and tables were pushed aside, as drunken dancing and singing bloomed.
Several hours later, Martin the Green found himself staggering down the narrow rear hall to the common room, returning from outhouse. While he had not kept up with Kazrack and Ratchis, he thought he could at least keep up with Roland, and found that he failed. Suddenly, Norena was right in front of him.
“Ooh, Martin, but are you looking out of sorts,’ She cooed.
“I think I will be getting some water and going to bed,” Martin slurred.
“Is that an invitation?” Norena leaned in close to Martin, and looked at him, her full lips shining in the torchlight.
“Um, well… uh…”
She laid a big open mouth kiss on him, and sputtered and gasped.
“I… uh…” He felt a strange tingling, as if his mind were becoming more foggy than even all the wine and dwarven spirits hasd made it, and then he shook it off.
“Oh, you’re as green as the come,” Norena laughed. “I guess I know why your classmates dubbed you as they did.” (6)
She winked and then slipped past him, heading towards the outhouses.
Martin wiped his mouth with the back of his hand and continued on into the smoky and still loud common room. Dorn helped him to bed, while Kazrack and Ratchis left to go to the Temple of the Grandfathers and the Mercy’s house respectively. Roland had disappeared much earlier in the night, amid the dancing, with nary a ‘good night’.
---------------------------------------------------
Notes:
(1) The north and south sides of the cliff tiers of Nikar are referred to as “shade side” and “sun side”, respectively, because of the way the shadow of the cliff above falls at certain times of the day, the north sides tend to be more shaded.
(2) Hierarchy in the Church of Bast is not steadfast. Priests who found temples can establish any kind of internal organization and hierarchy they like. While usually it is established in terms of who gains the most favor from Bast (i.e. levels), this is not always the case and a Bastite visitor only has the title of ‘guest priest’, wherever that might fall in the established organization.
(3) Temples of Bast are home to many kinds of cats and other felines. Even otherwise wild or dangerous animals like lions and leopards will spend time around them, leaving alone priests and visitors alike, as long as they are unmolested.
(4) See Session #67
(5) The rest of the party met Alexandra the Lavender in Session #7
(6) Graduates of the Academy are granted their color by their fellow students of the same graduating year (with approval of the Faculty).
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Graywolf-ELM
Explorer
A little intrigue in the city. So they are bastites, and not bastages, that is probably for the better.
Another fine update, looking forward to the next.
GW
Another fine update, looking forward to the next.
GW
Hmm. Warning signs flashing red. Definately more than a mere bastite me thinks. Could be a succubus but more likely a wisdom draining lamia. That would fit the cat theme well.
And what exactly is Roland. Changing inot cat shape. A druid or a homebrew kind of priest ?
Sounds interesting.
el-remmen
Moderator Emeritus
monboesen said:
All priesthoods in Aquerra are their own class based on either the Cleric or Druid class with specific special abilities - so for example, priests of Bast cannot turn undead or do any spontaneous casting - but they do can a limited wildshape ability.
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