Welcome!
After their brush with disaster on the abandoned wharves, the party is walking home. Not long into the walk, a filthy man wearing tattered clothes approaches Janiven.
"Ma'am. Is good ta see you again, and wiv more friens at that."
Janiven smiles and says, "Of course Jakob. It's always good to see you too. Are you doing ok?"
"Am, fine. But you did summat the Dotarri din't care to-ya killed tha' little Whitechin and his clan."
Janiven blushes, and deflects the credit, "Oh no, not me. I was a bare help. It was the courage of these," Janiven points to each of you in turn, "Pavanna, Miriam and Valador. Jakob, if it's not too much work, can you let your people know that Westcrown may have a fresh chance to grow again."
The vagrant smiles, dirty teeth and all, with a pride you wouldn't suspect in such a man. "Back ta the day of our Fathers!"
Miriam, despite the nerve-wracking battle against some very tenacious goblins, steps forward and puts on her best charm, such as it is in her current bedraggled and bloodied state.
"The credit goes to us all, Janiven", she says to her with a warm smile, "Were it not for your archery, we would surely have met a swift end."
She then turns quickly to the man as he leaves.
"Um, Ser Jakob? What do you mean by the Dotarri?"
Iomedae's battle worn paladin treads the route alongside Janiven. His large blade, apparent goblin cleaver on this day, propped upon his right shoulder, always at the ready. Simplistic traveler's clothing having been tattered and torn in the previous battle, expose more of the chainmail armor worn beneath. A thin coat of dried goblin blood is caked across large portions of his figure, painting him in a disturbing shade of crimson. He could definitely use a bath...
As the party encounters the lone man, Valador finds it rather odd that the man is out and about by himself, given the current situation of the lands. Despite the mans seemingly friendly demeanor, fingers tighten around the hilt of his sword... just in case.
After Janiven's brief dialogue with the stranger, he looks to Janiven and makes an inquisition."Friend of yours, Janiven?"
The old man half turns to Miriam and gives a chuckle, "Polite if nothin' else." He smirks and says, "Dotarri are our loyalist bestest protect'ers. And ya showed 'em up." He stops, seems to be thinking and then spits out, "But maybe fresh folk is wha' we need tha most? Bless ya little sister."
Janiven answers Valador's question, "Ya, Jakob has been kind of with us from the beginning. He won't pick up arms, or break bread with us, but his ears are as good as any we have on the street." The Archer nods to the old man, as she seems sure he overheard her comment.
Miriam responds with a spirited smile and nod towards Jakob.
"I'll keep doing my best."
It's good to see that we're appreciated, Miriam muses as she follows Janiven back to their hideout. It does much to ease my anxiety about this situation...
Miriam scrounges in her pack for a cloth to wipe some the filth from herself and her glaive, then wraps her weapon with a peacebond sash, which is covered with soft pastel colors and floral patterns. Fixing it to her blade reminds her of home, and now she feels a pang of homesickness mixing with the crash one gets when coming down from an adrenaline high.
Now that I'm so far from anything familiar, my vision from the Eternal Rose really does seem far-fetched... I wonder what I'm really supposed to be doing?
Miriam withdraws into silent pondering, mulling over not only her emotions, but also what to do with the loot, along with ways to improve their combat effectiveness.
I could use a shield... and something easier to wield for close quarters...
After ruminating, Miriam addresses the party.
"I would like to visit an armorer and weaponsmithy. Will anyone join me?"
As the company returns to the hideout, a deep sigh of relief is released as the paladin steps through the threshold. As he moves inward, he smiles and nods to all the familiar faces. Shoulders shrug one by one as he works his backpack off and allows it to slide down his arm and props it against a wall, his sword following suit.
Fingers move to buttons and cords as he loosens his armor.
"I don't know about anyone else, but I could use a bath and get off my feet for a while... I'll be here if you need me, I wish to rest up and perhaps speak with Arael further."
During his downtime, Valador also makes it a priority to engage in conversation with all of the members of the Children of Westcrown. Hoping to find more insight into their stories and perhaps gauge each persons talents for any upcoming struggles the cause may face...
While genuinely interested in each persons own story, he's really looking to size each person up and make mental note of who the party could possibly call upon in the future to take up arms...
During the days after the funeral, Arael and Janiven are more busy than usual. They are also in the safe house less. When they return in the evening, they are usually tired, but excited. Arael says, "It seems that the message is getting a little louder each day. Duncal hasa group of ten folks that he is training as we speak!"
The rest of the Children busy themselves or, return to work their normal jobs. Fiosa works hard on turning her painting supplies into something resembling figures. One evening she even presents something that might very well be a vase on a table. Until she turns it upside down. "Wellll... Like Miriam said, keep trying!" She grins and is off again to spread color to the world.
As all the people gather in the hideout, Valador takes special notice of one of the newcomers, more specifically her clothing. He is able to determine the origins of her dress as one made in Andoran. This piques his interest, and once Arael finishes his introductions he steps to Emelia and gives a slight bow of his head.
"Greetings, Lady Emelia."
His arms stretch out as if to showcase the surroundings "Welcome to our fine establishment." he says with a hint of sarcasm and a smile.
Arms lower and his fingers grip around his belt.
"I'm sorry to bother you, but I couldn't help but notice the fine dress you're wearing... Do you by chance hail from Andoran? Almas, perhaps?"
Kross stands to the side of the room watching and smoking some elvan weed
"Well, thank you! And you are Valdor? Making sure I get all the names straight. I need to know with whom I am dealing with Yes, I am from Andoran. Interesting. I haven't had that in a long time where people have recognized me through my dress. Hmmmmmm
This seems to be an interesting kind of clan here
He gives a subtle nod. "Yes, I am Valador."
Lips bend into a smile as Emelia confirms his assumptions about her dress, he then gives a quick point to her clothing. "I thought you might be. The dress gave it away."
"I too hail from Andoran, for the most part... It's a long story... Anyways, I hope you don't find this too awkward. You'd be amazed at the things you notice when you're away from your home for any significant amount of time... Perhaps we can talk about Andoran some time, mission willing..."
Valador soon finds himself feeling slightly awkward and decides to cut sling load... "Anywho... It's been a pleasure to meet you, Emelia. I will leave you in the more than capable care of the "children"." He gives a slight bow before stepping off to begin his search for Arael.
Miriam is all smiles, though distinctly quiet as her comrades meet with the newest members of the "Children". She is aware now that her force of personality is often a deterrent rather than the friendly demeanor she intends.
She glances over to Kross, and feels a pang of guilt over her deception through omission. Were it not for our desperate situation, I would have been more open..., Miriam regretfully ponders, and using his circumstances against him is certainly not my usual way.
Miriam watches him, attempting to read his mood through body language.
I want to apologize, but perhaps apologies will not suffice..."
Kross stands silently
i thought it was on mine
threw his silence you get a feeling of distrust
Miriam is discouraged by the impression of Kross's mood, and decides that perhaps now isn't the time to speak to him. However...
Miriam plucks another flower from her hairband bouquet, a miniature papercraft yellow rose, to symbolize friendship in the language of flowers. She tentatively approaches Kross and silently holds the gift before him with both hands cradling the delicate gift in a gesture reminiscent of supplication.
After dinner Arael and Janven close themselves in one of the side rooms and it is not long before their voices are raised.
Janiven brusquely opens the door back into the common room, her face is flushed but she tries to put on a smile. She goes around the room and again thanks you all for your support. Her only comment about the heated discussion is, "Arael knows best..."
The two automatons are junk on the fitted flagstone floor and all that is left is the door they were guarding. Kross inspects the doors and finds them free of traps, though locked. He fixes that with a practiced flip of his wrist; the doors are open.
Beyond the doors is a large room, a vault of some sort. Across the room is a large display case but it is empty. Searching the room thoroughly, you find several small boxes packed into a larger crate. The boxes hold some set of very nice jewelry, beaten gold and green gemstones.
At the main display case there is a secret slide panel. When you open the panel, the room fills with light. A brilliant dazzling light that stings your dark adjusted eyes for a moment. As your eyes focus you see a man, he at first seems frail, but that is an illusion. He grows stronger as you watch; his frame expanding to fill the regal robes he is wearing. His deep blue robes are embroidered with a repeating string of winged eyes. On his breast is an amulet, it is a sunburst, brilliant gold set with several gems, the whole surmounted by a straight steel blade.
Booming, his voice calls out,
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Valador follows the others through the rooms, buckler strapped to his left wrist and warhammer propped upon his right shoulder. Each step is an increasingly annoying effort as his muscles cramp and spasm from the spiders venom that's coursing through his veins.
As the room suddenly illuminates he brings his buckler up to his brow in order to shield his eyes from the light. His other hand dropping down near his side, fingers tightening around the hammer, prepared to attack.
Once his eyes adjust he lowers the shield and takes notice of the man. Who the hell is this... he thinks to himself, a single eyebrow raised. The second eyebrow raises quickly after as he sees the man begin to hulk up. Damn, here we go...
Quickly sizing up the man, Valador notices the amulet and attempts to recognize it.
Detect Evil - He also simultaneously attempts to deduce the man's nature by sensing his aura.
Kross stands ready with his bow drawn.
Miriam is startled by this mysterious phantom as she reflexively raises her shield before her. Waiting a moment before answering, to see if anyone else would, she calls out to it.
"We are the Children of Westcrown," she explains with a commanding voice in an attempt to hide her own nervousness, "and we seek the Sword of Dawning in order to free the city from the Hells' fell grasp!"