After the little show, Angor wanders over to Khargol, curious. "What es et you keep writing about out dere? Dere es probably more words in dere dan you have spoken since arriving. Just because our skin es de same color doesn't mean we have anything in common but we did both almost die. Es dat in dere?"
"Indeed that is a goal we share, Alphonse. I would hope anyone of us that sought the charter understood that prior to accepting that privilage and responsibility." Vladimir says without even the slightest hint of sarcasm.
"Is there a reason you would believe otherwise of me?"
Exploring the area east of Bokken's the party is exploring for a few hours when they come across the sounds of shouting.
Moving through the brush towards it they find themselves standing in front of a vine covered temple.
Outside the front of it the party sees many men engaged in apparent sparring with one another with their unarmed strikes.
Donovan seems slightly nonplused at this sight. He looks for a moment like he's about to make a wry quip to Vladimir, but then holds his words, waiting for the group to decide how to approach this latest encounter.
Khargol can't help but quirk a grin at Angor's query regarding their recent brushes with death. "Yes, my friend, that's in there. My apologies if I seem socially isolated. I've spent a fair portion of my life alone...first in the church of Abadar, where an orphaned half-orc youth was not exactly the most popular of the children around, then after I left as a teenager to eek my way out of the frontier just outside the Stolen Lands I rarely had to speak with anyone simply because I hardly saw anyone. I have been told I am wise beyond my years and birthright, but my knowledge of social convention is at times...lacking."
"I'm not certain how much you know of the church of Abadar, but the Master of the First Vault is a meticulous record-keeper. I suppose you'd have to be as a god of commerce and law. His followers tend to be just as dedicated to keeping records. When I was younger, I fought against the idea of it, as most youngsters do, but I eventually realized that writing down the things that I see and experience helps me internalize the lessons I learn. Even when I recount things like that wolf hitting me in the neck, it forces me to remember how it happened and be better prepared for such an eventuality the next time around."
"You are correct in your observation, though; I cannot allow myself to continue to exist in a vacuum. I will try to be more conversational going forward from here. I appreciate your concern, Angor." he responds, entirely sincere. It's likely the most he's said to any one person at one time since they all began together and certainly the first real time he's said anything about his past.
Wispering to Vlad as they observed the temple they came across "sometimes nobles have noble intretest and not the people's intrests, i wanted to be certain where you stood"
Whispering back to Alphonse, Vladimir says, "Fair enough. My family and I have not been among the nobility long enough yet to forget the interests of the people, hopefully we never will."
Speaking in a hushed tone to the group, "What do we have here? Anything of note?" Turning to Durielle and Khargol in particular, "Anyone able to tell to whom this temple was dedicated?"
"Was dere a temple here?"
Durielle looks embarrassed when Vladimir asks if she might know about the temple.
"I must admit my knowledge of religion beyond the traditions of my former village is fairly lacking. But...did not that ranger Trent mention a temple of Erastil?" Shaking her head, Durielle says, "I don't remember the placement on Angor's maps, but it's the only religious structure I recall being mentioned near the area."
"Aye, Trent did mention a temple to Erastil in the wilderness. It seems we have stumbled upon it." Khargol remarks, looking at the impressive structure. "He did not, however, mention the possibility that it was occupied. I think we should attempt to open a line of communication rather than attack them outright. I do not wish to make enemies where there is no need and have no desire to kill unnecessarily."
** spoiler omitted **
[dice=Religion]1d20+1
[dice=Geography]1d20+4"Was dere a temple here?"
Angor can't tell by looking at the temple to whom it belongs, but he can tell based on the location of the temple, that this temple is secluded on purpose, whoever built it didn't intend for others to find it.
"Unless Trent was wildly off on the location of the Erastilian temple, this is not it. That should be off to southwest of Oleg's"
"That's a good point. He did say southwest, didn't he?" Khargol remarks, turning his attention to the structure, studying it more carefully.
Sugua saw the sparring, the temple and the area and simpley smiled walking up. " Now this I can get along with! They seem like those self-perfectionist types! Hey Khargol, now that the dwarf is dead we can't tell if they are 'negotiable' . You got sight like a paladin don't you? " Sugua started pumping himself up for a spar.
" I wonder if they would let me join for a few bouts? "
"That's a good point. He did say southwest, didn't he?" Khargol remarks, turning his attention to the structure, studying it more carefully.
[dice=Know (Religion)]1d20+4
Khargol however can infer a bit more about the temple, not fromt he appearance of the temple itself, but the appearance of the men outside it sparring.
Many show signs of flagellation, scaring, and have hooks or chains embedded in their flesh, a sign of worship of Zon'Kuthon.
Khargol's eyes widen as his eyes move from the temple to the men in front of it, gritting his teeth and releasing a low hiss. He shrinks back slightly, turning to the others and silently praying that they haven't yet been noticed. "These men are scarred and show signs of self-mutilation...they still have the chains and hooks and such embedded in them. The only deity that encourages such behavior amongst his follows is Zon'Kuthon, the Dark Prince; he is god of pain and loss. I know the marks; the temple priests cold many stories of how Abadar himself bargained with Zon'Kuthon to imprison him in eons past, but he was freed during the Age of Darkness."
Sugua raises his sword on his shoulder and grins, " I guess I get my spar one way or the other. I'm going to assume Zonny is bad news then? Well if we have to make this place safe I would assume we'd have to get rid of.. these guys? "
After all the confident, almost arrogant, speeches Sugua gave about strength, fighting, and overcoming all odds, Angor hesitates in warning him. It was wrong, he knew but by the time he realized it, it was too late. Sugua was too far away and speaking now would draw attention. Instead he draws his axe and hides it behind himself so as not to be obviously hostile. But after all he had been through in the past few days, violence seemed to be the first response for anything in this forest.
"I could not agree more Sugua, there is no room for these people in a kingdom forged to help the common man. this god cares only for suffering. Should we slink away and plan an attack? or do you feel a charge more prudent?" Those who watch see a smoldering anger seem to crop up behind the glow of Alphonse's eyes, the thought of a got that respecs and encourages suffering offending his very nature
Khargol gives a firm nod, his eyes locked on the sparring worshipers. "Calling him 'bad news' is a bit like calling that plant creature 'a little tough.' Those following this path likely have no interest in any sort of 'redemption' as we see it...and I have no qualms with starting with arrow volleys."
Sugua seems to make a mockery of the finer persons and speaks, " I say then, why don't we show these ruffians how civilized persons act... pre-emptively! "
"I was certainly off the mark, wasn't I?" Durielle whispers. She covers her mouth quickly with her scarf as she coughs slightly.
Vladimir nods in agreement with Sugua and Khargol's assessment of the situation, pulling his bow and launching an arrow in the direction of the monk nearest him.
The glow in his eyes flairs up and Alphonse chants "Shield of my father, spirit of my mother, give me protection so i may stike down those who sow evil!"
Durielle feels awful about attacking these men without first seeing if they really were uncompromising, but the others were definitely adamant there was no other recourse. She sees Sugua toss another missile with deadly success, and knows he certainly will not need any assistance from her at the moment.
She steps lightly up behind Khargol and provides insight to his next strike.
Duration 1 minute or until discharged; Saving Throw Will negates (harmless); Spell Resistance yes
The creature gets a +1 competence bonus on a single attack roll, saving throw, or skill check. It must choose to use the bonus before making the roll to which it applies.
Khargol, feeling the magic of Durielle's spell gently flow into him, simply gives a nod, pulling back the string and letting an arrow fly at Sugua's target.
Donovan arrives at a conclusion similar to Khargol's after only a moment's consideration of the situation, and he begins his series of chants to bring empyreal favor to the group.
Sugua places his hand up and blocks the measly kick holding the weaklings foot before throwing it back to the ground for the monk to stand on. " Hrm, Yes thats it! SHOW ME WHAT YOU ALL ARE MADE OFF! It's like hunting.. AND YOU ALL ARE THE PREY AHAHAHAHHA! "
Sugua raised his Sword and came across the monks torso stepping into the fray seeking blood.
" C'mon! make me work up a Sweat! "
As the monks rush in, Vladimir drops his bow behind him and draws his blade while urging Shadow to attack.
(bless)
(bless)
Durielle looks for and finds a chance for the party to improve on their actions and draws it around them.
Duration 1 minute/level or until discharged; Saving Throw none; Spell Resistance yes (harmless)
Each creature affected by this spell benefiting from a morale bonus of any type, can double that morale bonus on one roll or check, before making the roll. Once an affected creature uses this spell's effect, the spell is discharged for that subject.
Stepping to her back right, she draws her bow and aims an arrow right between the eyes of the monk before Khargol. Letting the natural light of her silver eyes shine forth, she summons an imperious manner and says, "Welcome to the end of your glorious pain."
Donovan murmurs in the Celestial language and taps his holy symbol to Vladimir. "Empyreals protect you, my friend," he says.
After quickly leaning backward to dodge the kick of the monk who attacked him, Khargol takes a quick step backwards, and just before snapping another shot off with his bow he shouts in a loud voice,"The judgement of Abadar upon you!!" before tossing the weapon behind him. In a smooth motion, as he brings his hand back to the fore, he draws his longsword in a reverse grip, brandishing the weapon in both hands, for the moment leaving his shield in its carry harness.
Well they certainly closed the gap quickly. Damn monks. Angor manages to duck and dodge the awkward blows and puts some distance between him and the monks. He drops his bow there and reaches into a special pouch for some butter. A few magic words later, the butter is gone but the patch of ground before him is just as slick. He then draws his greataxe and roars a challenge.
The party now beset Alphonse knows there is no time to hold back and conjures the magics in himself to face their foes "Voices from beyond, Strike and take hold!"
Tomas Magic Missiles Alphonse's target as well.
On the Monk's turn the one that fell is going to get back up, and move.
The larger monk in the back shouts out to the rest, "Focus on killing anyone that looks like they can cast spells, or has a bow first. Once the weaklings are dead we can turn our attention to the rest!"
The monks all move up and begin their attacks.
[dice=Fort Save]1d20+8
With the monks now directly threatening him, Donovan draws his lengthy sword and sets to battle.
The sword is worn and has obviously seen use, but also care. The hilt is wrapped with a faded red leather band that has uneven coloration due to stains of sweat and blood. The pommel and guard are both worn from significant use, with the metal smoothed and polished by contact. The blade has a heavy chisel-like edge and script is written along both sides, a single word in each case.
Donovan sets to with a grim expression and makes a slash at the monk that kicked at him.
Sugua sighs and looks at the battle. he would hate what he had to do but it was necessary. He looks to the whelp that kicked him in the face and sighs. " Alright, you get to die today! "
He swings his Sword down with no mercy.
" Khargol, Vlad Focus on the Big guy! "
Tomas falls prone from the attacker's kick.