Dyrant yawns outside the Temple, eager for the party to return so he can go find his warm bed.
Today was a long day. Tomorrow might be longer.
Shivering against the cold, Dyrant begins to make a list of things to do on the morrow:
1. Sleep
2. Offer devotions to St. Cuthbert and his Angel
3. Scribe...my provisions run low.
4. Identify that piddlespotting feather.
5. Go visit Skie and get my Pearl!
6. Sort loots from yesterday.
7. Make list of new provisions needed.
What is taking them so long?
"We can wait Atol, we know how to get to them and we have stopped their attacks. Cleaning it out can wait for us to regain our strength. Dyrant is probably tired, it's been a long day and he is not young."
Glimmil stifles a yawn of his own before nodding and returning home to the Cobwaddle family home for the night.
The night's events catch up with party members and they head home for rest. Dealting with Drakthar, sleep, prayers, and life will make it about noon before anything further is accomplished.
Now available at Skie's:
- Pearl of Power (1)
- Mithril shirt
- Wand of Mage armor (Ordered by Silfir, but I'll allow someone else to buy if they want it.)
Glimmil awakes after some particularly disturbing dreams where paladins across Oerth are infected with The Vanishing and suddenly disappearing from existence. The worst part of his dream - that said paladins go completely unnoticed by their companions as they disappear.
Glimmil wakes up, checks his hands and suffers a near-panic attack until he realizes he's wearing a human-sized nightshirt and his hands are indeed intact somewhere in the sleeve where a man's elbow would normally be found.
Leaping up and tripping on the nightshirt, Glimmil lands on the floor, his eyes and face landing within inches of Cog's nose and waiting tongue.
~*~
With breakfast in his stomach, his tales of heroic deeds shared with his family (who are likely in actuality thinking that Glimmil has been holing himself up near a local bookstore and doing far too much reading - vampires? really?), Glimmil is able to pocket two freshly baked blueberry muffins on his way to find the others.
I hope Atol likes blueberries... perhaps I should give one to Dyrant instead of both to Atol? Both men seem to like to eat... Or maybe one to Toffit? He is looking far too skinny...
"Let us meet tomorrow then for lunch so we have a half day for various errands. Then we can continue down and clear the rest of the nest..."
Atol lies in his cell at the church and sleeps deeply. Whatever pleasant or unpleasant dreams he had are forgotten on his waking and after breakfast he feels quite human again and up for anything.
If he can scribe a few scrolls, he carefully crafts a Bless and a Cure Light Wounds that morning in the church scriptorium . If not, he busies himself in the church garden enjoying the weather and the fact he's not underground fighting for his life!
Glimmil awakes after some particularly disturbing dreams where paladins across Oerth are infected with The Vanishing and suddenly disappearing from existence. The worst part of his dream - that said paladins go completely unnoticed by their companions as they disappear.
Dyrant wakes up the next morning quite excited. After a communion with Angel and prayers to St. Cuthbert, Dyrant will dress in his usual garb. Making his way to the kitchen, Dyrant thinks about going out for slurry stew, but decides to scrounge in.
Finding most of the cupboards nearly empty(Dang that Atol! Eating us out of house and home!), Dyrant settles for small meal of nuts and an old apple.
I could use a muffin. Mayhaps after Glim gets here we'll go visit Skie and get some slurry stew (with extra gristle) on the way back.
Dyrant will set to scribing for the day.
When that is complete, Dyrant will again examine the feather, this time casting Identify from memory.
Spellcraft
Drat. This feather, so simple, yet escapes me again. Harumph.
Dyrant will look at the treasure, attempting to appraise the value:
a) Appraise: gold bracelet
b) Appraise: silver comb inlaid with amber
c) Appraise: small ivory flute with jade inlays
When his scribing is done, he will take out a piece of paper and begin to scribble some notes:
1) Get Pearl.
2) Order another wand of CLW. Note to self: ask Atol about this when I see him...tell him it comes with a free scone if he seems hesitant.
Where is Glim? We should go visit Skie.
3) Ask Skie if she knows about this piddlespotting feather.
4) Sell unnecessary gear. Hope Skie will purchase all the goblin crap.
5) Visit Tygot: sell jewelry.
6) Buy food: both for ministry and for home. See if Atol wants to help. Help carry food.
Where is Atol? Probably sleeping off a stomach ache.
7) Perform ministry in the streets. By word or cudgel, St. Cuthbert's glory must be shared.
8) Go back to Drakthar's Lair?
Dyrant taps his fingers on the table while waiting more thoughts to come to him...
tap. tap. tap.
* * *
When Glim arrives, Dyrant (and anyone else who wants to go) will go to Skie's.
"Yes, yes! To Skie's! She will surely want to hear the tales of our valor and do-derring!"
Glimmil almost drags the others to the gnome's shop.
Skie welcomes the party back to her shop with a smile. Glimmil also receives a hug and a peck on the cheek. Cog is next in line for affectionate pats and the rest of the party has to settle for her glowing smile.
She gladly buys all the mundane items, but especially admires the magical items. Reading the guilt on someone's face, "Don't worry. I know this is mostly goblin junk, but there's always someone in the world who can only afford it and will be happy to see it for sale."
She takes the feather from Dyrant and examines it after tickling Glimmil first. "A bird feather token. Hmm. I don't know my birds that well, but as black as it is it reminds me of a raven or crow. They are often mentioned in love stories, but in reality often carry the dying message of some poor person seeking help or another despearte message. They're quite expensive for what little they do, but I guess at least anyone can use them."
- spellcraft
"Tell me Skie, before Glimmil whisks you away with stories of his daring, is there an enchantment that can cause a weapon to take on different properties? I like my sword, and though my morningstar is useful I would rather find a way to make my sword pretend to be silver."
Lovers and ravens and what not? I think her and Glimmil have one brain between them.
Female voice: You have 3 between yourself, we're all special in different ways.
Male voice: Rubbish, the boy's just crazy.
"You want an intelligent sword? And you want it pretend to be silver?" Skie winks as Glimmil and contains her laughter.
"Wouldn't it just be easier to use silversheen? The stuff's cheaper than the feather token and more useful. I seem to recall..." She wanders off down an aisle. "Ah. There it is right between the rings and the swords."
Skie pulls a small vial out a drawer containing what looks to be liquid silver. "Now don't go drinking this. It goes on the sword even if your sword is telling you otherwise. Some of them are tricky that way."
Dr. Toffitt returns early that morning to his aerie above the city—that is, his cramped apartment nestled in the eves of a walk-up—former servants quarters in a mansion that's been converted into apartments. His yellow eye aches slightly, always the sign of a late waxing moon. His mouth tastes metallic, the memory of raw flesh and blood.
It hasn't been very long since my last dose. All of this death is quickening it. I had best prepare a draught.
He sets about preparing his tonic, denaturing the belladonna and mugwart and adding argyrol. After imbibing it, he feels a rush of vigor but also ease, as he allows the mental exertions that he usually performs to ease for a while.
He knocks on his neighbor's door, feeling restless. "It's me, Abner. Care for some company?"
Later, as he sleeps with the lad's warm body next to him, Toffitt dreams fitfully. Ratmen. The bugbear's fangs brushing against his skin. The fragrant blood oozing from the sorcerer's wound. He murmurs in his sleep, the sound of a jungle predator, and is wakened by the boy shaking him. "I think you need to go," he's told.
Toffitt sleeps late into the morning. When he wakes, he prepares a dose of his tonic and several elixirs. He examines a couple of books he picked up after his first aventures with the Cauldron... Five. Lingua Subterrania and Sprach der Angeln. I must say, Dyrant's prayers are beginning to make sense to me—and the complaints he keeps muttering to his angel.
He reaches the group's offices just as they're leaving for Skie's. "Dyrant, I trust you've completed your inventory. What are we looking at? With all of our adventuring, I imagine my lovely new shirt could use some further wards added... Not to mention—I think I'm finally ready for a set of surgical tools..."
"What? No, I don't need a smart sword, I need one that cuts through things, even better if it works like silver and cold iron. How does this stuff work anyway?"
Glimmil blushes and chatters away at all the extra attention from Skie.
"Ooh, ooh that tickles!", yet the gnome doesn't do anything to stop the gnomess from her manipulation of the magical feather.
The paladin laughs aloud with Skie as the conversation turns to his masquerading sword, "I've always thought a mustache for a hilt would look quite dashing, Master Finneas!"
"Silver-sheen is it? Fascinating! Glimmil shakes the bottle around, and practically removes the stopper and begins finger painting, but luckily stops just short at the dirty looks from the others."
If I painted this on my face, I could blend in among the golems! Plus, I could head-butt a vampire in a cinch!
Dyrant listens to Skie explain silversheen to Finneas with a smirk upon his face.
Might as well explain flight to a fish or decorum to Glim.
He thanks Skie for taking the goblin gear and random weaponry, happy to have a nice pawn broker at reasonable rates.
She makes this town more than worth saving...even moreso for how happy she makes Glim.
Dyrant sighs.
Too bad neither would follow the Way of the Cudgel, Dyrant thinks, pondering his upcoming sermoning this evening.
* * *
Dyrant gratefully takes back the feather token and thanks Skie for explaining its use.
I hope I never have to use this ever.
* * *
"Skie, I'm looking for a bag. A nice study handy satchel, in fact. I've heard rumor of them...they hold lots of stuff, keep things organized for you as you walk but doesn't weigh much. Do you have one? How long would it take to order? I might be interested."
* * *
When Glim finishes flirting, Dyrant will move the party to Tygot's to sell the jewelry...and, hopefully, get 2nd breakfast/lunch.
The Doctor, as usual, browses Skie's shelves and aisles while Glimmel swoons and smarms. He recalls his own young love at its height, before belladonna and nightshade entered his life.
Once the whirlwind of ingratiation recedes, Toffitt approaches the counter. "Madam, I wonder if I might trouble you for a few things. First, I am in search of fine surgeon's tools. Gruesome in appearance, yet lifesavers."
"I also seek tools of a more... Adventurous nature. I wonder if you might have some sort of magics that would make me more resistant to all manner of hazards: poisons, enchantments, deep pits with spikes. One of my companions—I believe that big fellow, Finneas—possesses a cloak that he claims provides such a buffer."
"I have also learned an enchantment that creates an invisible guard that momentarily guards against blows. I am skilled at brewing elixirs that create such shields, but would very much like a wand capable of the same abjuration."
"Finally, I have a list of various alchemical ingredients necessary for the knitting and expansion of flesh. As always, I am grateful for your service."
"What? No, I don't need a smart sword, I need one that cuts through things, even better if it works like silver and cold iron. How does this stuff work anyway?"
"It's quite easy. You simply pour the contents onto your sword. It takes a few seconds so you don't spill, but it will stay shiny and effective against lycanthropes and the such for an hour."
"Skie, I'm looking for a bag. A nice study handy satchel, in fact. I've heard rumor of them...they hold lots of stuff, keep things organized for you as you walk but doesn't weigh much. Do you have one? How long would it take to order? I might be interested."
"Yes. A handy haversack is most useful for us smaller people who don't have such fine enormous muscles as Glimmy...Glimmil. Unfortunately I don't have any in stock. I sold my own long ago when I gave up the adventuring life. I could probably get you one in a week or so."
"Madam, I wonder if I might trouble you for a few things. First, I am in search of fine surgeon's tools. Gruesome in appearance, yet lifesavers."
"I also seek tools of a more... Adventurous nature. I wonder if you might have some sort of magics that would make me more resistant to all manner of hazards: poisons, enchantments, deep pits with spikes. One of my companions—I believe that big fellow, Finneas—possesses a cloak that he claims provides such a buffer."
"I have also learned an enchantment that creates an invisible guard that momentarily guards against blows. I am skilled at brewing elixirs that create such shields, but would very much like a wand capable of the same abjuration."
"Finally, I have a list of various alchemical ingredients necessary for the knitting and expansion of flesh. As always, I am grateful for your service."
"A surgeon's tools? Let me see?" Skie goes to a pile of cases in a back row. "Paints. Lockpicks. Whips, chains, & gags. Chisels. Ah, yes. Here it is." She pulls out a dark red hardwood case and opens it. Inside are an assortment of knives and other metal objects in odd, twitsted shapes. Each one is stamped with the initials, "HJ". "I don't know who the original owner was, but I acquired these from half-elf passing through a couple years back. He said they were part of his old life and he would not need them anymore."
"In regards to the cloak, did you see the one hanging by the armor? It might look a bit plain, but if you examine it you'll find it doesn't have a single loose thread or frayed end."
Skie looks more closely at the doctor. "Did you get hit in the head while you were dealing with the vampire? Perhaps you should see a doctor. You already asked for wand of shield a week ago. It should be arriving the day after tomorrow."
"Ingredients for the 'knitting and expansion of flesh'?" Skie takes a step back and closer to Glimmil. "Uhm. Which ingredients would those be? I have an extensive collection of local and exotic herbs in the middle row there. Let me know if you don't see what you need."
"Yes. A handy haversack is most useful for us smaller people who don't have such fine enormous muscles as Glimmy...Glimmil. Unfortunately I don't have any in stock. I sold my own long ago when I gave up the adventuring life. I could probably get you one in a week or so."
"A surgeon's tools? Let me see?" Skie goes to a pile of cases in a back row. "Paints. Lockpicks. Whips, chains, & gags. Chisels. Ah, yes. Here it is." She pulls out a dark red hardwood case and opens it. Inside are an assortment of knives and other metal objects in odd, twitsted shapes. Each one is stamped with the initials, "HJ". "I don't know who the original owner was, but I acquired these from a half-elf passing through a couple years back. He said they were part of his old life and he would not need them anymore."
"Perfect. Let me just pay for these right away. Hrm. Where did I hyde my coin purse?"
Skie looks more closely at the doctor. "Did you get hit in the head while you were dealing with the vampire? Perhaps you should see a doctor. You already asked for wand of shield a week ago. It..."Forgive me. My thoughts have been occupied with other things, like saving Cauldron from blood-sucking bank— I mean, vampires." Well, we got the vampires, anyway. Alas, the bankers will have to wait until we're higher level.
Glimmil gives Skie a look as if to say, I know - he has some peculiar mannerisms at times, as the doctor approaches Skie and inquires about knitting and expanding flesh.
"Hey doc! Shouldn't you get some toffee while we're here? I've been craving indulgences since we first met, and I'm not sure how long I can go without pacifying my sweet tooth!"
Glimmil bumps into Skie slightly in his exuberance, and then sheepishly grins an apology.
"Hey Skie! Do you know somewhere we can buy some chocolates? I'll be sure to bring you back some!"
Dyrant examines the manbag (the haversack, not Finneas) and tries it on.
He places a few items in the bag and marvels at the easy and quick retrieval.
Wow. I could really use this.
Taking the bag off, Dyrant's eyes travel down the bag to the price tag. Reading the tag, Dyrant whistles.
Nope. This isn't for me...yet, Dyrant's eyes travel to the Pearl he just purchased while his thoughts remember the other one that is coming soon.
"Thanks, Skie! This is a delightful bag, but a bit out of my price range right now. Maybe next week," Dyrant wonders where he thinks he's going to get the money by next week, but maybe a wealthy Cuthbertine will make a generous donation to his sermons.
Maybe.
* * *
When the party is ready, Dyrant will move them to Tygot's.
Atol wanders over the house the group shares looking for the others around lunchtime.
He examines the bare kitchen and eyes the scraps of crumbs left behind. Making up his mind instantly he heads over to the market square and buys enough food for a nice tidy supper for the everyone. He then spends the afternoon tidying up the house, planning the garden and preparing dinner.
Of course he takes a nice long nap in there too. He'll need the energy for tonights goblin raid.
Dyrant will look at the treasure, attempting to appraise the value:
a) 1d20 + 6 ⇒ (16) + 6 = 22 Appraise: gold bracelet
b) 1d20 + 6 ⇒ (20) + 6 = 26 Appraise: silver comb inlaid with amber
c) 1d20 + 6 ⇒ (10) + 6 = 16 Appraise: small ivory flute with jade inlays
Tygot appears genuinely happy to see Dyrant, his young appraisal apprentice. Lepook on the other hand disappears in a blink. "Don't mind him. He's almost as old as I am and doesn't like new things. I on the other hand do like new things. What have you brought me?"
Tygot looks over the items and initially finds them rather common aside from the precious metals and stones. After a little discussion back and forth with Dyrant convinces him of their worth though and he offers 230 gp for all of them.
gold bracelet - 50 gp
silver comb inlaid with amber - 155 gp
small ivory flute with jade inlays - 250 gp
"Hey Skie! Do you know somewhere we can buy some chocolates? I'll be sure to bring you back some!"
"I'm not sure about that. Most of the nobles have their own cooks and chefs for such things. I occassionaly have some sweet hard candies, but nothing that would melt or go bad."
Dyrant accepts the coin from Tygot happily and puts it in with the rest of the monies from Skie's.
I'll divide this over dinner at the house. I sure hope to have a nice quiet meal this night.
With that done, Dyrant will take his leave of Glim, the Doctor, and Finn, "I'm going out for some gristle stew...you are all, of course, welcome to join me. I expect I'll see you tonight for dinner at the house? Glim, please come. Bring Cog. We have much to discuss."
* * *
Dyrant sticks his spoon in his stew and enjoys the chewy goodness of it while pondering the last two weeks.
Eating slowly and savoring the 'gritty' flavor, Dyrant begins to ponder his life and his relation to St. Cuthbert.
As he eats, he slowly begins to commune with Angel, seeking guidance and wisdom from his long-term friend.
What now, Angel? What now?
Atol prepares a meal of lemon and orange pheasant with rye and barley bread, a variety of cheeses, milk and mead.
Sadly, he has no skill in the kitchen and the pheasant comes out rather more crispy than anticipated and done at 4pm - well before the dinner hour. Of course the purchased bread, cheese and whatnot are fine. Well, er, what's left of them. The cook has to eat after all - it's hard work!
"Perhaps we should get a servant for this place. It's rather large and I have no real interest in anything but the garden."
Atol realizes he's talking to nobody...
Yeah. I'd have someone to talk to as well. I wonder what we need to do to get a good servant? Maybe some poor soul from the church in need of work. I wonder if it will be expensive. Naw, not if everyone pitches in!
Atol heads over to the church to chat with his brother leaving the meal to slowly congeal in the kitchen.
"Alexander! Alexander, are you home?"
Alexander emerges from his cell. "What do you want, hero?"
Atol blushes.
"I'm no hero. Er. I think our group needs someone to take care of our house. Otherwise it'll fall to me and I don't want to do it. I thought maybe some needy soul from the church might be able to help us out."
He rushes on, "For pay of course! ...and room and board. I just have no idea how to go about finding someone honest. Do you think you could help me?"
"You don't want to do it eh? You sure do get to do whatever it is you want to do these days."
"You want to find someone honest who cleans? Why don't you leave some of that fancy gear you carry around on a table at an inn and see if anyone returns it to you. You've got plenty to spare."
"Now if you'll excuse me I have floors to scrub and dishes to clean."
An upset Atol frowns, turns and walks away.
Hrm. Maybe he's right. It will do me some good to get on my knees.
He goes into the church, gets on his knees, and seeks guidance through prayer until sunset.
Then he'll return to the house and seek out the rest of the group with a heavy hart and lots of uncertainty.
How did life get so complicated? Aren't I doing the will of St. Cuthbert?! I must remember my plans - my future flock is what is important. I must learn to preach like Dyrant.
He idly thumbs his phylactery tracing the 'PRIEST' letters over and over...
After leaving Skie's with new tools in hand, Dr. Toffitt walks the streets of Cauldron for a while. Having spent in recent days so much time underground, he takes in the tropical sun with gusto.
Wandering the streets, he feels beckoned by the lake at the bottom of the caldera, but images of submarine monstrosities fend him off.
Turning a corner near his home, he happens upon his neighbor, Carts, displaying himself like a proper popinjay. Toffitt frowns. Why must I consort with riff raff all the time? Ah, well, he's more pleasing to the eye than Dyrant, and tauter than Atol. If only he had an occupation...
A thought strikes him. "Hallo my dear! How goes the trade today? I have a proposition for you. You've been a house boy, yes? Look, it so happens that my colleagues and I have gone into business together—adventurers for hire, as it were. We're none of us very domestic, and frankly my colleagues could use a bit of refinement. You would, I'm afraid, need to wear a few more clothes." He thinks to himself, Around the office anyway. "But there'd be considerably fewer other risks involved."
Toffitt really has no idea whether Carts could pull off being a housekeeper or cook. The lad is pleasing enough to the eye, and not exactly stupid. He did make rather nice coffee and frittata this morning. But I'm afraid he might enjoy a little too much Dyrant's cudgel...
"If you agree, let's go buy some provisions for an evening meal. 'Twould be a nice surprise for the lads. And then perhaps we can arrange for some dessert..."
Not taking no for an answer, Dr. Toffitt takes him shopping for provisions before leading him to the group's new home. Finding the disaster and congealing dinner that Atol left in the kitchen, he sets Carts to task cleaning and rehabilitating the remains. "I'll be happy to handle the meat."
"Oh, hello Atol. Hello Dyrant. This is Carts. He's agreed to cook dinner for us. If you like what's on offer, he'd love to help out around the house. For a steady, honest wage of course. Wouldn't you, Carts?" The Doctor gives a look that's a bit too knowing.
Glimmil nods to Skie in understanding.
"You're right, toffee tends to melt away when things get too hot."
Oh, I have the muffins. For Atol! I wonder where he is?
With business at Skie's and Tygot's concluded, Glimmil will perform a knightly bow to Skie and be off to the so-called "safe house" of the Cauldron Si...Five.
Finneas leaves the group after their sales, sweat forming as he does mental arithmetic.
Now, how much money is that?
Female voice: Don't hurt yourself dear.
I should have enough to enchant my sword, that will make things easier. And I should be able to afford some satay for everybody!
Finneas arrives back at the Halls of the Cauldron Five with two packages under his arm, one smaller than the other.
"Hey everyone, I found a nice side of lamb for dinner, and some satay for everybody else. Who's this?"
"The answer to our prayers, Finneas! Carts Polarie here has agreed to be our houseb—er, housekeeper. He's a fine fellow and my neighbor."
Toffitt blushes a little. By the way Carts is clattering about the kitchen, it's clear that he has less talent than Atol in the kitchen. Weeks later, some strange batter still clings to the ceiling. Some sort of sorghum porridge is burning on the stove, and another poor pheasant—expertly butchered by Toffitt—is burning to a crisp. Atol might find that he has a new respect for his own skill in the kitchen.
"Well, he makes a good breakfast, anyhow..." The Doctor shrugs and quietly sets to collecting Carts' culinary wreckage.
Dyrant uses his finger to slurp up the last of his stew.
Quality. Nothing but quality.
Leaving a full silver on the counter as tip, Dyrant leaves the bar and ponders his next move.
Realizing that he hasn't seen Atol all day, he makes his own way to the market to buy food for tonight's sermoning. He purchases a sack of apples, a wheel of cheese, and as much bread as he can carry and returns home.
Where is Atol to help with this? Dyrant thinks as he drags/carries his load home.
* * *
Despite his recent stew, Dyrant comes home quite hungry (possibly from lugging so much food around...maybe Atol's right to eat so much, work is hard!).
After unloading his purchases, Dyrant will enter the kitchen to look at his food options.
Panning from left to right, Dyrant will examine the leftovers.
Ah! Tender satay. How interesting.
Oh! A lamb side. Interesting.
Oh...what's this? A burnt but chopped pheasant? Interesting.
Finally turning to the last dish, a decidedly burnt pheasant (with lemon and orange coagulated fat droppings) and smiles.
Ah lovely! Look at the fat on that.
Taking the entire untouched bird in his hand, he looks for a plate, but instead ends up using an old scroll as a plate. He immediately begins to slurp up delicious lemon/orange fat with one of pheasant's wings.
Tremendous!
Sitting down at the table is when he finally looks up to see who else is around.
Noticing Carts for the first time, Dyrant asks "Who are you?" as fat drips down his chin.
* * *
When Dyrant sees Atol he will make mention of tonight's traveling sermon and urchin feeding.
"Say Atol? Still up for helping with our ministry? Let's leave after dinner?"
Dr. Toffitt jumps in before the lad can speak for himself. "Er, Carts is a friend of mine who's expressed some interest in helping us out around the house. I was, er, just speaking with him about other ways we might make use of his talents..."
Carts mouths at the Doctor, You b&!*+, and Toffitt gets flustered.
"Carts, darling, I'm terribly sor—..." The Doctor pulls the food-splattered peacock aside and whispers a bit too loudly, "Can we talk about this later? I promise I'll find you something to do. I won't have you selling yourself..."
Atol wanders into the now busy house from the darkening streets just in time to hear Dyrant's plea for ministry.
"Dyrant that does sound like a pleasant evening, but shouldn't we finish clearing out the goblins first? Maybe a little late night preaching might be best."
Delaying the needs of the flock...
Atol sighs and eats a little satay to improve his mood.
"Atol is right Dyrant, you can practice your clubbery on the goblins. We'll take that tunnel deeper than we did before and find out what's down there."
mmmm lamb
Arriving at the Cauldron Si-Five's home, Glimmil hears all manner of voices echoing from within.
"Cog, they're celebrating! Without us!"
The gnome quickly rushes inside, mostly to find the others discussing cudgeling.
Oh.... cudgeling.
Dyrant takes a pheasant wing and snaps it in half, putting each side in his mouth and starts slurping vigorously.
That's good marrow. And crispy too.
Looking up at Dr. Toffitt's words, his eyes dart between the grinning doctor and Carts. "Hhmarebargle..." Dyrant nods greeting, his mouth full of wing.
Dyrant smiles as Atol suggests we return to Drakthar's lair, picking up a pheasant's leg and sticking it lengthwise into this mouth, holding the tip while he bites off all the meat.
Dyrant speaks to Atol while nodding assent. "Hmf...bargle...yahhuh."
Removing the leg from his mouth (mostly cleaned of meat, gristle and all), Dyrant continues to speak, only stopping briefly to nod to Glim as he and Cog enter.
"Absolutely. Would prefer to do it tomorrow, but the flock can wait another day." Dyrant sighs.
"Can I finish first dinner first?"
"By all means, we should all eat our fill before descending again into the dark."
Atol munches on some of the unburnt orange as he checks his scrolls and other gear.
He takes out his writing kit and carefully makes a list of the scrolls he plans to scribe when time allows. He stops and considers a moment, then turns the page over and tries to write out a sermon about the glory of St. Cuthbert.
He struggles to find the right words and scratches out many times. Eventually he turns the page back over and lists a few more scrolls that occurred to him.
This is more fun than preaching. ...the thought comes unbidden...
The party eventually separates Dryant from the table and returns to the caverns beneath the bathhouse. The guards have left and Orak is once again in charge of his business. He explains that the Lord Mayor, Severen Navalant, and some other nobles met with him during the day. Jenya showed up and explained that Drakthar was a vampire and the control he exerted over him. Terseon Skellerang reported on the way the goblins were killed in their cells. He concurred it was safe to release Orak and promised to check in on him.
The iron door to the caverns is locked and barred from the Cauldron side now. Orak opens the door and lets you in. A few hours of exploring reveals nothing alive or undead. The caverns eventually open up to the jungle moutainside of the dormnant volcano upon which Cauldron is built. It's extremely dark outside the city, but the stars are beautifull as glimpsed through the canopy of the jungle. The sounds of numerous animals are heard around you--normal sounds to those that have travelled up and down the roads to Cauldron before.
Outside the mouth of the caverns is a small abandoned campsite.
"This is interesting and explains much. The goblins were easily able to get inside Cauldron without being seen. Maybe we can track them back to their real home and exterminate them all." Dyrant says, musing, while staring at the jungle.
"Campsite, eh? Let's look around for information/tracks," Dyrant will stand near the cave entrance and cast Detect Magic while peering around.
Perception
Toffitt sets his ioun torch aloft and examines the campsite for tracks.
A part of Atol's mind constructs a secure entrance at the mouth and coordinates the purchasing of the bathhouse on the other end. Then it carefully clears and cleans the underground lair placing continual flame throughout to make portions of it brighter and cheerier.
He sees troops and servants in the livery of St. Cuthbert and the Caldron Five coordinating the defense and cleansing of the town and surrounding territory. A true power for law and order in the realm.
The rest of his mind looks at this vision confused as to why anyone would want to go to so much work for an underground lair when the stars are so beautiful.
"Look at that sky. There must be hundreds of stars up there. This is a beautiful campsite."