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Samnell's Against the Necromancers

Game Master Samnell

Sundabar and Environs
Setting primers
Present Battle Map


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Gay Male Inhuman

Day 1: Kythorn 16, Year of the Worm (1356 DR)

Noon in Sundabar. Somewhere above the blanketing clouds, the sun must shine. Only a dirty gray light struggled through to show on the city's looming stone. A hard wind blew from the Spine of the World, tearing at cloaks, doors, shutters, and biting exposed flesh. It carried snow enough to carpet the cobbled streets almost to the depth of a grown human's knees, far more where it caught under eaves and against buildings. The storm narrowed every street to a path wide enough for a wagon, at best, save those where countless feet must pass.

Sundabarians fastened their shutters tight, pushed hard against the drifts where they blocked doors, and stepped mindful of the slick ice that might lay beneath. Many shops had not opened in a few days. Everywhere firewood dwindled as smoke rose from chimneys.

The people trudged about, muttering kind words for Auril Frostmaiden and Lathander Morninglord in equal fervor. An Icepriest had come to the city during a break in the snows and many Sundabarians made the uncomfortable climb to the Frostmaiden's shrine to feel her caress and quench the fire of their blood in the sacred pool. The goddess hungered still, but soon she would rest. Spring had fewer than two tendays left to it.

At the Hall of Everlasting Justice, a chest-high fence mired deep in the snow separated the training ground from the street. The din of steel on steel rang across it. A few youths huddled near together, poised on barrels and crates to watch those a few years older hard at work under the unstinting eyes of grizzled veterans. Their hair matted down with sweat, arms wavering, shivers everywhere, the older youths strove against one another, blunt blades drawing bruises where not met by wooden shields. A few boys, white and trembling, showed the marks on their bare chests and looked longingly to stacks of furs off to one corner as they drilled on the hard mud.

One fell, tripping over his own feet. His opponent let out a cry of triumph, not seeing the veteran priest slip up behind and pull his own legs out from under him with a deft maneuver. A firm talk on keeping one's head ensued.

The temple guards, resplendent in their armor, stood two to a side: a pair of Tyrrans with hammers and a pair of Tormtar with heavy blades. More waited quietly, and with more comfort, within. None challenged the visitors as they arrived. Novices, many not yet bearing signs of their chosen devotion, met each just beyond the gate and in easy sight of the guards. A half dozen sat ready -and bored- on benches, dispatched by a duty priest with swift nods when guests stated their business. Frowns silenced those that tried to whisper amongst themselves when she turned her back.

One by one, the novices guided the guests through the temple. They passed Acolytes of Laws, in their blue and purple robes with white sashes, quietly set warm cider and fresh bread on tables, mindful of the black gloves on their right hands and white on their left all the while. A few Andurans in dark crimson joined them at the work, many frequently glancing out in the direction of the nearby yard.

They came to a spartan study, hung with thick tapestries showing the signs of the two gods. They were the only concession to color, all else wrought from dark wood graven with martial patterns. Shields marched down the edges of tables. The legs of chairs bore swords and hammers. All sharp corners and hard edges, little marked by wear and diligently polished. Upon a sidebar sat scanty refreshments. The novices bid those called to wait on the arrival of the Hammer Lord, who had temple business to occupy her. Each novice saw to the refreshments and the fire merrily burning before departing.

Go go go!


HP = 27/27|AC=14|PP=4/20|Ini+2(3)|Per+7|For+5|Ref+6|Will+6 Shadow's Status

Aldon strayed near the fire glad for the warmth that it gave off. His skin was of a dusky hue reminding one of the southerners of the ancient empires of Mulhorand or Unther. With his head shaved bald and his chest bare beneath his cloak along with his lack of weaponry it is clear that the man is some sort of unarmed warrior.

Anyone who has been in Sundabar for the past year will recognize him as having defended the city against the last incursion and subsequently joining the City Guard - mostly as a trainer in the area of unarmed attack and defense.

He turns to Ranek, "So, they asked for your presence as well eh my friend?"


Seeker Empyreal Sorceror / Perfect Scholar Unchained Monk of the Mantis (3) HP (45/45) AC (20/24) T (19) FF (15/19) Saves (8/8/8) Initiative (+5) CMD (25) Lvl 1 Spells (4/6) HF (7/7) SF (5/5) Ki (5/5) Per (+10/11 traps)

Bolkvar suppressed the desire to pull his robes tighter around him. The monk of Dugamaren did not want to show weakness. As short and stout as any of his kind, the heavily muscled dwarf brushed snow off of his orange beard as he looked around.

Seeing the symbol of Torm displayed proudly throughout the temple, he took a deep breath. His Clan owed a debt of gratitude to the temple, and to their god. If it were not for their generosity, his people might well have been ruined. Despite being sent away at such a young age, he had great pride in his clan's name, and hoped that he might perform a task of enough note for the temple to erase the debt that his clan owed. He hoped that by doing so, he might one day return to his people with his head held up high and to their acceptance.


Human Oradin 3 | HP 33 AC 18 T12 FF16 | CMB + 7 CMD 19 | +8 fort +7 ref +7 will | +2 init (roll twice) | Resource Tracker
Skills:
Diplomacy +9 Handle Animal +8 Kn:Nobles +7 Kn:Religion +7 Perception +6 Sense Motive +6 Spellcraft +7 Survival +7

Out on patrol the window had howled its fury, full of ice and snow at Marcus. It was a thing that by degrees a man got used to. At first it had bothered him greatly, but less and less each season he spent in the north. Still he welcomed the respite of the fire although he wondered why he was here. The call had gone out, they where needed, his patrol cut short.

Entering the study, Marcus was surprised by how many where there. Glancing around he spotted several familiar faces. Near the fire was Ranek his childhood friend talking to a guard, Aldon wasn't it? No doubt they'd talk later. Another group contained Hakon and wasn't that Thurvek by the corner?

Wandering over to join Hakon, Marcus asked, "Quite a gathering here. Did your patrol get recalled as well?"


Male Dwarf| HP: 45/45 | AC: 19 (11 Tch, 18 Fl) | CMB: +5, CMD: 16 | F: +9, R: +3, W: +7 | Init: +1 | Perc: +9, Darkvision 60ft., SM: +9| Speed 30ft (30ft) | Active conditions: None. | Channel energy (2d6) 2/3 Gestalt Bloodrager (untouchable rager)/Cleric of Clanggedin Silverbeard/3rd | Rage: 7/10 Rounds

The grim warrior set himself back in the corner, allowing the weaker humans and his dwarven compatriot gather warmth from the fire. The fur padding Thurvek installed under his armor back in Tarsakh continued to serve him well. The battle priest leaves any inquires to Bolkvar, nodding back to anyone who should nod his way, keeping his own vigil.


Male Human Magus 3/Wizard (Evocation (Admixture)) 3/Gestalt 3 | HP 30/30 | AC 16 20/24, touch 16 20/24, flat-footed 10 14/18 | CMD 16 | Fort +6, Ref +5, Will +4 | Init +3 | Perception +0 | Arcane pool 5/5 |
Magus Spells:
1st - 3/3
Wizard Spells:
2nd - 2/2, 1st - 3/3

Ranek smiles at Aldon's comment. "Indeed. I have sent a letter back to my brother, letting him know that I will be staying for a prolonged period of time. I wonder at what we have been summoned for."

Ranek stands near the fire as well. His clothing is well-made but plain, the only jewelry a signet ring on his right hand. His cloak is fur-lined for warmth, and the slightly curved blade at his side has a worked pommel and cross guard, with a soft leather-wrapped hilt. He notes an armored Tormetar enter the room. Marcus? It has been a while since I saw him. We'll have to catch up.


HP 33/33 | AC 15, T 15, FF 14 | CMD 20 | F +4, R +5, W +8 | Init +5 | Perc +10
Resources:
Arcane Pool (4/5) | Ki Pool (2/5) | Perfect Strike (2/3) | Spells Prepared (Conc +7) - 0 Level: Dancing Lights, Detect Magic, Read Magic, Mage Hand; 1st Level: Magic Missile, Magic Missile, Ray of Enfeeblement, Shield

Ari shivers as she walks through the frozen streets of Sundabar. Never - in all her years in Calimshan - had she ever been this cold. The clothes she had journeyed to Sundabar in were laughably inadequate for the weather. She had recently acquired an explorer’s outfit that sufficed for her needs, but would still be considered flimsy protection by Sundabarians.

Ari looks up for a moment to make sure she is still heading in the right direction. She felt like she had to constantly watch her feet to avoid falling on the slick city streets. Ice was something Ari had never seen before. She had heard about it, but the concept was so foreign in Calimshan that it was almost mythological… until she had arrived in Sundabar. There, in the cold north, ice was ubiquitous.

The Hall of Everlasting Justice was her destination. She had been summoned there. Why, exactly, she wasn’t certain, but she felt more than obligated to go and listen to the Hammer Lord.

After Ari had arrived in Sundabar with the other Ilmatari, she had sought out the temple to Torm and Tyr based on some of Brother Rolt’s last words. She still wore his necklace. It was a constant reminder of who she was and what she had agreed to do.

She had only a moment’s hesitation when asked to come to the Hall. That moment was due to her concern for the Ilmatari in Sundabar. The House of Everlasting Justice had generously provided housing for all nineteen of them. One of the other Ilmatari, a kind-hearted older woman named Mirala, had agreed to watch over the rest of the Ilmatari in Ari’s absence.

The archer didn’t know how long she would be away, but she fully intended to fulfill the Hammer Lord’s request to the best of her abilities. She tightened her grip on her longbow. It was already strung and ready for use. It currently rested on her back, the bowstring keeping it place over her right shoulder. By her side, her quiver was stuffed with arrows of a few different varieties. An archer could never have too many arrows.

As she crossed another intersection, her thoughts turn from Rolt to Oretholn. The mage was yet another reason for her to do her part for Sundabar. She had learned in the past week of the death of his brother, Urethaunt. That was perhaps the most frustrating part of being in Sundabar: her inability to fulfill Oretholn’s request. The city’s battlemage had apparently died the year before, likely not long before Ari had begun her journey to Sundabar.

With both brothers dead, she was left without a magical mentor. She still had her spell book from Urethaunt, though, as well as the lessons he had taught her. Ari had no intention of abandoning what she had been taught. With or without guidance, she was determined to continue growing in her magical aptitude.

She raises her head again to see the Hall of Everlasting Justice looming in front of her. Before entering the building, she dons her sleeves of many garments and adjusts her appearance to one common among Sundabarians. She highly doubted there were others in Sundabar from Calimshan besides her fellow Ilmatari and she didn’t think it wise to stand out if she could help it.

The new, plain dress covered her floral outfit perfectly. Anyone who looked at her would think nothing was amiss. For once, Ari was grateful for being an orphan. Her mixed heritage made it easier to blend in even so far from Calimshan.

Ari lets one of the novices guide her through the temple to the study where those assembled were to wait for the Hammer Lord. The austere furnishings of the room made Ari grateful she had made a quick wardrobe change before entering the temple. The followers of Torm and Tyr had been so kind to her and her people. The least she could do was try not to upset their conservative sensibilities.

Surveying the room, Ari sees several other individuals waiting for the arrival of the Hammer Lord. Most seemed to be warriors, though at least one or two didn’t seem to be carrying weapons. Ari wasn’t naive enough to think they weren’t dangerous, though. Anyone living in Sundabar for any length of time had to have some skill in combat if they hoped to survive against the plethora of foes that assaulted the civilized of the region.

A chill runs down her spine as she remembers that she had been outside in the freezing cold only minutes before. Seeing the refreshments, Ari decides to try a few, hoping they’ll help warm her inside. She then walks over to the fire to warm her hands and try to dry her clothes which were now soaked in water from melting snow.

She still isn’t sure what is considered decorous among the Tyrrans and Tormtar, so she decides it’s best to remain standing, at least until the Hammer Lord arrives. In the meantime, Ari contents herself with listening to the others converse. It was certainly an eclectic group that the Hammer Lord had assembled. Unconsciously, Ari grasps her necklace as she watches the others.

Ilmater had provided her with a strange providence, but she was determined to make the best of it.


HP = 27/27|AC=14|PP=4/20|Ini+2(3)|Per+7|For+5|Ref+6|Will+6 Shadow's Status

Aldon nods in response to Ranek's greeting as more "guests" arrived.

"If we are all summoned at once I wonder for what purpose the Hammer Lord brings us together? I am Aldondrick Volharan, humble seeker of knowledge and for the moment a member of the Sundabar City Guard".


hp 33E/39H/72T | AC 17, T 12, FF 15 | CMB +6, CMD 18 | F 8, R 7(9 w/ stance), W 9| imn Fear, Dis +4 psn, Elec 5 | init 7 (11 w/stance) | Dark 60' | perc 16
spells:
1st: 4/day
maneuvers:
1st: 3/readied
detect evil at will | summon monster 2 6/day

Hakon smiles as Marcus approaches. Well met, Brother Marcus! He clasps the other paladin's forearm in friendship. Blustery today, isn't it? They say Auril's kiss is deepest just before she leaves for the turn. He chuckles and drinks from his cup.


Human Oradin 3 | HP 33 AC 18 T12 FF16 | CMB + 7 CMD 19 | +8 fort +7 ref +7 will | +2 init (roll twice) | Resource Tracker
Skills:
Diplomacy +9 Handle Animal +8 Kn:Nobles +7 Kn:Religion +7 Perception +6 Sense Motive +6 Spellcraft +7 Survival +7

"The wind has teeth today, that's for sure!" replied Marcus easily. "It was like this all last winter in Briarwood. Don't know if you've been there, way up in the spine of the world. Got snowed in, had to wait for the thaw. Of course that meant I was stuck with the neighbors and them with me..." Marcus had been so glad when he finally got back to Sundabar. Spending the entire winter in a tiny place like Briarwood walking on eggshells had seriously tested his resolve.


Half-Elf Bard (Rubato) 3 // Fighter 3 | HP: 36/36 | AC: 20, 16 Tch, 14 Fl | CMD: 19 | F: +6, R: +8, W: +4 (Situational) | Init: +4 | Low-Light Vision, Perc: +6 | Bardic Performance: 10/13 | Active conditions: Inspire Courage, Encouraging Roar

Stepping across the threshold and into the Hall of Everlasting Justice, Barra greeted his novice guide with a toothy smile. "Auril's sunk her claws into this year, hm? Weather for a warm fire and warmer wine." The novice's eyes flickered towards the duty priest, who's stern eyes looked to be weighing Barra and finding him wanting. Without a word, the novice turned to lead him deeper into the Hall. Barra followed quickly, shaking the icicles out of his hair as he went.

Hm.

After they had turned a few corners he leaned over and, in a conspiratorial stage whisper, said "I'm curious; is it true that you novices have to sleep in a big pile, like sheep, just to survive the winter?"

That at least earned him a wide-eyed look from a passing Anduran, but not even a glance from the novice.

Hmph. They trained this one well.

A shout came from the yard outside as some other boy got his ass handed to him by a greybeard, and it gave Barra an idea. As he walked, he started clicking the balls of his feat against the stone.

*Click*

*Click*

*Click*

Steady as a metronome, and he had to hide a grin as the novice's spine straightened out and his stride lengthened. Barra gave it just a minute to let the tempo set in and then, without warning, hesitated half a beat before setting his foot down. The novice just about went sprawling; tripping over his own feet, barely catching himself on a table, and coming up blushing as red as one of the Morninglord's own. Trying to salvage some scrap of dignity, he ignored a proffered hand and gave Barra his best "Repent, sinner!" glare as he opened the door they had come to and gestured for the half-elf to go inside. He tried, he really did, but Barra just couldn't hide his grin as he shrugged at the novice and said "That's marching drills for you."

Stepping inside, the smile disappeared from Barra's eyes as he scanned the room. Monastics, clerics, and dwarves. Oh, this is going to be *fun*. And this room... is everything that is wrong with Sundabar.

He hung up his cloak, noticing belatedly that the only woman here had apparently forgotten to bring one, and nabbed a pastry from the refreshments. He was famished.


Male Dwarf| HP: 45/45 | AC: 19 (11 Tch, 18 Fl) | CMB: +5, CMD: 16 | F: +9, R: +3, W: +7 | Init: +1 | Perc: +9, Darkvision 60ft., SM: +9| Speed 30ft (30ft) | Active conditions: None. | Channel energy (2d6) 2/3 Gestalt Bloodrager (untouchable rager)/Cleric of Clanggedin Silverbeard/3rd | Rage: 7/10 Rounds

Moradin's beard! Now there's a half-elf in the room.
Thurvek walks away from the corner to stand behind Bolkvar's right shoulder.
"I'd wish they'd get this meeting started already", grumbles the cleric to his dwarven friend.


Male Human Magus 3/Wizard (Evocation (Admixture)) 3/Gestalt 3 | HP 30/30 | AC 16 20/24, touch 16 20/24, flat-footed 10 14/18 | CMD 16 | Fort +6, Ref +5, Will +4 | Init +3 | Perception +0 | Arcane pool 5/5 |
Magus Spells:
1st - 3/3
Wizard Spells:
2nd - 2/2, 1st - 3/3

Ranek nods. "I remember. You were assigned to show us about the city when our caravan first arrived. You seemed rather bored with the task, as well, I remember, with a wish to be doing other things." He notes the woman enter the room, clearly inadequately dressed for the winter in that dress with no cloak. Yet her comfort with a bow spoke to someone experienced in using it. I wonder what her story is? The group was certainly shaping up to be eclectic. Two Tormtar, two dwarves, the somewhat enigmatic Aldondrick, himself, and the archer - and now here came another entering the room, a half-elf who appeared to have embarrassed the novice escorting him in some way. What could the Hammer Lord desire with this group? More importantly, why would this group be selected? They certainly didn't all worship Tyr and Torm. Troubled by these questions, Ranek silently stared into the fire, wrapped in his thoughts.


HP 33/33 | AC 15, T 15, FF 14 | CMD 20 | F +4, R +5, W +8 | Init +5 | Perc +10
Resources:
Arcane Pool (4/5) | Ki Pool (2/5) | Perfect Strike (2/3) | Spells Prepared (Conc +7) - 0 Level: Dancing Lights, Detect Magic, Read Magic, Mage Hand; 1st Level: Magic Missile, Magic Missile, Ray of Enfeeblement, Shield

Ari pulls her bow over her head and sets it down against one of the study’s walls. Keeping a hand on her bow, she leans back against the wall and silently evaluates the others in the room.

There is a pair of dwarves. They seem to know each other. One seems to be a monk of some sort. Ari raises an eyebrow at that.

A dwarf… who’s also a monk, shes muses.

Dwarves weren’t exactly commonplace near Almraiven or at the Ilmatari’s church grounds, so the idea of a dwarf who was also a monk was a strange concept to Ari. The other dwarf looked particularly uncomfortable when the half-elf walked in.

The half-elf seems too… relaxed. Ari doesn’t know the man, though, so she isn’t about to pass judgment without knowing more about him.

There is also a pair of men who seem more comfortable than the others in the Hall of Everlasting Justice.

Perhaps they’re followers of Torm or Tyr? Ari wonders.

If they are, Ari wants to befriend them eventually. She knew of Torm and Tyr back in Calimshan thanks to Mother Ilana’s teachings, but she rarely had the opportunity to interact with actual followers of the Gods.

In the pantheon of Gods, Ilmater is good friends with the pair, so - Ari reasons - it makes sense to ally with followers of the two Gods.

Another man in the group appears to also be a monk. He possesses nary a hair on his head, but he also didn’t look particularly old to Ari’s eyes.

I wonder what his story is?

The last of the other seven is, at first glance, a commoner. The signet ring on his right hand reveals that he might actually possess significant wealth.

Perhaps I’m not the only one trying to be incognito.

Having evaluated the others assembled, Ari can’t help but notice she’s the only lady in the group. None of them seemed to hold it against her, though. More than being a woman, her attire was what was most incongruous with the others. Even after changing her appearance to match that of Sundabarians, she is still woefully underdressed.

So much for going unnoticed.

With a sigh at the thought, Ari continues leaning against the wall as she eagerly awaits the arrival of the Hammerlord.


Seeker Empyreal Sorceror / Perfect Scholar Unchained Monk of the Mantis (3) HP (45/45) AC (20/24) T (19) FF (15/19) Saves (8/8/8) Initiative (+5) CMD (25) Lvl 1 Spells (4/6) HF (7/7) SF (5/5) Ki (5/5) Per (+10/11 traps)

{Dwarven}"Indeed. There must be a good reason for the humans to bring us here." As he said that he followed his kinsman's eyes and saw the half-elf eating the pastries. Great. Well, at least it isn't a full knife-ear. He didn't pay much attention to anyone else. {Dwarven}"If the humans are anything like our clerical superiors, we might be in for a wait. If you want one of my books to pass the time, take one."

With that Bolkvar reached into his pack and pulled out a tome. He had three such books with him. They were essential to have on him, as they were holy items of Dugamaren Brightmantle. Every morning he prayed to his god. Twenty minutes of meditation upon waking up. Twenty minutes of studying. Twenty minutes practicing the art of channeling his power into hardening his body and strengthening his fists. That morning he had read a passage from his tome of religion, detailing the religious practices of Torm. Diligently he began to re-read it, committing the words to memory and focusing on their meaning. To Bolkvar, one's mind was a muscle that required just as much exercise as any other. More, if he was honest. And times like these were the perfect for that kind of exercise.


Male Dwarf| HP: 45/45 | AC: 19 (11 Tch, 18 Fl) | CMB: +5, CMD: 16 | F: +9, R: +3, W: +7 | Init: +1 | Perc: +9, Darkvision 60ft., SM: +9| Speed 30ft (30ft) | Active conditions: None. | Channel energy (2d6) 2/3 Gestalt Bloodrager (untouchable rager)/Cleric of Clanggedin Silverbeard/3rd | Rage: 7/10 Rounds

Thurvek grumbles loudly, nearly growls, but can hear the dwarven wisdom in Bolkvar's words. He motions the dwarven scholar to produce said books. Once done, Thurvek chooses The Brightmantle book. Softening, the cleric murmurs in Dwarven, "Tthanc tauu,"

Dwarven:
"Thank you,".

and finds some light to read by, in a place to both read and watch the others.


Male Human Magus 3/Wizard (Evocation (Admixture)) 3/Gestalt 3 | HP 30/30 | AC 16 20/24, touch 16 20/24, flat-footed 10 14/18 | CMD 16 | Fort +6, Ref +5, Will +4 | Init +3 | Perception +0 | Arcane pool 5/5 |
Magus Spells:
1st - 3/3
Wizard Spells:
2nd - 2/2, 1st - 3/3

Ranek smiles slightly at the Dwarves' discussion. It always amazed him how many races would carry on a conversation in their native tongue, assuming those around couldn't understand them. The armored Dwarf seemed to be getting quite impatient, while the unarmored one seemed to have an appreciation for knowledge. Perhaps he would make for a decent conversationalist - although most Dwarves in his experience seemed to care little for any sort of discussion outside of business. Still, whatever the task, it was said Dwarves were implacable warriors, and he would no doubt be glad to have both by his side in this mission.


HP = 27/27|AC=14|PP=4/20|Ini+2(3)|Per+7|For+5|Ref+6|Will+6 Shadow's Status

Aldon grins as none of the others offer introductions, These Northerners are all so similar, rough around the edges. As if the custom of introductions mean nothing. I suppose in a place where the weather is as deadly as the people, it is not worth knowing another's name unless they prove themselves resilient enough to be memorabhle.

Aldon chuckles at Ranek's response, "Indeed my friend, guilty as charged. I have been here for less than two winters. I came here on a quest for knowledge but the savage Orcs did slay the very man I came here to seek out. Since then I have remained awaiting a sign of what to do and where to go next. Perhaps the Gods themselves have seen fit to relieve my boredom".

Aldon hears the dwarven tongue and approaches the two nodding to Bolkvar,

Dwarven:
"Greetings Brother, if you've a third book and there are two of you that leaves one for me.

Reading I have often found as useful as Meditation to pass the time, especially when one wishes the time to pass more quickly. Do you not agree?"


Male Human Magus 3/Wizard (Evocation (Admixture)) 3/Gestalt 3 | HP 30/30 | AC 16 20/24, touch 16 20/24, flat-footed 10 14/18 | CMD 16 | Fort +6, Ref +5, Will +4 | Init +3 | Perception +0 | Arcane pool 5/5 |
Magus Spells:
1st - 3/3
Wizard Spells:
2nd - 2/2, 1st - 3/3

With Aldon going to greet the Dwarves, Ranek decides to speak to the archer in the corner. After all, if she was someone of influence here, his brother would want him to forge a contact - and she could possibly aid him in his ascent to the vacant post of battlemage. Turning to her, he offers his hand and says, "Ranek Clifton, late of Waterdeep. Tell me, who might you be?"


Male Dwarf| HP: 45/45 | AC: 19 (11 Tch, 18 Fl) | CMB: +5, CMD: 16 | F: +9, R: +3, W: +7 | Init: +1 | Perc: +9, Darkvision 60ft., SM: +9| Speed 30ft (30ft) | Active conditions: None. | Channel energy (2d6) 2/3 Gestalt Bloodrager (untouchable rager)/Cleric of Clanggedin Silverbeard/3rd | Rage: 7/10 Rounds

Before Thurvek walks away, the cleric is shocked to hear the human(?) speak using the dwarven tongue, something Thurvek can never get over hearing. He does not even have a beard?!
Looking to Bolkvar and then back to the stranger, Thurvek mutters,

Dwarven:
"Eh. Yes. Indeed."

As much as Thurvek would love to leave this conversation, the cleric can not as yet see a way out of it.
Dwarven:
"Mediation? Sounds like something right up your hall, Bolkvar."


Seeker Empyreal Sorceror / Perfect Scholar Unchained Monk of the Mantis (3) HP (45/45) AC (20/24) T (19) FF (15/19) Saves (8/8/8) Initiative (+5) CMD (25) Lvl 1 Spells (4/6) HF (7/7) SF (5/5) Ki (5/5) Per (+10/11 traps)

Bolkvar eyed the monk warily. He then nodded slowly. {Dwarven}"You speak the tongue of our people well. And I certainly support any on a quest for knowledge. Here...let me see." Reaching through his pack he pulled out another large tome. "This one is on the nature of the various planes. If you are one of the xothor* then this might well interest you. But before you get into it, might I have your name and what temple you come from? I am Bolkvar, and this is Thurvek. Followers of Dugamaren Brightmantle and Clanggedin Silverbeard respectively."

* Xothor roughly translates to "those who seek knowledge" in dwarven. It has a further connotation of a follower of Dugamaren Brightmantle, the dwarven god of knowledge, scholars and inventors. His priests seek out knowledge for the sake of learning as an end goal.


HP = 27/27|AC=14|PP=4/20|Ini+2(3)|Per+7|For+5|Ref+6|Will+6 Shadow's Status

Aldon nods to both dwarves,

Dwarven:
"The Edificant Library which follows the teachings of Grandmaster Penpahg D'Ahn. However, my training has also touched upon the underlying elements of the multiverse, the Four Winds. Despite myself I gravitated towards such learnings even though not specifically taught at the Library.

I am indeed one of the Xothor, though I am no cleric like Thurvek I venerate Oghma and seek knowledge wherever and whenever I can find it friend Boklvar. We, it seems, are cut from similar cloth so to speak.

I fear I do not know much of the way of Clanggedin Silverbeard friend Thurvek. Perhaps you can enlighten me?"


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Gay Male Inhuman

After a quarter hour, perhaps a bit more, Hammer Lord Lathkiera Morlund entered the room. Her blue and spotless blue and purple robes hung precisely from her spare frame. She held her hands so the gloves on both betrayed not a wrinkle. She had the look of a hard woman who did not suffer fools gladly in her pinched lips and steel gaze. She wore her just starting to gray hair cut short enough to see the scalp beneath.

With her came a dusky-skinned man with a fully shorn head covered with a skullcap. He looked to be scarcely an adult, but his pale gray robes couldn't hide the heavy limp at each step or the deliberate way he moved. He bore the cold, blank look of a man bent on mastering himself. His fingers showed an angry redness, which darkened to near black in some places, and the same marked his ears and the tip of his nose. The Hammer Lord stood near to him, but spared him not a glance as she took her place in the chamber.

"Well met," she said, voice cool and even. "You must accept my apologies for the delay." Morlund paused just long enough for the gray-robed man to regain her side. "You are come here for divers reasons, some bound to us by many chains and others by the gods' decree. They are all your own."

"Hammer Lord, I am grateful to you," the limping man said in a thin voice, showing much strain. He spoke with a thick accent and a rising and falling intonation.1 "But it will not honor our gods to make a compulsion of this. We are all racked enough in our own ways, to shed our own tears."

"Nonsense," she said at once. "The gods' will is the gods' will, even as they watch us now. It is they who weave these fates, not I."

The limping man looked set to argue the point, but bowed his head anyway. The motion clearly pained him.

"Now then, on behalf of Tyr Grimjaws and Torm Truesayer, I call upon you eight in a matter of relief and obligation to our kindred faith, which Brother Bardeid of Ilmater will explain."

"My thanks, Hammer Lord," the limping man said. "Worthies, I am hight Bardeid Jassan, Adorned of Ilmater. My home is the Monastery of St. Fanal, which has suffered a grave loss."

"Our reliquary houses the mortal remains of St. Bakau the Tongueless, of Shoonach. He preached against the reign of the... Bardeid visibly searched for a proper word. "Necromancer King, who placed him under many torments for the amusement of his court. Still, Bakau preached and they felt a quailing in their hearts. The Shoon answered it by pulling his tongue from its roots and casting him in a dark place, but still Bakau prayed. Ilmater heard the words within his tears and gave them too to Fanal, who wrote each word though he knew not his letters and became a great teacher before his own martyrdom."

"It is the sacred calling of St. Fanal's to preserve and learn the lore of ages past, so we may learn from it the roots of suffering. The Shoon claimed Bakau's life after nine long years of torment, then burned his body in black fires and caught the ashes in three urns: for his tongue, his head, and his heart. They were to be taken to the far corners of Shoon's imperium and scattered, so St. Bakau might not rise to be twice martyred."

"In the Necromancer King's court remained one woman moved by Bakau's testimony. In atonement for her many sins, especially the joy she once felt in seeing Bakau's torment, she stole the urns before they could be scattered and carried them off to the hands of the faith. Her name is lost to us now," Bardeid bowed his head in deep sorrow and shame. "The three urns are the most sacred relics of my order, but they were lost to us a century ago. We believe cultists of Bhaelros2 or Loviatar -forgive me, Loviatar Screamkindler- took them from us for some dark purpose."

"Many of our faith martyred themselves in the search, but in the end we came to believe the loss of St. Bakau another scourge we must endure. Last year, our flagellations brought a revelation from the Crying God. The urns had come to the Savage North, where we would face new trials but may regain them. The vision showed a steep copper mountain with a tower and village at its foot. Ours is an order of scholars, but we dispatched word to other houses of the Crying God and a small company formed for the quest. I begged leave to join them as the expedition's historian."

Brother Bardeid paused and looked briefly at one of the hard chairs, but turned from it and straightened his back.

"We came to your lands too late, with the summer gone and the passes closing. We spent the coldest months in Waterdeep, learning your tongue and what awaited us. Our best efforts could bring only rumors. As soon as the thaws began, we set out to follow the River Rauvin. We took the Moon Pass3, on the advice of letters from Brothers and Sisters in Silverymoon who warned us those hungry for enchanted items and other secrets watch it most closely." Broder Bardeid sighed, "I would have liked to see the Vault of Sages. We had no time for the Edificant Library or Candlekeep."

"The late snows delayed us in the pass and wicked men fell upon us. Our warriors were strong and righteous, but the bandits were many. I survived the battle only from their contempt. Their horses dragged me for miles through the rocks and ice, then they stripped me, scourged me, and sent me unclad into the snow. I prayed, but became lost in the white cold. I laid down for my last night, but the patrols of your city found me and brought me here."

"I am a broken man now," Brother Bardeid said without shame. "The brotherhood of the Triad has done its work to spare my life, but I never was fit for questing. My Brothers told me to remain home, but I would not hear them. Now Law and Duty speak and them I hear: the vision sounds of the place called Auvandell, near to Sundabar."

"For the restoration of my relics I give my body and life gladly, though they will not buy it. I pray you, take up my quest. Restore the urns to my hands and I will take St. Bakau to his final home."

1 Ariyana and Aldondrick place him as a native speaker of Alzhedo, the tongue of Calimshan.
2 The southern god of destruction, often likened to Talos Stormlord.
3 The Moon Pass is southeast of Sundabar.


Male Dwarf| HP: 45/45 | AC: 19 (11 Tch, 18 Fl) | CMB: +5, CMD: 16 | F: +9, R: +3, W: +7 | Init: +1 | Perc: +9, Darkvision 60ft., SM: +9| Speed 30ft (30ft) | Active conditions: None. | Channel energy (2d6) 2/3 Gestalt Bloodrager (untouchable rager)/Cleric of Clanggedin Silverbeard/3rd | Rage: 7/10 Rounds

Thurvek grunts as he considers the words of the weak human.
At first, I would say no: not my saint or god, not my problem. But it is human's lot to ask for our help and protection. Besides, it's always good conduct to be in the good graces of a good deity, even if it isn't yours.
"Fine", grunts Thurvek. "The Father of Battle will see it done."


HP = 27/27|AC=14|PP=4/20|Ini+2(3)|Per+7|For+5|Ref+6|Will+6 Shadow's Status

Aldon understands Broder Bardeid's longing to visit places of great knowledge, having lived in such places for parts of his life he knows that any being who would have such a desire in their hearts is a being kin to him, "Where there is the Will there is a Way. I shall take up your quest, I need only a spare hour to give my employer the City Guard notice that I shall be relinquishing my current duties. As I am sure many in this room can attest to, Torm looks poorly upon those who abandon their duties with nary an explanation or rationale as to why they are doing so".


Seeker Empyreal Sorceror / Perfect Scholar Unchained Monk of the Mantis (3) HP (45/45) AC (20/24) T (19) FF (15/19) Saves (8/8/8) Initiative (+5) CMD (25) Lvl 1 Spells (4/6) HF (7/7) SF (5/5) Ki (5/5) Per (+10/11 traps)

Bolkvar nodded as he put his books away. He was happy to meet a follower of Oghma, and was doubly glad to have found a quest for lost knowledge. "Aye. The quest is a worthy one in the eyes of the Errant Explorer. Under mountain or over hill, we will seen it out."


hp 33E/39H/72T | AC 17, T 12, FF 15 | CMB +6, CMD 18 | F 8, R 7(9 w/ stance), W 9| imn Fear, Dis +4 psn, Elec 5 | init 7 (11 w/stance) | Dark 60' | perc 16
spells:
1st: 4/day
maneuvers:
1st: 3/readied
detect evil at will | summon monster 2 6/day
Marcus of Torm wrote:
"The wind has teeth today, that's for sure!" replied Marcus easily. "It was like this all last winter in Briarwood. Don't know if you've been there, way up in the spine of the world. Got snowed in, had to wait for the thaw. Of course that meant I was stuck with the neighbors and them with me..." Marcus had been so glad when he finally got back to Sundabar. Spending the entire winter in a tiny place like Briarwood walking on eggshells had seriously tested his resolve.

I've never been to the Briarwood. I was just recalled from Coldwood. It's why I haven't been on patrol with you this month. Hakon pulls of his helm revealing a man in his late twenties. He has short-cropped blond hair and piercing blue eyes. His armor is unbelievably bulky: huge pauldrons and a wing-tipped helm are its most prominent features. Despite being a dull gray color, the armor is intricately etched with Torm's gauntlet and celestial imagery. A place well worth its name. And, in the dead of winter! Bane's codpiece I didn't think I'll ever thaw out. I arrived three nights ago, and I can finally feel toes again. He laughs and takes another sip of his mulled ale.

He quiets though, turning an ear to the dwarves. They were probably not planning anything heinous, but speaking in separate tongues was always suspicious. The priests in the Hall of Everlasting Justice had insisted he learn the Dwarven tongue when he started training with them. They said it made sound tactics. Really, it was just polite to speak the tongue of your neighbors. Seeing Aldondrick approach them and the books they shared, Hakon turned back to Marcus with a grin. Whyever we're here, It will no doubt be something for the skalds to sing--eight of us in all. That doesn't happen every day.

He stands and grows silent when Hammer Lord Morlund entered. He gives her his entire attention, and offers the same to Brother Bardeid when he speaks. Hakon's eyes soften as the Brother speaks. Brother Bardeid, at the command of my superiors in the Hall, you have my blade and my shield and until you no longer have their need. I will return the urns to you, I swear it by the True!


Male Human Magus 3/Wizard (Evocation (Admixture)) 3/Gestalt 3 | HP 30/30 | AC 16 20/24, touch 16 20/24, flat-footed 10 14/18 | CMD 16 | Fort +6, Ref +5, Will +4 | Init +3 | Perception +0 | Arcane pool 5/5 |
Magus Spells:
1st - 3/3
Wizard Spells:
2nd - 2/2, 1st - 3/3

Ranek listened as Brother Jassan explained what their quest was to be. It sounded like a challenging and dangerous quest - one that would likely expand his power while growing his reputation and status to claim the position of battlemage. He nodded as the Brother concluded his words. "I would be glad to aid you in your quest to reclaim these relics. Tell me, do these urns have any defining features to them, such as material or decoration?"

He will also try to think of what he knows of Auvandell.

Knowledge (local): 1d20 + 11 ⇒ (9) + 11 = 20


Human Oradin 3 | HP 33 AC 18 T12 FF16 | CMB + 7 CMD 19 | +8 fort +7 ref +7 will | +2 init (roll twice) | Resource Tracker
Skills:
Diplomacy +9 Handle Animal +8 Kn:Nobles +7 Kn:Religion +7 Perception +6 Sense Motive +6 Spellcraft +7 Survival +7

Out of long habit, Marcus came to attention when Hammer Entered the room. He listened carefully to Brother Bardeid's story, and what a tale it was, full of woe. He shivered inwardly when necromancy was mentioned. He still had occasional nightmares of that fateful day long ago when almost the entire wagon train, his parents included, had been slain by undead. They had been passing the fields of the dead, named after the countless souls who gave their lives over many generations of warfare. They'd passed this way many times before and all had been fine, but this time an army of the dead had been raised by a madman. It was by the grace of Torm that he'd been saved, a group of Knights had been tracking the necromancer. Marcus considered there was a certain symmetry to this, now man grown he was now to do battle with the dark forces he could not have as a child.

Realizing his mind had wandered, Marcus shook his head slightly and coughed. Suddenly everyone glanced at him and Marcus stated simply, "Brother Bardeid, it would be an honor." There were many flowery things that he might have said. High oaths sworn, boasts of unyielding resolution, but that path lead to vainglory. What mattered was what you did...

Addressing the room Marcus spoke up once more, "What do we know of Auvandell? Is there some reason the urns might be hidden there?"


Seeker Empyreal Sorceror / Perfect Scholar Unchained Monk of the Mantis (3) HP (45/45) AC (20/24) T (19) FF (15/19) Saves (8/8/8) Initiative (+5) CMD (25) Lvl 1 Spells (4/6) HF (7/7) SF (5/5) Ki (5/5) Per (+10/11 traps)

"Auvandell." He shakes his head sadly. "T'was me Clan's home. Most o' our records be lost to calamity and disaster. But we built our home there a century before the year zero. It was sacked by orcs. We rebuilt it along with human settlers about five centuries ago. T'was lost again to a nameless evil a century later. The lands were purged three centuries ago by the Knights o' the Silver Coursers. Me people don't have the numbers or gold to take back what we lost. Plenty o' room for those o' ill intent to hide there, an' there may well be relics from the dark days that escapes the knightly purge. Also there have always been rumors o' a dragon's hoard buried by me people. I dunnae know the truth o' that."


Human Oradin 3 | HP 33 AC 18 T12 FF16 | CMB + 7 CMD 19 | +8 fort +7 ref +7 will | +2 init (roll twice) | Resource Tracker
Skills:
Diplomacy +9 Handle Animal +8 Kn:Nobles +7 Kn:Religion +7 Perception +6 Sense Motive +6 Spellcraft +7 Survival +7

Marcus listens respectfully and nods, it sounded like Auvandell made the perfect hiding place. Solemnly Marcus replied, "I lament the fate that has befallen your clan's home. If the gods are wiling, perhaps it shall yet be restored."


HP 33/33 | AC 15, T 15, FF 14 | CMD 20 | F +4, R +5, W +8 | Init +5 | Perc +10
Resources:
Arcane Pool (4/5) | Ki Pool (2/5) | Perfect Strike (2/3) | Spells Prepared (Conc +7) - 0 Level: Dancing Lights, Detect Magic, Read Magic, Mage Hand; 1st Level: Magic Missile, Magic Missile, Ray of Enfeeblement, Shield

Seeing Ranek smile at the dwarves’ conversation, Ari can’t help but smile as well. Dwarven was one of several languages she had learned as a child. It was a bit humorous that dwarves still thought they could hold a private conversation in a public place simply by speaking in their native tongue.

When Ranek walks over to Ari and introduces himself, she finds herself extending her hand and shaking his. She notes that he’s from Waterdeep.

I wonder if he knew Oretholn or Urethaunt?

She decides it’s best not to mention the two mages and just sticks with his question instead. She considers not answering, but determines it’s probably best for the others to know who she is. Ari would have to work with these people, so she doesn’t want to start off on the wrong foot.

“My name is Ariyana Dawn. But you can just call me Ari. I follow Ilmater and come from Calimshan.”

Before the conversation can continue further, Hammer Lord Lathkiera Morlund enters along with another man who bears a distinct limp. The man’s attire looks familiar to Ari.

She listens closely as the Hammer Lord and the other man, Bardeid Jassan, speak. She’s surprised but overjoyed to know that another Ilmatari was in the area. But as Brother Bardeid continued his tale, her heart broke for him and the lost Ilmatari.

Ari realizes tears are streaming down her face by the time Bardeid finishes speaking. She lets her bow drop to the floor and runs over to the man. She pulls Rolt’s necklace from under her shirt and pulls off her sleeves of many garments to reveal her real clothes.

She resists the urge to wipe away her tears as she wants Bardeid to know how much she cares for him. Ari takes his right hand in hers and says, "Kasalan Bardeid, E orosom zer noro rabam."

Calishite Alzhedo:
“Brother Bardeid, I mourn for your loss.”

Ari pauses for a moment as she realizes she had reverted back to speaking in her native Calishite Alzhedo. It was just natural for her to do so after hearing Bardeid’s accent.

Returning to Illuskan, Ari says, “Brother Bardeid, I am Ariyana Dawn and one of The Crying God's Broken Ones. Your loss pains me. If there is anything I can do to share in your suffering and ease your burden, please let me know.

“I come from the church of Ilmater near Almraiven. Or at least from the church that used to reside there. The remainder of the congregation has come here after most of us were slaughtered by thieves. We suspect they were hired by the nobles of Almraiven."

Ari decides it's best not to mention her involvement with Oretholn or her personal transgressions. The time might come to fully confess her past to the others, but now isn't that time.

“But enough about me. By Ilmater’s grace, we will find St. Bakau’s urns and return them to you that you may bring him to his final home. You have lived your life well, let us take up this burden for you now.”

Ari stops speaking but then decides to add, “And if any cultists remain near the urns, we shall see to it that they never threaten anyone else again.”


Seeker Empyreal Sorceror / Perfect Scholar Unchained Monk of the Mantis (3) HP (45/45) AC (20/24) T (19) FF (15/19) Saves (8/8/8) Initiative (+5) CMD (25) Lvl 1 Spells (4/6) HF (7/7) SF (5/5) Ki (5/5) Per (+10/11 traps)

Bolkvar nodded graciously at Marcus and put his hand over his heart. He had said his peace and would give the rest time to talk. As Ariyana spoke, though, he raised an eyebrow in surprise. He had thought that the children of the crying god were pacifists. Seeing one talk readily about bringing harm to others? He resolved to ask her about this when the time presented itself. It was intriguing to think that there was a military order of Ilmaterians that he had not yet heard of.


Half-Elf Bard (Rubato) 3 // Fighter 3 | HP: 36/36 | AC: 20, 16 Tch, 14 Fl | CMD: 19 | F: +6, R: +8, W: +4 (Situational) | Init: +4 | Low-Light Vision, Perc: +6 | Bardic Performance: 10/13 | Active conditions: Inspire Courage, Encouraging Roar

Caught with a mouthful of pastry when the Hammer Lord entered, Barra swallowed quickly and set his plate down.

He listened to the Brother's tale , rapt, and the smile quickly vanished from his face. He spoke up, somberly, after Bardeid was finished and said, "You should sit down, Brother. Your pain spares none of us, and your words are more than enough to move. I admit to being here for more secular reasons than most of us seem to be, but I would be happy and honored to help."

The others, and their responses, intrigued him. No surprise the woman was a southlander; that she served the Crying God was welcome news. That the dwarves had such personal history with this place was more welcome still (was there anywhere in these mountains they didn't?); old tales and maybe even a map would be helpful. The knights were, well, knights - armored and proclaiming vows.

He did his level best to ignore the Hammer Lord and her glare; now that he had heard why they were late her apology lessened her in his eyes.


Gay Male Inhuman
Ranek Clifton wrote:

Ranek listened as Brother Jassan explained what their quest was to be. It sounded like a challenging and dangerous quest - one that would likely expand his power while growing his reputation and status to claim the position of battlemage. He nodded as the Brother concluded his words. "I would be glad to aid you in your quest to reclaim these relics. Tell me, do these urns have any defining features to them, such as material or decoration?"

He will also try to think of what he knows of Auvandell.

[dice=Knowledge (local)]1d20+11

"Then you have my thanks," Brother Bardeid said. "The urns are each as long as a man's forearm and painted with scenes depicting St. Bakau's martyrdom, each set into a diamond-shaped space and enclosed with geometric patterns. They are chiefly blue in color, with red separations, save for their lids. Those are black and bear a spiraling star in white, in memory of the darkness of the Necromancer King and the hope that shone still within it and moved one in the court to righteousness."

"The strength of many prayers poured into them. Our records say that the urns could not be broken or opened by ordinary force, but they might bleed or weep from their surface. Some who held them believed they could feel memory the cold touch of the Shoon's dark magic upon the Saint."

And the knowledge check.

Ranek knows Auvandell as the village at the far western edge of Sundabar's domain and the foot of Silverymoon Pass. Many caravans use it as a waystation once the pass opens, which brings in much coin. The town has fortifications, including an old dwarf tower that holds a bell used to warn of nearing perils. A few hundred now live there, governed by High Sheriff Jortheyn Serpentbane. He was named to the post by the Ruling Master shortly after his own elevation, though Sundabar.

He also knows that the land nearby is rocky and most of the residents tend herds of goats and sheep. A few work in apple and cherry orchards, much of their produce finding its way to the city along the the iron, copper, and iron mined nearby.


Gay Male Inhuman

Brother Bardeid took in Aryiana's words and accepted her embrace.

"Almraiven? St. Fanal's is in the Alimir Mountains, though many days' walk to the city. Still, it is good to see someone from home so far away. Thank you for brightening my day."


hp 33E/39H/72T | AC 17, T 12, FF 15 | CMB +6, CMD 18 | F 8, R 7(9 w/ stance), W 9| imn Fear, Dis +4 psn, Elec 5 | init 7 (11 w/stance) | Dark 60' | perc 16
spells:
1st: 4/day
maneuvers:
1st: 3/readied
detect evil at will | summon monster 2 6/day
Marcus of Torm wrote:

Out of long habit, Marcus came to attention when Hammer Entered the room. He listened carefully to Brother Bardeid's story, and what a tale it was, full of woe. He shivered inwardly when necromancy was mentioned. He still had occasional nightmares of that fateful day long ago when almost the entire wagon train, his parents included, had been slain by undead. They had been passing the fields of the dead, named after the countless souls who gave their lives over many generations of warfare. They'd passed this way many times before and all had been fine, but this time an army of the dead had been raised by a madman. It was by the grace of Torm that he'd been saved, a group of Knights had been tracking the necromancer. Marcus considered there was a certain symmetry to this, now man grown he was now to do battle with the dark forces he could not have as a child.

Realizing his mind had wandered, Marcus shook his head slightly and coughed. Suddenly everyone glanced at him and Marcus stated simply, "Brother Bardeid, it would be an honor." There were many flowery things that he might have said. High oaths sworn, boasts of unyielding resolution, but that path lead to vainglory. What mattered was what you did...

Addressing the room Marcus spoke up once more, "What do we know of Auvandell? Is there some reason the urns might be hidden there?"

Hakon nods. He stares off into the space behind Brother Bardeid, eyes glazed and unfocused. Inwardly, he seeks guidance from the Light of his soul which Torm has blessed him with.

Searching Memory Banks:

knowledge local: 1d20 + 5 ⇒ (6) + 5 = 11
knowledge nobility: 1d20 + 7 ⇒ (1) + 7 = 8
knowledge religion: 1d20 + 5 ⇒ (17) + 5 = 22
knowledge planes: 1d20 + 5 ⇒ (6) + 5 = 11


Gay Male Inhuman
Lightfooted Barra wrote:

Caught with a mouthful of pastry when the Hammer Lord entered, Barra swallowed quickly and set his plate down.

He listened to the Brother's tale , rapt, and the smile quickly vanished from his face. He spoke up, somberly, after Bardeid was finished and said, "You should sit down, Brother. Your pain spares none of us, and your words are more than enough to move. I admit to being here for more secular reasons than most of us seem to be, but I would be happy and honored to help."

"I would not," Bardeid said. "But it is a sin to bring suffering to others. If that is your wish, I will withdraw from contemplation of the Divine One's most generous gifts for the moment." He offered a wry smile and made a pious gesture, touching his hand to his brow and heart, before carefully lowering himself into a chair.

"You are all very kind to come to the air of my monastery, so far away. When you return, I would ask your tales so they may give an example to future generations."


hp 33E/39H/72T | AC 17, T 12, FF 15 | CMB +6, CMD 18 | F 8, R 7(9 w/ stance), W 9| imn Fear, Dis +4 psn, Elec 5 | init 7 (11 w/stance) | Dark 60' | perc 16
spells:
1st: 4/day
maneuvers:
1st: 3/readied
detect evil at will | summon monster 2 6/day

Of course, Brother. Would you like water to quench your thirst? The priests of the Martyr were some of the most holy and dedicated believers Hakon had ever seen. They took on the sufferings of the world so others would not have to. They represented the need for empathy and sympathy among the Triad, as well as a reminder for why the followers Loyal Fury was must be resolute in their duty, and the purpose of Grimjaws' faith.


HP 33/33 | AC 15, T 15, FF 14 | CMD 20 | F +4, R +5, W +8 | Init +5 | Perc +10
Resources:
Arcane Pool (4/5) | Ki Pool (2/5) | Perfect Strike (2/3) | Spells Prepared (Conc +7) - 0 Level: Dancing Lights, Detect Magic, Read Magic, Mage Hand; 1st Level: Magic Missile, Magic Missile, Ray of Enfeeblement, Shield

Ari takes a step back from Brother Bardeid as he begins speaking again. She risks a quick glance at the others in the room, realizing she probably made quite a scene when she rushed over to Bardeid’s side. With as much subtlety as possible, she slips Rolt’s necklace back under her shirt. She decides to simply pocket her sleeves of many garments. There was no longer any point in trying to blend in.

She listens as Bardeid describes the exterior of the urns. Ari thought the symbolism of the lids was particularly appropriate. Ilmater always provides hope. Even when there’s seemingly no hope to be found. She thought she understood that more than most.

At the mention of the dark magic, Ari’s expression grows grim. There was too much mundane evil in the world. Magical evil was something else entirely.

Ari smiles at Brother Bardeid's words to her. "I'm sure the other Ilmatari would love to meet you. Perhaps I can introduce you to them after this affair is settled."

Ari pauses for a moment, remembering Bardeid's mention of dark magic. “Do we need to take any special precautions before holding the urns?” She asks Bardeid. “Is the dark magic dangerous to those near the urns?”

Turning to the Hammer Lord, Ari asks, “Is it safe to travel at this time of year? I’m not native to this area, but those snow drifts look deadly. Ilmater forbid we have to spend the night outside during a snowstorm. We would be buried alive. How many days will it take to get to Auvandell from here?”


Gay Male Inhuman
Hakon "Tormveir" Hakonson wrote:

Hakon nods. He stares off into the space behind Brother Bardeid, eyes glazed and unfocused. Inwardly, he seeks guidance from the Light of his soul which Torm has blessed him with.

Hakon knows the general location of Auvandell, but the place itself only from a story. When the world was young, the great hero Auvan was beloved of Torm and swore his sword to the Dwarvenking Delzoun. A great dragon then lived in the mountain at the foot of the Silverymoon Pass and the Dwarvenking decreed Auvan ride forth to smite it.

Auvan ventured alone to the great mountain, where the dragon's wings blocked the stars above. When it roared the snows fell and the earth shook. Where it breathed, the air became flame. Yet Auvan did not waver, but battled for five days and nights. Twice he had the dragon nearly to the point of death, only for it to escape by wyrmish magic. Twice the dragon had him in its very grip, the life blood flowing from his body. The fifth time they came together, Auvan's armor broke beneath the dragon's teeth, each as tall as he, and Auvan saw the dragon's fires well up in its throat. With a last prayer to Torm, he drove his blade through the top of the dragon's mouth and it was slain.

Auvan Wyrmslayer nearly died at the foot of the dragon's mountain, his wounds pouring forth. But a fair elfmaid came upon him in the fourth day of his suffering. Awed by his great deed and moved by his pain, she sang the songs of her people and his hurts were washed away. For a season they remained together and a love grew between them, but with the passing snows her father, a proud elflord, learned of their dalliance and spirited her away from the man. She wept her life away on a sad tor near to the ocean. Auvan sought his liege's pardon to find her and prove his worth to her father, but the two were never again to meet in these Realms.


Gay Male Inhuman
Hakon "Tormveir" Hakonson wrote:
Of course, Brother. Would you like water to quench your thirst? The priests of the Martyr were some of the most holy and dedicated believers Hakon had ever seen. They took on the sufferings of the world so others would not have to. They represented the need for empathy and sympathy among the Triad, as well as a reminder for why the followers Loyal Fury was must be resolute in their duty, and the purpose of Grimjaws' faith.

"I thank you, but nay. The novices have kept me well-watered," Bother Bardeid said.


Gay Male Inhuman
Ariyana Dawn wrote:
Ari smiles at Brother Bardeid's words to her. "I'm sure the other Ilmatari would love to meet you. Perhaps I can introduce you to them after this affair is settled."

"I would like that," Bardeid said.

Ariyana Dawn wrote:
Ari pauses for a moment, remembering Bardeid's mention of dark magic. “Do we need to take any special precautions before holding the urns?” She asks Bardeid. “Is the dark magic dangerous to those near the urns?”

"It is only a memory. If the urns were held and meditated upon, it would become painful. The monks would use them in prayer this way, but only at great need. It is best to let the saints sleep."

Ariyana Dawn wrote:
Turning to the Hammer Lord, Ari asks, “Is it safe to travel at this time of year? I’m not native to this area, but those snow drifts look deadly. Ilmater forbid we have to spend the night outside during a snowstorm. We would be buried alive. How many days will it take to get to Auvandell from here?”

"It is late in the spring," the Hammer Lord said. "The snows cannot continue much longer and have three days to break while you travel the vale."

The Hammer Lord is a hardass with a matching reputation about Sundabar, but her implication that you should get the lead out is not a binding command on anyone. If you want to start today you could get half a day in before nightfall. The weather might better on the morrow, or a few days hence. It is that time of year.


hp 33E/39H/72T | AC 17, T 12, FF 15 | CMB +6, CMD 18 | F 8, R 7(9 w/ stance), W 9| imn Fear, Dis +4 psn, Elec 5 | init 7 (11 w/stance) | Dark 60' | perc 16
spells:
1st: 4/day
maneuvers:
1st: 3/readied
detect evil at will | summon monster 2 6/day

Hakon stirs himself from his musings. Auvandell is known in a story told by those who follow the True Faith. Auvan was a holy warrior of Torm sworn to serve the Dwarvenking of Delzoun. The Dwarvenking commanded him to slay a mighty dragon in the pass. They fought for 5 days, and Auvan Wyrmslayer was victorious, though it nearly cost him his life. An elfmaid tended his wounds and a great love grew between them. But, her father, the Elflord, disapproved of the match, and took her away. They say she died on a lonely tor near the ocean.

Does Hakon know enough to locate both this tor and Auvandell?


hp 33E/39H/72T | AC 17, T 12, FF 15 | CMB +6, CMD 18 | F 8, R 7(9 w/ stance), W 9| imn Fear, Dis +4 psn, Elec 5 | init 7 (11 w/stance) | Dark 60' | perc 16
spells:
1st: 4/day
maneuvers:
1st: 3/readied
detect evil at will | summon monster 2 6/day
Samnell wrote:
Hakon "Tormveir" Hakonson wrote:
Of course, Brother. Would you like water to quench your thirst? The priests of the Martyr were some of the most holy and dedicated believers Hakon had ever seen. They took on the sufferings of the world so others would not have to. They represented the need for empathy and sympathy among the Triad, as well as a reminder for why the followers Loyal Fury was must be resolute in their duty, and the purpose of Grimjaws' faith.
"I thank you, but nay. The novices have kept me well-watered," Bother Bardeid said.

OF course, Brother Bardeid. But, please, if you need anything, I am yours to command.


Gay Male Inhuman
Hakon "Tormveir" Hakonson wrote:

Hakon stirs himself from his musings. Auvandell is known in a story told by those who follow the True Faith. Auvan was a holy warrior of Torm sworn to serve the Dwarvenking of Delzoun. The Dwarvenking commanded him to slay a mighty dragon in the pass. They fought for 5 days, and Auvan Wyrmslayer was victorious, though it nearly cost him his life. An elfmaid tended his wounds and a great love grew between them. But, her father, the Elflord, disapproved of the match, and took her away. They say she died on a lonely tor near the ocean.

Does Hakon know enough to locate both this tor and Auvandell?

He doesn't. It's a religious story and the focus is firmly on Auvan's nobility and deeds rather than the geography.


HP 33/33 | AC 15, T 15, FF 14 | CMD 20 | F +4, R +5, W +8 | Init +5 | Perc +10
Resources:
Arcane Pool (4/5) | Ki Pool (2/5) | Perfect Strike (2/3) | Spells Prepared (Conc +7) - 0 Level: Dancing Lights, Detect Magic, Read Magic, Mage Hand; 1st Level: Magic Missile, Magic Missile, Ray of Enfeeblement, Shield
Samnell wrote:
"It is only a memory. If the urns were held and meditated upon, it would become painful. The monks would use them in prayer this way, but only at great need. It is best to let the saints sleep."

Ari nods in agreement with Bardeid. "Yes, that does seem best."

Samnell wrote:

"It is late in the spring," the Hammer Lord said. "The snows cannot continue much longer and have three days to break while you travel the vale."

Ari's brow furrows momentarily at the Hammer Lord's tone. Waiting till after the snows broke seems prudent to Ari. Still, she didn't want to disrespect the Hammer Lord's wishes, so she tentatively asks more questions.

"So, are there sheltered places we can rest along the way? Should we have some sort of official writ from yourself giving us permission to search Auvandell once we arrive?"

After asking her questions, Ari gazes wistfully at nothing as Hakon tells of Auvan and the elfmaid. The nature of the group's soon to come journey made the story particularly poignant.


Seeker Empyreal Sorceror / Perfect Scholar Unchained Monk of the Mantis (3) HP (45/45) AC (20/24) T (19) FF (15/19) Saves (8/8/8) Initiative (+5) CMD (25) Lvl 1 Spells (4/6) HF (7/7) SF (5/5) Ki (5/5) Per (+10/11 traps)

Memory Banks:

To know the current inhabitants of his ancestral home, such as any his clan would have dealings with:
Knowledge Local: 1d20 + 11 ⇒ (4) + 11 = 15

To know location of village and how best to reach it:
Geography: 1d20 + 11 ⇒ (12) + 11 = 23

To know of dwarven records on the ruins, such as its layout and/or what dark fate befell it:
History: 1d20 + 13 ⇒ (14) + 13 = 27

Hearing the pious story Bolkvar fought back the urge to grumble. The way his clan told it, it was one of their own who slew the dragon. But he was wise enough to know that everyone was the hero of their own story, and that arguing wouldn't do anything but result in hard feelings. Instead he thought of ways to be actually useful.


Gay Male Inhuman
Ariyana Dawn wrote:
"So, are there sheltered places we can rest along the way? Should we have some sort of official writ from yourself giving us permission to search Auvandell once we arrive?"

"There are waystations and sheltered places. Every caravan and patrol has their own, but I do not know them and the Master does not suffer such things mapped," the Hammer Lord said.

"You will find that writs do not reach so far in the North as you may expect," she added, with some disapproval. "It would not be proper of me to offer a letter of introduction fit for the High Sheriff; that remains the Ruling Master's prerogative as his liege. I could extend one to the Battlelady of Auvandell's temple, but she would not welcome hearing my name."


hp 33E/39H/72T | AC 17, T 12, FF 15 | CMB +6, CMD 18 | F 8, R 7(9 w/ stance), W 9| imn Fear, Dis +4 psn, Elec 5 | init 7 (11 w/stance) | Dark 60' | perc 16
spells:
1st: 4/day
maneuvers:
1st: 3/readied
detect evil at will | summon monster 2 6/day

Why, wouldn't she welcome the name of one of the Martyr's children?

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