Dyrant goes for a bowl of gristle stew whilst Janya entertains the Cauldron Four.
"One bowl, extra gristle, please." Dyrant slaps down a silver piece...and then a few more. "If any else here are among the truly hungry this day, let them eat as well."
Aroon is glad to see his most reliable paying customer, but the mood at the Slippery Eel matching the damp weather outside. News of the lost wands and a psychotic red-headed former guard is on everyone's lips.
"I just got finished putting that new deck facing the lake. Now it's a dock and by next week I'll have to abandon my house at this rate."
"She's back! The hot guard that murdered those other guards. Some love triangle, square, or what's that thing with five sides?"
Dyrant, while eating stew, will cozy to those who might have known (or known about) "her" and see what he can learn.
Diplomacy
Jenya greets the news of Sarcem's demise and the loss of the wands bravely.
"Thank you for brining back his body. He can be properly intered in the church's catacombs. He had made it quite clear that he didn't want to be brought back if something ill should befall him. He lived a full life."
"I'd ask only for his mace back. It is actually the badge of office for the head of the church, the position that is now mine. His other items he would wish you to use in your pursuit of the wands and aiding the city."
"As for the remaining items, I would suggest a modest donation to the church to assist any families of the inn's guests that might show up. Otherwise, I'd entrust those proceeds to your holy cause."
"I'm at a loss as to how to proceed in finding the wands, if indeed they can be found. Perhaps Triel has already fled to Sasserine with them. They are worth enough for that anyone could retire by selling them."
"Sounds like this Triel Eldurast is the woman we need to find. If she murdered Sarcem and was working with a baboon man there's no telling where she might be. Jenya, do you still have that diving stick? Maybe it can locate the wands?"
Male voice: The red head looks pretty good to me.
Female voice: She looks diseased to me. She associates with baboons!
Male voice: Like the boy doesn't?
Female voice: Sometimes I forget how much you have in common with them.
Male voice: His companions?
Female voice: Yes, them too.
Quiet, you're thinking too loud, I can't hear.
Dyrant's conversation is interupted by a woman with red hair that looks a bit like Teriel without the tattos.
"You should look out for red-haired women priest. They're more than your like can handle. If they had sent the Stormblades to save Sarcem, he'd still be alive and we'd have the wands. Not a single woman in the Cauldron Five, it explains a lot. If your group spent as much time searching as it did drinking, wrestling and swimming, you might actually get somewhere."
She turns to the crowd. "Don't worry folks. The Stormblades are on the job and we'll get those wands back. Aroon! Drinks and stew for everyone." She then slaps down a handful of gold coins on the table.
Dyrant will thank the nice lady and go get a free bowl of stew.
"Extra gristle, please."
Dyrant will enjoy his free stew, compliments of the Stormblades and cogitate on the matters at hand.
Maybe I should join the Stormblades.
Wait. Cog isn't female?
She was hot.
People have begun to hear about the Cauldron Five? That's me!
I wonder if Angel is female. I should ask.
Dyrant eats his second bowl of stew in a cheery mood, warm and well fed and things upon which to ponder.
As Dryant walks away from the red-headed woman, a man falls down next to Dyrant. "Why'd you push me down?! I ain't no sinner and I definitely don't want to be cudgeled. Where's your friends big boy?"
The woman sighs, "Incompetent, clumsy, and rude. We should toss you out before you break anything." The woman rouses the crowd over Aroon's objections.
Dyrant looks at the man and snorts agreement.
Sense Motive
Perception
"I agree with you...we suck."
We failed, Dyrant thinks, his momentary good cheer gone.
We failed badly.
"They should have sent the Stormblades!" Dyrant raises his bowl of stew up in thanks. "M'lady, may next time they send you."
I knew I should've had Cog sniff out some trails around that inn - although it was muddy... wait, wouldn't that make it easier?
Glimmil's face shows his concern over the missing wands.
"Is it too late to head back and check for tracks left by this woman? Maybe we can get an idea of her general direction!"
Glimmil's hands wave in the air, punctuating his statements - distracting Finneas with his overuse of gestures.
"Maybe she has a hide-out where she's stashing them?"
"We don't have to go back Glimmil. She's probably here in Cauldron. It makes sense. She kills guards because one of them didn't like red heads. She gets kicked out of Caldron. She spends 10 years plotting revenge and eating cheese in a hole with other red heads while learning all about her evil god. She steals the wands and watches Cauldron get washed away. So she has to be here in Cauldron or she wouldn't get to watch us drown. All we have to do is find an evil red head, then track her back to their hideout and find the right red head."
Finneas beams proudly as Glimmil upon this revelation.
"Still, maybe Jenya could check with her spell? It did tell us about Jzadirune's teeth. Or maybe we could ask around and find out where the red heads meet? We should ask Dyrant, he's a man of the people."
Jenya agrees to use the Star of Justice for a divination. "What question should I ask?"
"They should have sent the Stormblades!" Dyrant raises his bowl of stew up in thanks. "M'lady, may next time they send you."
The woman and man look at each other. The man shrugs his shoulders and the woman says, "Exactly!", as she storms out the door.
Dyrant goes back to his gristle stew.
Idiots.
Speaking of idiots, he wonders what the party is learning from Jenya.
I wonder where the wands are? Dyrant wonders idly, as he scoops stew to mouth and repeats.
Finneas shrugs and looks around.
"We want this Triel because she took the wands, but what we really care about are the wands right? How about 'How do we recover the wands?' or 'Where do we find the wands of water control?' or 'Is the satay on Lava Avenue really the best in Cauldron?' or 'Where did the head of the orphanage learn to drink so much?'."
"Finneas, we don't care about the satay now - it'll all be washed away if we don't find those wands."
He turns back to the high priestess.
"Definitely ask about the wands. FInneas is right there. The wands are the important thing. Triel may be in Cauldron to watch it flood, but she probably doesn't have the wands and doesn't look like the sort to tell us where they are easily."
"So divine the location of the wands and we'll go and get them. Quickly too."
He frowns as he notices Dyrant isn't there again.
Where is that man? We may need to leave quickly!
"Sister Jenya, I have a somewhat more gruesome avenue of inquiry. I have heard tell of a prayer that allows one to ask questions of the dead. It so happens that we brought... Part of... This woman's lieutenant back with us. The head of a moon-cursed half-orc, whose blood had mingled with that of a lycanthrope. Would you perhaps be able to ask questions of this head?"
Glimmil nods as Atol assumes a commanding tone in deciding upon divining the location of the wands.
Atol! So wise! And to think, he's named after a breed of mule!
"Here, here! Atol! Divine the wands' location and we'll save Cauldron!"
Glimmil pumps his fist in the air and his wide grin reveals nearly all of his white teeth.
"Again!"
Jenya brings out the Star of Justice, a heavy mace that makes Atol's mace look like a twig. Jenya holds the mace in two hands before her and asks, "Where are the wands of control water that were taken from Sarcem?"
The mace glows faintly and Jenya's body stiffens. She speaks with a man's voice:
Wands locked away beneath your feet
Can be reached by watery maze
Or tip the laughing man who sells
Tips for gold but no drinks at all.
Jenya then relaxes and smiles. "That was Sarcem's voice. It seems St. Cuthbert has already found another calling for him."
Wands locked away beneath your feet
Can be reached by watery maze
Or tip the laughing man who sells
Tips for gold but no drinks at all.
Atol stands a moment in awe of the power brought forth to get the information. Then he scratches his head in confusion as to the meaning.
"A watery maze. Does anyone know of a watery maze beneath Cauldron? If we're to go underwater, we'll need water breathing at the very least. That's beyond my power currently, but I could probably manage some scrolls with few failures."
"The laughing man sounds either like a homeless beggar or a barkeep who sells food but no booze. Does that ring a bell with anyone?"
Sarcem got a job right away! Good for him. I don't remember what I was doing while I was dead. Probably just standing in line to be judged, I wasn't gone that long...
Regarding the disposition of prisoners, Dr. Toffitt will have taken the approach of the interrogative ally. As their prisoners are regaining consciousness the evening after their battles, Toffitt will offer them a deal.
"We both know your offense warrants death. One does not normaly take part in the killing of so many innocents and live. But the situation is grave, and the items taken of paramount importance. Therefore, if you help us find the woman who led this assault, we will support your clemency when speaking to the city guard. If you have heard of the Cauldron Si... Five, you know of the influence we wield with the guard."
:
Later, in Cauldron, Dr. Toffitt ponders Sarcem's divine riddle. Hrm. Any fletchers or spear mongers with a particular penchant for laughing? Or a laughing man on their shingle? A broadsheet with same iconography?
"Why is it always riddles? Watery maze? I guess they just built this town on top of two or three others? Laughing man? Didn't we tangle with the Last Laugh a few weeks ago, maybe they know something about this?"
Glimmil's lips move along with Sarcem's ghostly voice, just a couple seconds behind.
Riddles! Oh Garl, you tricky, tricky gnome, you!
Glimmil rubs his hands together and begins to consider the words carefully, hoping none of the others realize just how simply terrible he is at solving riddles despite reading thousands of them in the story's of Garl Glittergold.
- wands locked away beneath my feet -
Clearly he knows I'm quite the talented cobbler!
- can be reached by watery maze -
Sounds like we need to wait for Cauldron to flood, of course that makes sense!
- or tip the laughing man who sells -
Hey! I've been doing most of the party's selling, but they should've referred to me as a gnome, and I really don't like the idea of gnome tipping.
- tips for gold but no drinks at all -
Hmm, they want to bribe me to tip over? -- despite the fact that everyone keeps claiming all those lemon-beers are supposed to tip me over at some point...
Glimmil nods at the others, riddle proudly solved.
"Who's ready for some swimming?"
Glimmil looks around, and finally realizes Dyrant is missing.
"Hey - where's Mister Maynor?"
Dyrant finishes his stew as if every bite was bringing him closer and closer to his own doom.
Considering how bad I feel about our failure, I can only imagine the cudgeling that Atol is getting in there.
Dyrant feels a small measure of sympathy for the oaf...but moreso feels the dread for what he must ask Atol to do to him.
Using a finger to swirl the last of the stew from around the bowl, Dyrant gathers his belongings and goes to wait for the part outside the gates of the Church to St. Cuthbert.
"Hm. A Last Laugh informant? Captain Terseon, do you happen to have an informant in the Last Laugh, or know where they might be headquartered?"
Interrogation of the prisoners yields little new information. The Alleybashers and local men from outside Cauldron were recruited by Triel. They knew the job was to kill Sarcem and steal some magic items he was carrying.
The next day, the party (except probably Dyrant) gathers as Jenya tries a speak with dead spell on the half-orc baboon. Jenya can ask two questions of the head.
Dr. Toffitt does end up asking his patients/informants about laughing men or groups or businesses that bear laughing in their name or signage. He will keep his eyes open for members of the Last Laugh who might be paid informants.
He makes sure to be back at the temple in the morning, and offers the following questions as possibilities. "Just suggestions. No doubt Dyrant has better suggestions for us. If only he can overcome his pride and join us here."
"What do you know about Triel Eldurast, the tattooed red head with whom you invaded the inn?"
"Where in Cauldron does she spend her time?"
Once the questioning happens, Toffitt will listen intently to dead lycanthrope.
At noon, the final match of the Drink Down the Lake contest begins. It is held at the Drunken Morkoth Inn as the rains have rarely let up during the last several days. The mood is somber as the water has already reached Ash Aveneu and many of the buidlings on the lakefront have already been damaged.
Despite the conditions several notable patrons are present. The lord mayor, Severen Navalant, is in attendance. Other nobles include Lord Vhalantru, Lord Aslaxin who owns the Coy Nixie (his son, Zachary Aslaxin II, is a Stormblade), and Lord Taskerville.
Lord Aslaxin announces that he is also donating six tickets to the Demonskar Ball tomorrow night to the winner of the contest.
Glimmil sits down and awaits his opponent. Shortly before noon a staff can be heard knocking along the ground. Tap. Tap. Tap. Vortimax walks in and sits down across from Glimmil. Mariselle brings a bottle and several shot glasses from behind the bar to the table. She lines up several of them for Glimmil and Vortimax. The clear liquid clears Glimmil's sinuses even as he sits back in his chair. "Good luck."
DC 10
DC 11
Vortimax grumbles something about having to climb out of his roof this morning since the water was up to the bottom of his house and begins to drink. Unfortunately, the effort of getting to the inn must have used up his energy because he slumps over after the second drink.
Dr. Toffitt does end up asking his patients/informants about laughing men or groups or businesses that bear laughing in their name or signage. He will keep his eyes open for members of the Last Laugh who might be paid informants.
Dr. Toffitt spends the day in some of the less reputable areas of town. The only person or group known to be associated with laughing is the Last Laugh. After several hours of searching, he stops for a drink at the Tipped Tankard. As he moves to leave he finds a note on the bench next to him.
I know you're looking for the wands. I can help for a price. If you're interested, come alone to the Lakeside Pavilion Maavu Imports tonight at midnight. Bring 500 gold coins and you'll walk away with the location of the wands. Bring backup, and you'll never find them.
After a poor night's sleep, Atol spends the morning searching the town for a beggar who laughs all the time. He also peers into sewers to keep an eye on the water level there as well as the lake.
Hrumph. This is not going well. I hope the other members are having better luck! Where is Dyrant? He'll know what to do. He's probably at the pub chewing his gristle.
Atol goes in search of Dyrant for lunch.
Going back a day...
Dyrant observes Atol leaving the Church under his own power, no welts or bruises to be seen.
Is that how they do it now? Healing themselves after the cudgeling? They have grown soft.
"Atol, did they not cudgel you for our failures? Why do you walk so...unbruised?" Dyrant looks Atol up and down. "Well, nonetheless, I'll need to see you and your fancy cudgel in my room when we get back to our home. 'To spare the cudgel is to encourage the error.'" Dyrant recites one of the Church's tenets, then another that applies, "'Blest are those with bruises, for they have felt the cudgel and learned from the cudgel.'"
Dyrant seeks a recap of what happened inside with Jenya.
"I see. So this Triel is the one we seek? Mayhaps on the morrow, I will do more work into tracking her down."
As for the good Doctor's questions about what to ask the baboon, Dyrant suggests the following:
"Where is Triel likely to be?"
"Where is your lair?"
"Where did Triel take the wands?"
And Dyrant recounts his encounter with the Stormblade.
"...Stormblade hussy...blah blah blah...riling up the crowd...blah blah...delicious stew....blah blah...free stew!...blah blah blah...red haired b*@#$...extra gristle...blah blah blah...Stormblades are jerks...blah blah blah...love to piddlespot with dogs. So yeah, naked halfling."
"Atol, did they not cudgel you for our failures? Why do you walk so...unbruised?" Dyrant looks Atol up and down. "Well, nonetheless, I'll need to see you and your fancy cudgel in my room when we get back to our home. 'To spare the cudgel is to encourage the error.'" Dyrant recites one of the Church's tenets, then another that applies, "'Blest are those with bruises, for they have felt the cudgel and learned from the cudgel.'"
"My friend, why would I be cudgeled? We did nothing wrong - in fact we did everything right! We got there and stopped the opposition from doing further harm. We captured or killed everyone in sight and got a few good leads on the ringleader."
"The only failure is that we were not quick enough to prevent the initial problem, but with that force, I expect the battle was swift and over many hours before our arrival. Short of instant transportation I do not feel there is anything we could have done!"
"No sir, I do not see our failure yet. If we cannot follow these thin leads to the wands, THEN will we have failed."
Atol looks to his mentor for confirmation.
Presumably more information might come from the half-orc earlier in the day. However, Toffitt will later return with what he's learned.
"Good news. I have received missive from an informant claiming to know the location of the wands. For 500 good, they will tell me their location. I'm to meet them alone at midnight. Of course, it could be a trap. I would like to proceed with caution, and perhaps a plan to call upon you from a distance. Dyrant, I seem to recall that you found a special feather not long ago. Might it be of use in signallin the group from afar? Also, we may want to ask the guard to subsidize our fee."
Dyrant harumphs, unused to being challenged by Atol.
Atol?! What has gotten into you?
Dyrant's eyes travel to Atol's new headband.
Harumph, even let the oaf keep that, eh? Rewarding failure. How will this church ever grow when the cudgel is spared and failure is rewarded?
"Bah!" Dyrant bahs loudly.
"That you cannot see the failure only points more greatly to the failure. This city is in peril and we failed it. All the townspeople know of it...and we have brought shame to the Cauldron Five." Dyrant looks at Atol seriously.
"That you want to believe otherwise, I still hope you will do your duty to me and St. Cuthbert and administer the Divine Cudgelment so that I may learn and stay in the good graces of St. Cuthbert. Tell me that you still know your duty in that regard?"
"That you want to believe otherwise, I still hope you will do your duty to me and St. Cuthbert and administer the Divine Cudgelment so that I may learn and stay in the good graces of St. Cuthbert. Tell me that you still know your duty in that regard?"
"I will of course do my duty - any command by a senior member is a command I take very seriously!"
Atol readies his cudgel.
"I still do not understand the failing, but I understand the rule. How many cudgelings does your sin require?"
Atol stands ready, though quizzical. He might be seen to be thoughtfully readying his cudgel, but in truth his mind lies elsewhere trying to divine, by sheer force of will, the location of the wands.
He frowns with the effort.
Dyrant pauses for a moment, considering the depths of his failure and the limits of Atol's ability to provide adequate strength behind his blows.
Maybe I should have him pick me up and drop me from a great height instead?
Dyrant goes through his mental sin/cudgel checklist.
25 stout blows = Murder, Heresy, Frolicking with a Pholtan
20 stout blows = Major Crime against the Community
15 stout blows = Adultery, Theft, Lying
10 stout blows = Minor Crime against the Community
5 stout blows = Cowardice, Failure to heed authority/elders
1 solid rap on the knuckles = Sassmouth, minor insolence
.
"10 solid blows, Atol...or until I goes unconscious."
Dyrant assumes the cudgel reception position and prays to St. Cuthbert and Angel as the blows are received.
Atol takes the position, heaves his cudgel, and begins to swing - nonlethal as usual.
(misses have been redacted... Dyrant has 24 hp currently)
Atol sees Dyrant wavering and staggered. He takes a deep breath and swings again to put him down.
He casts a cure light wounds to make sure his friend doesn't die from his injuries, but let's him sleep off the rest as is required.
"OK. You OK? I'm OK. We're all OK. I'm going to see what I can do at the house. Maybe someone has left the wands in the garden..."
Atol leaves Dyrant bloodied and sore and happy. Atol is less pleased as he worries about where the wands might actually be. Not in the garden that's for sure, but maybe someone with a clue will stop by the house and there should be someone there tonight just in case.
Dyrant awakes to cough up a bit of blood and begins to feel his many purple/blue welts and bruises on his body.
My body hurts, but my sins have been forgiven. Praise St. Cuthbert. Praise the Cudgel!
Dyrant smiles as he winces...feeling much better for feeling worse.
Dyrant slowly and gingerly makes his way to the breakfast nook to consume a simple meal, enjoying all the continuing pain of his 'forgiveness'.
Dyrant will spend two hours scribing a scroll:
After meal, Dyrant will go commune with Angel, thanking him for his guidance and prayerspells and asking for strength in the coming times.
After prayer, Dyrant will go find the Doctor to begin working together to track down Triel.
Jenya casts her spell and Tongueater asks her first question. "Where did Triel take the wands?"
The head speaks with a deep growling voice. "You want to know where Triel and your precious wands are then you will have to bring me back from the dead. Hahahahaha!"
----------------
"Doctor, it could be dangerous. Do you want backup?"
It's a trap, you know it's a trap.
"Good news. I have received missive from an informant claiming to know the location of the wands. For 500 good, they will tell me their location. I'm to meet them alone at midnight. Of course, it could be a trap. I would like to proceed with caution, and perhaps a plan to call upon you from a distance. Dyrant, I seem to recall that you found a special feather not long ago. Might it be of use in signallin the group from afar? Also, we may want to ask the guard to subsidize our fee."
"That is excellent news! Are you willing to head into the lion's den alone?"
"I think we should wait to ask for the guard donation until after we get the wands back. If we fail, the 500 gold will be our penalty. If we succeed, it will be easier to get others to donate to the fund."
Glimmil sips his tart beer as he watches the man doze off. He smiles and raises his stein to any on-lookers while nodding.
Six tickets to the ball! I wonder if I win if Skie would come with... I'd hate to have to ask Ellywinkle. Or, would I?
Glimmil gulps nervously and considers his empty glass.
Despite the contest ending, he motions for a refill.
I think I'm almost starting to like these drinks... better than mum's fresh squeezed lemonade?
Glimmil glances around with a worried look on his face, then shakes it off and raises his glass again to the crowd.
"To Garl Glittergold!"
Despite the contest ending, he motions for a refill.
"Congratulations, sir!" Glimmil is approached by Lord Vhalantru who smiles for the crowd. He hands Glimmil the prize of 300 gold pieces. "You have done much for our town and there is much to celebrate. I have every confidence you and your friends will find the missing wands shortly."
Lord Aslaxin steps up next and places the invitations on the table in front of Glimmil and turns to the crowd. "I wish I could share my fellow lord's optimism about the Cauldron Five, but do not worry, my own son and his friends will produce the wands soon."
The invitations each have a crater and one of them is also marked with a demonic crater.
In the afternoon, Dyrant will gingerly make his way to the drinking contest, trying to enjoy himself with Glim's drinking spectacle.
Dyrant tries to figure out what makes Glim impervious to alcohol.
Between rounds, Dyrant will bring Glim some chocolate eel monsters, repaying the favor of a few days ago.
Ah yes. He has less brain for alcohol to affect. I must ask the Doctor if this is typical of all gnomes.
The Cauldron Five are definitely known in the political circles and have gained some notoriety amongst the populace. Most of you have about a 10% chance of being recognized on sight and can go up signficantly from there depending on your actions.
- There's that preacher who gives away free food and hangs out at the Slippery Eel.- That cute gnome who drinks like a fish and helped reopen Jzadirune.
- There's that half-orc who can't hold his liquor and is only an average wrestler. He's associated with the church of Kord although Asfelkir is not exactly playing that up this last week.
- There's that weird self-proclaimed doctor who spends an awful lot of time in the seedier parts of town.
- There's the rather quiet priest of St. Cuthber who died and was raised.
Some see the Cauldron Five seems as having done a lot of good things. The more cynical see all the weir things happening around the Cauldron Five and suspect them of something more sinister. All in all, the Cauldron Five's star is rising while the Stormblades have held steady for the last month. They are about equal at this point.