Ashshar
As things began to unfold, Ashshar looked at the rope the crate was suspended from and drew their sword. Their head tilted as if in understanding something, and the blade traced a line across the air that bisected the rope. All they needed was the crate.
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"The dragon mark is like a curling tattoo that is larger and more intricate on members with stronger powers. Many family members, like me, have no mark and no powers."
"We should visit a inn run by House Ghallanda. They have the best hotels in Khorvaire."
Atsu moves to block the way, weapon in hand .
Rehil re-shoulders his pack and begins marching.
"South to Gatherhold. I think it is the only halfling city," he says uncharacteristically conversationally to Tal.
Tal is perhaps to eager to help. "I will make sure they don't rise again." To Rehil, "I will take your word for it friend Rehil. As long as we make progress to finding out whos loosening the binds of the Rakasha."
Rehil doesn't care if it's a city or a village, as long as the inn is good.
"A night of rest, and continue our journey to Regalport."
Ashshar draws his greatsword in a single smooth motion as he slides forward gracefully towards the dangling crate. He then hurls it, sending it spinning through the air towards the metal cable holding the crate aloft. The sword slices deeply into the cable, leaving only a few strands supporting its orcish cargo. The shock of the rebound sends the blade twisting back towards Ashshar, and the lizardman catches it deftly by the hilt.
An incredible display of swordsmanship, surely the most amazing thing anyone has ever seen? Except no one was looking and instead it was an unseen strike. Nalverren's spell then performs the simple manoeuvre of cutting the rest of the rope and the crate falls with a crash. A crewman nearby shouts, "Awesome!" and claps Nalverren on the shoulder, before turning to Ashshar with a scornful expression on his face that seems to say, "Well, why didn't you do something?"
The skeletons attack one another with fervour, eventually destroying one another. Wultram's companion puts down their erstwhile triceratops mount and all that lies in the field are broken bones and some bloody scraps. Tal channels the holy power of his goddess to sear away the taint of undeath and the bones are reduced to inert shards with no power of movement.
They turn towards Gatherhold and begin walking into the town. For those used to the urban delights of the Five Nations it is certainly a primitive place. Sanitation is clearly a secondary concern as the air whiffs and the streets squelch unpleasantly underfoot. Filthy halfling children run about, chasing the tiny bipedal dinosaurs that seem to take the place of the stray dogs in other locales. Houses are more like huts, built of dry-stone and roofed with turf, or simply small cave mouths in the rock of the crags between which the town seems to have insinuated itself, forming a mass of confusing narrow twisted lanes pocked with doorways. Most building are, of course, halfling-sized with entrances that barely come up to the chests of the visitors. Riders frequently charge through at speed on their dinosaur mounts, clawed feet throwing up sprays of smelly mud. Wizened and leathery halfling elders squint at passersby as they puff on long pipes and scold the youngsters in their gabbling language.
While Torlaes may have been on to something in his description of Gatherhold, the place has a certain charm. Colourful awnings spread over the streets, casting a cooling shade and painting everything below in shades of red, blue, green and yellow, and long pennants raised high above the streets curl in the breeze. Traders hawk fruits, grains, meat, weapons and other sundries at stalls practically everywhere, filling the air with their cries for business. At lane junctions strange painted totem figures, carved out of the rock, look on impassively. Every so often a halfling mounted on a flying reptile launches from the top of a cliff to dance in the updrafts. And while clearly not a rich place, it feels well-policed and safe, with the locals regarding the newcomers with reserved curiosity rather than hostility.
The Ghallanda inn is not too difficult to find. Seemingly hollowed out from the rock, it has a large entrance suitable for human-sized visitors. The emblem of the House, a dog, flutters in the breeze.
Ivar yells something in Dwarvish and the golem begins to lumber round the derrick.
Meanwhile, the guards rush closer, with several making it on to the gangway. More pull out crossbows and begin to crank and load them. On the tower, the weapon crews begin cranking and loading. The two ballistas turn towards the ship.
Rehil points at the sign for Tal's benefit.
"All the dragonmarked houses have a creature on their crest. Ghallanda is a dog. My house is a displacer beast. Let's see what we find inside."
"We have the cargo, let's set sail now!"
"I'd get back if I were you!" Cole taunts the guards with a roar before drawing the large earthbreaker and bringing it down on the gangway with a crash. "Kind of a long fall!"
Rehil marches through the door, then pauses for a heartbeat to let his eyes adjust to the lower light inside. He follows Wultram in the direction of a table. Reaching that destination he drops the pack from his shoulders, props bow and sword on the table's edge, and drops himself onto a stool.
"I hope the service is fast."
Tal makes a note of the house symbol before he follows the others into the inn. He tries to sit in a position at the table away from the other patrons so as to not cause a fuss.
Cole smashes through the gangway with his maul and it shatters.
One dwarf falls screaming into the abyss while the other jumps back just in time and clings to the edge.
The inside of the inn, despite clearly being a cave from the outside, is warm, dry, well-lit and well-appointed. Hanging drapery conceals the rocky walls and everbright lanterns cast a warm glow. The floor is flat and smooth and covered with deep-pile rugs. Somewhere in the distance, music is being played.
The first room is a reception area with a large desk. Behind it sit two halflings in Ghallanda livery. One beams at the newcomers.
"Can I help you?"
".Three rooms and directions to the common room. -- Please."
"Of course. That will be three galifars per night per person. That also includes complementary use of the spa facilities, although meals are extra." He looks the adventurers up and down for a moment. "You can also have your clothes cleaned and pressed free of charge. Would you like someone to take your luggage?"
"Just one night." Rehil digs in his belt pouch for the nine coins, hands them to the hotelier. "It's been a long trek. If someone can take my pack, I'd be grateful. Clean clothes and the spa sound very good too. But first, something to quench our thirst...."
Rehil palms a tenth coin which he slips to the porter.
Vaard dashes over to the crate and begins prising it open with his claws.
"Cut the lines!" yells Captain Moss. Crewmen grab axes and hack at the thick hawsers holding the ship to the dock. As they part she turns and shouts to the helmsman, "Take her down!" The deck lurches underfoot as the elemental roars into life. With the control surfaces turned as far as they will go, the ship enters a steep dive, trying to fly under the defences in the tower.
Nalverren chants once more over a trinket to infuse it with spell energy.
Atsu grabs hold of the nearest rope to secure himself in preparation for sudden changes in the ship's elevation.
Tal orders the same as his companions, curious to see what these people have as a meal.