The Torture Chamber (Everquest RPG PBP)

Game Master Xenh

"Perhaps you can explain in more abstract terms, Sajeek? Or at least tell us why we should join you in this..."

Revery seems more confident than before, but after half a drink his friends may notice he is a little tipsy, and talks a bit louder.

"The one I made the oath to was the same one that damn near beat Alrik and Xiblin to death in the matter of about three heartbeats," Sajeek says, a slight shudder runs up his spine. He remembered the short fight very well. "The old one thought he had destroyed the spirit. He is wrong, I saw the glow that the spirit gave off." Sajeek pauses, taking a long drink off of his ale mug. Licking foam off of his nose, he continues,

"I think that the reptile's spirit cannot find rest until it's bones are destroyed," Sajeek says, looking at his raftmates. "Which would explain why it asked me to find and destroy it's bones." The young Beastlord shifts his gaze to look at the table. Having dropped off his gear, weapons and armor in his room, he at there in a simple, loose fitting pair of breeches and loose shirt. The clothes were the same that he had been given when the two arrived in Halas.

"One thing I should say; the spirit spared my life when it saw my chains. So thanks again for insisting I carry those as a back up weapon," the Vah Shir looks up and grins at his friends. He takes another swig off of his ale mug.

A serious look falls over the young Beastlord's furry face. He glances around at the others in the main room of the inn. Ears flickering as he checks to see if anyone is paying attention to the group.

"The reward for helping the spirit is a weapon or weapons of great power. Amazingly powerful, from what little I can understand," Sajeek says quietly. He glances at his friends. "I was given something that only those who can read the language of the reptiles to understand. I cannot show those who haven't vowed to help. "'Only those most trusted can read the passage at the right place,'" Sajeek says, sounding as if reading from a passage. "Only the 'most trusted' are allowed to help. If I don't follow the rules, the spirit will not aid in any shape or form."

Then Sajeek looks at the center of the table, a hungry look falls across his face.

"Oh, and aside from the white mark on my fur, I was given a.., hunger to find the treasure. I can't really explain what it's like," Sajeek frowns. "It like an itch in my mind I can't scratch or ignore. It's always there."

Sajeek looks over at Gwen and suddenly grins.

"I thought you wanted to talk to me about sleeping with that friend of yours, the head priest's daughter," Sajeek chuckles. "You're people seem awfully uptight about sharing beds."

Nogglegrop places his tiny hand atop his grease-stained chest and offers a heartfelt solemn oath to aid his friend Sajeek in his quest. There is a strange thickness to the air, as the oath coalesces into a physical manifestation, and suddenly the cleric understands the ravenous hunger for the weapon, for he shares it.

The gnome stops his incessant tinkering to consider the import of what has just transpired. He stands atop his chair, for his stature would not permit him to see over the table's edge if he remained sitting, and leaves his eyes to drift to a future full of possibilities.

As Nogglegrop throws himself headlong into the quest it is Sajeek that experiences a flash of insight. The quest will span years and take them to places that only a select few have been brave enough to tread. The dust of the planes will cake their feet before they are done, but as long as they do not waiver they will each wield weapons of impossible power. Such an epic quest will require each member of the group to stand tall against powerful foes and as such they all needed seasoning in terms of the combative capabilities.

The air runs electric in anticipation of the other two joining the quest sans caveat or reservation.

Gwendalyn leans forward to share a suspicion, a smile playing about her lips, when Nogglegrop swears an oath and the atmosphere changes. Literally. She sits back and considers the moment, all mirth gone, and nods slowly. "I see. It is very serious indeed." She thinks back on all that they've been through together. "Very well, Sajeek, dear friend. I promise to help you in this task. Whatever it takes."

There is excited, and boisterously loud, talk that washes into the cracks of your conversation speaking of war being declared between the high elves and the iksar. Apparently the princess had been taken in a raid and the high elves had secured a beachhead on the shores of Kunark. They had named the outpost for their lost princess.

Listening closer you piece together much that is lies, discard them and compare them to what you had learned from Alrik, and determine:

- "Firiona Vie", the outpost, occupies a small island just off the shores of Kunark and is surrounded by a stone wall, making it impenetrable by sea. A single bridge connects the island to the wilds of the forests to the north, making it near impossible for any of Kunark's natural inhabitants, such as frogloks, drolvargs, or drachnids, to invade the city.
- Firiona Vie's architecture will be immediately recognizable by anyone who has visited the treetop city of Kelethin, for the various shops, homes, and offices all appear to have been plucked from the Greater Faydark.
- Unbeknown to most, save the half-elf drunk in the corner, the elves first landed in this region several hundred years ago, but were almost immediately sent home by the armies of frogloks that protected the region in the name of Venril Sathir, the Iksar lich king. Two hundred years later, the Elves attempted to set up an outpost again, and although they were prepared for the frogloks, they were not prepared for the forest giants that had since moved into the southern parts of Kunark.
- King Tearis Thex of Felwithe would again send an expedition of Elves to Kunark twenty years later, led by Firiona Vie herself. Firiona is known to all as the Champion of Tunare and is also the heir to the throne of Felwithe. Upon their arrival to Kunark, Firiona was kidnapped.
- King Tearis Thex, heartbroken and enraged, has sent an army of immense proportions to Kunark, led by her childhood mentor, Galeth Veredeth, in an attempt to rescue her.
- A massive statue of Firiona is being forged in the heart of Kaladim. If the liquor-fueled voices can be trusted it will be massive and be built of mithril and marble.
- While other races have offered their assistance, it is only high elves that have been permitted to travel to the outpost.

It is as Alrik said, though he was vague on how his potion would factor.

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Each of you stands a step, or in some cases a few steps, afield from your people in terms of their beliefs. Perhaps this played a role in your decision to wander about the dangerous lands of Norrath seeking adventure.

• Gwendalyn (OG vs. barbarian racial alignment of N) finds her people’s ennui to chafe both in terms of ethical considerations and their casual adherence to traditional authority.
  
• Revery (ON vs. erudite racial alignment of OG) had some darkness within him that made it difficult for him to immediately jump to the defense of those in need, which stood in stark contrast to the general population of Erud.
  
• Sajeek (DG vs. vah shir racial alignment of OG) like Gwendalyn the beastlord found the gap difficult to broach, but his was one of freedom for their rigid adherence to authority did not sit well with one closer to the feral free spirit. Perhaps he should have remained among the tigress that helped to rear him.
  
• Nogglegrop (DG vs. gnome racial alignment of DN) had the exact opposite problem with his people as the enchanter had experienced. While the others were neutral in terms of the suffering of others the decision was simple for the tiny gnome cleric: one should act to stop the oppressors. This might explain why he had run away, and "borrowed" his father’s armour (without anything approaching permission) as he went. What can one expect from such a deity.

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Among the talk is a singular gnome that grabs Nogglegrop's attention. He wanders off to go talk to her. The gnome returns in short order speaking of a tinkered bag that is being sold within the Lavastorm Mountains that he would like to purchase when he has more money than the gods. The more observant among you notice a blush to his cheeks that was crafted by the stolen kiss he received.

It appears that Nogglegrop is a bit of a charmer among his people, as bad boys tend to be.

Another has sworn, which further thickens the air in a physical manifestation of levels of potential. What happens next is strangely comforting as a shared vision washes over each of those that have sworn:

Firstly everyone experiences the meeting with the shade of Master Rinmark in the first person, through Sajeek’s eyes. You are present and disconnected at the same time.

The creature is dressed in the simple manner of a monk, it's bare body showing hundreds of scars speaking of a lifetime of conflict and hardship. Ebony scales tinged with verdant mottling run up the hardened ridges that perch atop its skull and jut out the back with large spikes.

Slitted reptilian eyes take your measure in a fraction of a heartbeat.

A primordial fear tears through every fabric of your being, activating the most basic part of your animal brain and screaming for you to turn tail and run. Before you stands a creature trapped between the spirit realm and the land of the living. Though it leaves some semblance of a trail it is one of a creature that is but a fraction of its original weight. The soft glow came from this partially translucent monster.

Moving at speeds that no mortal could ever match the creature crosses the expanse and throws a carving elbow at your face. The accuracy is perfection itself, its form is impossible and the momentum of the strike is arrested at the last possible second.

Its eyes had fallen on the shackles of slavery and the image had stayed the killing blow.

Spiritual coldness invades your tissues just for sharing such close proximity to a foul creature of undeath.

Its words mean nothing, for it speaks in a language you do not understand, but something within you stirs and you feel a powerful craving invade your very being. This creature needs bones dug up and destroyed so its torment can end.

Next is the insatiable craving. It is akin to sexual arousal without the release. You have a heightened sense of things and a craving to find culmination.

In the next moment you are back inside Sajeek’s skull looking out.

An epiphany pervades your brain tissues. This is the humanoid shape that you had observed atop the mountain range that the group's cave dwelling was carved out of. It had been seen more than once there, so it is likely that if one was looking for it that would be the place to start.

There is more to this simple quest than is immediately apparent, for it is just the first in a long series. Within the eternity of the iksar's jaundiced eyes is a madness that could only come from a craving unfulfilled. This creature had sought a fabled weapon of unfathomable power and fallen short. This is the source of the craving that washes through your body. You understand that the power could be yours, and that there is enough to go around for your companions as well, as long as you do what this shade demands.

Clawed fingers come in contact with you, grabbing your arm with flesh that could never quite touch mortal flesh, all that you can feel is cold, such bitter cold as your very soul gets frostbite. None save the party of the most trusted slaves could read the words, that much had to be sworn to for the quest to be given. Breaking that oath would eliminate any more assistance from the iksar master, and the quest would be lost to you. Glancing down you realize that you hold a page torn free from an ancient tome. Along the border there are messages penned in blood. It is all gibberish, for it is written in the tongue of the iksar. The party would need to learn the secret language of the lizardman to be able to continue. How one learns such a language was anyone's guess.

Unseen by the elderly arcane duo, but easily found by your sharp-eyes, aided by knowing where to look, You catch a momentary glimpse of a very familiar glow atop the mountain in the distance.

As Nogglegrop throws himself headlong into the quest, a confusing chain of events considering that the gnome is seeing this in a first person perspective as well, you experience a flash of insight. The quest will span years and take the party to places that only a select few have been brave enough to tread. The dust of the planes will cake their feet before each of you are done, but as long as you each do not waiver you will each wield weapons of impossible power. Such an epic quest will require each member of the group to stand tall against powerful foes and as such they all needed seasoning in terms of the combative capabilities.

Only one stands apart for the circle to be complete, and he watches the others sink into the throes of ecstasy as they experience the impossible.

Sajeek's half-closed eyes land on Revery. While his green eyes may have been focused on the magic using shapeshifter, Revery was not what the Vah Shir saw. His mind relived the events involving Master Rinmark with crystal clarity.

The young Vah Shir didn't have to look at the others to know that they felt the same.., hunger. The same hunger that had been rushing through his veins for the last year.

Revery considers the others' quick decisions to make a sacred oath to help. Well, perhaps not quick; they had had a year to consider it.

Still, it seemed the reason for agreeing had most to do with the desire to go on an adventure, the promise of an immensely valuable reward, and simple friendship. Those reasons seem like good ones to Revery too. He did indeed crave power, and now that he was close to it, adventure tugged at his robes like a determined child.

Seeing the magic pulling them in, rather that backing off, Revery wants to have a piece of the same.

Certainly none of his enthusiasm was due to trepidation about his upcoming wedding. Not at all, because he has none, he tells himself.

He speaks up. "I too agree to help in this task. Did I mention that I am engaged to be married?"

Gwendalyn's mouth gapes slightly as she sees visions piecing together the story of the quest, and the craving settles into her bones. She realizes a little too late that she may have underestimated the power of the oath. She flushes with desire for the prize, and Revery's surprise revelation barely penetrates her racing mind. "Engaged? What? When? Who?"

As Revery swear his allegiance he is flooded by the same images as the others. His contribution to the shared vision is some clarity for what you each seek, and an understanding of what the others crave.

• Sajeek seeks The Claws of the Savage Spirt, one is called the Claw of Vengeance and the other the Claw of Fury. Both were created from a rare ore found within the depths of Acrylia. They are worn as gloves, over the hand, and both have blades protruding from the knuckles like the claws of some great cat. The curved blades glow with a pale blue light, signifying the calm, tranquil light of the spirit world, yet ring with fury when wielded against the enemies of the spirit world.

• Gwendalyn seeks The Spear of Fate. It’s darkwood shaft was worked by teeth and fingernails, lovingly shaped until it was perfect. THe top was split to permit entry of a finely honed blade and bound by the sacred entrails of an ox. Finally it was adorned with the magical feathers of an aviak elder. The Spear of Fate remains in the hands of the spirits, who await one of incredible dedication - one who will rise from the sea of spiritual followers and prove themselves worthy to bear this most potent item.

• Revery seeks The Staff of the Serpent. This blackened staff is approximately 5’ in length, seemingly covered in smooth, snakelike scales. It resembles a cobra, yet one stretched rigid and straight, with its hood flared and fangs bared menacingly.

• Nogglegrop seeks The Water Sprinkler of Nem Ankh. To the untrained eye, the weapon seems a rather plain morningstar, unadorned and lacking the vibrant shine that accompanies other rumoured artefacts. However, one who comes within close proximity to the item is said to feel a sense of peace wash over them, like gentle waves lapping quietly against a peaceful shore.

This is the quest that Master Rinmark lost his mind following and the curse of which has been given to you.

Nogglegrop buys a round for everyone within the Hogcaller's Inn in celebration of Revery's big news. He releases a torrent of how much he "totally" loves "you man" before keeling over into an unconscious stupour (critical failure on alcohol tolerance check). He had tried to match the casual drinking of the bigger folk, but being only 50 pounds put him at a stark disadvantage.

It is only noon and this day is shot if one is needing the services of the gnome.

Sajeek blinks a few times as the vision begins to fade to the background. Revery mentioned something about getting married. It took a few moments for the somewhat distracted Vah Shir to put it all together.

"Hurrah for Revery!" Sajeek raises his fresh mug in celebration. He looks over at Nogglegrop and chuckles. Sajeek picks the gnome up and leans him back in his chair. Much better then the gnome rolling off of his chair onto the floor. He might get stepped on.

Gwendalyn gives an indulgent smile at Nogglegrop's rapid intoxication, then turns serious. She looks the other conscious ones in the eyes. "We all know what we want. But we aren't ready yet. We need to get better. I think we should check out that reward for Deathfist Apprentice Scrolls, find out more about where they are and how to get them. I somehow know that the Deathfist are orcs, but that's all that I remember after the poison that the slavers in this city put in my drink."

The Northwoman suddenly looks over at the unconscious gnome, and then looks at her ale suspiciously before setting it down with some finality. "Hmmm. Let's put him to bed, lock his room, and slide his key under the door. That way he'll be safe while we find out more about things to do here. That, or I can carry him around; but then people might ask awkward questions." She shrugs.

"Hmm, I like the tossing Noggy into his room with the key. Much better then my plan of laying on the table to hold our empty mugs," Sajeek grins. "Let's toss him in his room and then celebrate our reunion," the Vah Shir says happily.

"I think checking out those orc skulls, err scrolls might not be a bad idea Gwen," Sajeek agrees with the barbarian women. Being within smacking distance may or might not have anything with his answer, it's hard to tell with the beastlord. "However," he holds up a clawed finger. Today, I think we should get good and drunk and shake the travel here off our backs. Our hunt isn't going to be a short one," Sajeek casts a glance at Revery.

Flashing one's wealth openly is never a good idea, and doubly so in a city as rotten as Freeport. Nogglegrop shows his inexperience, as he buys a celebratory round for the occupants of the Hogcaller's Inn, and attracts unwanted attention from the ne'er-do-wells in the room.

Those that share the room with you consist of those simply eating lunch, and those that have not stopped drinking the night before. Among their ranks there are those that have nefarious intent. Among them is the bastard offspring of the sweaty union between a human and elf. Kwen's partially almond-shaped eyes do not miss the flash of the gnome's coins.

(Kwen please provide a description of your character in your first post)

The gnome is put to bed, with his key slid under his door. He returns just after dinner with his whitened crown of hair sticking out in all manners of directions. Undaunted by his earlier intoxication he dives right back into the revelry.

Revery is well and truly congratulated for his upcoming nuptials. The night is yours and the party continues into the small hours.

(all: include a description of your night's activities, this is an opportunity to take liberties with the movements/actions/existence of the NPCs in the room, and more importantly to impressively flex your writing muscles)

A man in dirty leathers peers from his corner of the bar, his hair still slightly greasy from not being able to wash it for a few days. He rubbed his hair, uneven from his last cut, his brown locks now out of his eyesight. Kwen pulls his finger-less down to fit snugly, he starts to move through the crowd, not wanting to get too close the group at the bar, using the patrons to hopefully block the group at the bar from noticing him. His boots were well worn and cracked, his left ear twitched, and flash of pain from phantom pain of missing the top part of his ear.
Flexing his hands to get them limbered up, he noticed that everyone got a free round by the now passed out gnome. Studying the strange group
Kwen knew that he needed to grease some wheels, with the guards and he knows that being a "free agent", will upset the local guild, so he needed a "gift" for the locals. His green eyes weighed the possibilities of and groans under his breath, knowing that getting coin to some urchins and some lookouts couldn't hurt in Freeport.

Revery finds that his attempt to write Taper Enchantment into his book results in a catastrophic event (critical failure), which leads to the scroll catching flame, singing his fingertips and the loss of one eyebrow.

The scroll is still legible.

Chuckling at Gwen's comment about people getting the wrong idea about the giant woman taking the passed out gnome to his chambers, Sajeek stands up. Picking up Noggy, the beastlord takes the drunk gnome to his room and plops him on his bed. Locking the door behind him, Sajeek gives the key a good push. Hearing it slide a good ways across the floor, he grins.

Heading over to his own room, Sajeek heads in and roots through his pack. Digging out a few small gemstones and a bit of gold, Sajeek grins. Setting the selected bit of coin on his bed, the beastlord pulls the cord from an empty sack. Sajeek ties his backpack and stands, looking around the room. The Vah Shir's ears twitch as he listens to noise from below. Sajeek ties the drawstring to his room key as he listens.

Touching his trouser waistband, just above his right hip, the Vah Shir feels the Page, wrapped in a bit of leather to keep it safe. Sajeek had rolled it lengthwise and hidden it along his waist of his trousers. Tightening his rope belt and double checking the knot, he scoops up his coin and pours it into his left pocket. Locking his door, Sajeek puts the key over his head and underneath his shirt, so that he wouldn't lose it.

Heading back down stair, the Vah Shir pays up for the next month, figuring they would make this more or less their "campsite"{ooc]monthly living expense[/ooc].

Finishing that up, Sajeek orders a round of nice cold ale for his friends and then pauses. 'It was a celebration after all,' he thinks to himself glanceing around the bar. And Sajeek was looking for a distraction. Now that they had reunited, (and taken part in the Oath), Sajeek would have been quite happy to leave the massive city with all it's people crowded together, shouting and making all that noise. He looks at the bartender and smiles.

"How 'bout a round for all of my new friends," Sajeek says with a grin, guesturing to the crowd within the bar. "And a few more after that, perhaps a big roast pig for dinner." Sajeek gives the owner about 100 pieces of gold split between several small gems and a handful of the sweet golden coins. It leaves him with a few coins left jingling in his pocket. He wanted a celebration that Revery would remember for a long time to come.

Carrying the first of several trays of drinks back to his raftmates, Sajeek is unable to keep his smile from stretching from ear to ear.

"This is going to be fun, sorry I couldn't find any dancing ladies," the beastlord says, handing the drinks to Gwen and Revery. "And I learned my lesson trying to keep up with your kinsmen, Gwen. I'll drink slow. I promise I won't get us in trouble. Again." Sajeek grins a little guilty. He explains to Revery who had the question in his eyes. "I might have sorta set the last inn we stopped at on fire. Just a little. I'm pretty sure they got it under control, but I was to busy running to really check," Sajeek ears fold back a bit, as if embarassed. "And Gwen's hard to keep up with when she is running full out," he grins over at the barbarian woman.

Sajeek's day is filled with ale and occasional meals to help so soak up some of the booze in his system. He remembers laughing, lot's of drinking, dancing with all sorts of peoples and races, cheering merrily. When Noggy finally emerges, another round of drinks are brought, and the merriment continues.

Kwen let's a long breath out slowly, then walks to the bar keeping the group in the corner of his eye, reaching the bar he clears his throat and says to the barkeep " 'oi mate, 'haps I could, um get a room for a few days." Letting an accent slide out of his mouth, that he had picked up from overhearing sailors in dive taverns.
Glancing back at the group, then says " We'da like toah send another round tah 'hem, since they 're so nice to 'over my tab." He says with a wink, sliding a few coins over to the bar keep.
" 'ow about that room guv'nor." He says, holding his breath, waiting for a response, his mind on the thoughts more focused on the layout of the tavern, and hopefully soon to get a layout of the rooms upstairs.

Disguise:
1d20 + 0 ⇒ (9) + 0 = 9
Gather Information:
1d20 + 1 ⇒ (13) + 1 = 14

Revery accepts the congratulations and the drinks, and joins the others in the celebration. The drink washes away the past, and for the first time in several months he stops thinking about his love, Arwen. But then she comes back to him, and he laughs, then cries, and tells the others how much he misses her.

Eventually he starts dancing with whoever is dancing in the room, especially the women, and embarrasses his friends since he is terrible at dancing, looking like a goblin with a centipede in his pants.

Everything he does is enhanced by the new sensation, the tangible shiver, like a lute string that won't stop singing. For a moment he wonders how they will go about finding what they will be looking for. Then someone spills ale on him and he snaps out of it, pouring his own on the pourer for good measure.

Rowdy folk pour into the room, excited to share in the festivities that had been the talk of the street as of late. Bodies cram in next to each of you, and fingers find more than one coin purse unattended.

Theft (attempted theft on a natural 1): 9d20 ⇒ (14, 13, 16, 20, 5, 12, 7, 7, 19) = 113

The night continues on without issues from thieves...well not for long.

Kwen's accent can use some work, but he is lucky that the barkeep is too imbibed to care. A key is slid across after payment is received. It is child's play for Kwen to pad upstairs, locate the gnome's room, the surprisingly loud snoring helps, and the very simple lock (DC 20) could be bypassed in his sleep. The cleric is oblivious to the rogue's advances (failed listen check) and continues to boom out snores far louder that make sense for so small a creature.

In the middle of the room is the untouched room key. Left where Sajeek slid it to.

Nogglegrop is protected by poverty, for while he opened his coin purse wide there was little other than lint within afterward. Kwen can lift all of 5 gold and 17 silver pieces for his efforts. His other items consist of very expensive family heirloom armour, and items one would expect from a tinkerer member of the clergy.

The gnome returns to the common room, oblivious to the larceny and joins the others. The same gnome tugs at his sleeve and soon enough the cleric is dancing, if you can call it that (critical failure), near Revery.

Revery (Perform: Dance) 1d20 - 1 ⇒ (18) - 1 = 17

Nogglegrop (Perform: Dance) 1d20 + 3 ⇒ (1) + 3 = 4

The gnome cramps his style, and soon enough there are more than 5 people about ready to bloody the cleric's nose for stepping on their toes, urinating on them, or calling their dance partners fugly.

Revery, on the other hand, is simply amazing and soon enough has a rather willing young half-elf lady writhing up against his lonely flesh.

Kwen is able to return to the common room without issue, though he quickly recognizes that he is not the only thief in the room, and his time in Freeport had not gone unnoticed. One stands near the door, his eyes remain fixed upon the rogue, while another of his companions rushes out the door.

Sajeek sees the fight coming and understands that when the Hogcaller's Inn burns to the ground he will likely be blamed.

Gwendalyn perceives the blocked exit and follows the none-too-subtle stares that are falling upon a shady individual, who is doing a horrible job of trying to blend in (critical failure).

Kwen (Bluff): 1d20 + 3 ⇒ (1) + 3 = 4

Gwendalyn (Sense Motive): 1d20 + 4 ⇒ (13) + 4 = 17

The untrustworthy one has eyes that continually flit to Nogglegrop in a manner suggesting that he has something he feels badly about.

Kwen knows that he could be in some trouble, at least he knew that repaying the coin would be the least of his worries. The other items would have been too heavy and noticeable, the coin was easy to take, however the large female barbarian knew something was up. Kwen felt a few drops of sweat run down his sides, as sizing Gwendalyn up for a few seconds and trying to calm himself. 'Gods spit! I just had to choose Hogcaller's, stupid!' He rages at himself 'All I needed was a few more days then, I could have gotten enough coin for a gift too the locals.' His face slightly flushed at his luck.
Muttering to himself, knowing that the god of tricks wasn't too impressed with his efforts, he resolved to face this head on. 'After all.' He thinks to himself ' Perhaps I might be able to convince her to help me.' He snorts, knowing that the last time he had asked for help, he had to deal with a few broken fingers.
Taking a deep breath he glances about the trying to gauge just how many other thieves were in the room, knowing that a fight was brewing and quick. Slumping his shoulders, he hopes that in the coming melee that he might be able to slip away.
Sighing, he moves toward Gwendalyn, keeping his eye out for other thieves stalking him, and making sure that he wasn't going to be hit in the head with a chair. His movements are non-threatening, hoping that he would be somewhat successful in getting the woman to help him out, and with not too many broken bones.
When Kwen get's as close as he thinks he can get with out having the warrior, break him in two he says "Look I uh need some help, there're a couple of gentlemen, who want to have a conversation, with me. Of course by conversation , I mean break quite a few bones." Trying to keep some of his emotions in check, not quite succeeding as Kwen hears an edge of fear in his own voice.
" Long story short, I count at least five thieves, in here and there is going to be a fight. I'd be willing to take up arms or whatever with you, or at the very least pay you for some protection. If you would be willing, that is, I'd tell the long story to you and the others after this little misunderstanding." The words pouring out of him, quite quickly.

Gwendalyn notices Nogglegrop's horrible "dancing" -- they really should've kept his key -- and then also some of the thieves attracted by the loose money of their celebration. There's one there, and one by the door, and then another who keeps on looking at Nogglegrop...

Then the latter miscreant (not Nogglegrop, the one looking at him) actually comes up and asks for her help. The audacity! She looks down at the half elf in disbelief, but he's right about one thing... "You're right about a fight, dumbass, but yours isn't the only one brewing. You help us through this and pay Noggy back for whatever you took, and I'll protect you and forgive you."

Revery takes a rest at the table, and notices that some people are not having a good time.

"What's going on? I thought we were celebrating?"

Kwen looks into Gwendalyn's eyes then says " Deal, and the gnome will have the purse back as soon as the fight is over. " Looking at Revery he says " Just a bar fight, that will be happening shortly, and a few members of a guild, might be looking into having a long 'chat' with me. The result of that chat will be quite a few broken bones, some rather large holes in me, and ending up being thrown into the ocean. They aren't too happy that I didn't join up with them and gave me sometime to come up with a 'gift' to stay in the city. I missed the dead line that they gave me, by a week or so." He says with an empty grin. His black hair falling back into his eyes, his left ear twitches and he glances behind him sure for a moment that he heard something.

The cheerful Vah Shir is sliding past a crush of lightly clothed dancers, his empty mug head above his head. Absorbed by the dancers for a few moments, Sajeek manages to break free. His need for a cold drink overriding his desire to... mingle longer. A parting lick to the cheek of his dance partner, the Vah Shir slips away from the group and heads to the bar. He breathes deeply, holding the tasty scent of the sweaty dancers.

Grinning happily, Sajeek's bright green eyes wander the crowd as he waits for his cold mug of ale to be refilled. Pleasantly drunk, feeling full, Sajeek was happily unconcerned with the fact he was in a city. The Vah Shir had an offer or three to share his bed, something he was looking forward to end such a entertaining night. He glances as the half-elf who is practically trying to become Revery's second skin. The young Beastlord laughes at the sight.

Thanking the bartender, by buying him another ale, Sajeek turns around aound and leans his lower back against the crowded bar. He takes a pull off of his frosty ale and sighs happily. Sajeek's eyes find the scowling human at the door. Something about his manner awakens the Vah Shir's feral instincts.

Even with the haze of alcohol dulling his keen senses, Sajeek's ears perk up. Violence is in the air. Kill-lust had cut through the scent of smoke, sweaty bodies, liquor and foods. It was unmistakable.

Sajeek looks for his raftmates. He sees Gwen and a black haired male. The male keeps glancing bakc at the blocked doorway.

Hard men with excited eyes pour into the Hogcaller's Inn. You only catch the entrance of some of them through the crowd, but the self-appointed doorman ensures that everyone knows where the prey is located. You are literally backed into a corner, by perhaps 14 men, though Nogglegrop is nowhere to be seen.

Left alone Kwen will likely not survive the night

Some leave and others come in, including a number of large and burly men with watchful eyes and the practiced movements of either dancers of combatants. They are welcomed with open arms by the proprietor Swin Blackeye. The owner/barkeep is an older man with a stoop and a warm smile that worry has wiped from his face.

The first punch is thrown in short order...by Nogglegrop. It misses by miles, which isn't saying much since he was aiming it at a chair.

The donnybrook erupts seemingly out of nowhere. Chairs, tables, beer, food and bodies are thrown. 4 dark shapes launch themselves at you, working their way through the crush of the crowd, but act slower than you do (each are in melee range at the start of the round).

(may consume a number of strong drinks equal to one's CON modifier with no ill effects. Thereafter one must make a fort save vs. DC 12, may include an alcohol tolerance check for bonuses to the save, failure indicates a metabolic penalty of -2 to DEX, INT and WIS. Continuing to drink will stack these negative penalties, success indicates that the character only suffers half those effects and also receives a +2 metabolic bonus to any checks involving STR or CON)

Initiative
- Sajeek, Kwen, Gwendalyn, Revery
- 4 rogues

One of the men, stinking of kill-lust pushes through the crowd. The packed bar had suddenly erupted. Seconds ago, everyone had been drinking, cheering, dancing. Now, food and beer, chairs and fist flew through the air with the same frenzied energy. The feeling overall was more of a cheerful brawl.

Except for those that stank of kill-lust. They were here to kill someone. That is confusing to the young Beastlord. None of the quick moving humanoids seemed familar to Sajeek. He didn't think that they were after him.

The man was suddenly in front of Sajeek. His intent was clear, it didn't seem that the quickly moving person cared whom he was going to kill. Since the dark figure didn't start stabbing random people, Sajeek reasoned that he was after one of his raftmates. He drops his ale mug and attacks the dark figure that rushes towards him.

Revery does not want this fight. These people are not enemies, they're just simple thugs.

He tries to avoid the rogues and casts two spells in succession, at ones not yet being attacked or attacking, to lull them into inaction.

Kwen curses waiting to see if the other thieves' were going to draw steel first, kicking a chair into one of the hired thugs legs, hoping to trip them up.
" Now can't we all just get along and talk about this?! Have a seat I insist!" Sarcasm dripping from the words, as he give a sly smile inwardly, his heart races and he knows this is going to be it for him, dying in a crummy tavern/Inn.

Revery casts two spells, on the two rogues nearest him.

After her own beer, Gwendalyn enjoys Nogglegrop's round, then Sajeek's several. She's fine for the first few, then surprisingly starts to get actually drunk, which makes her slow down after her bad experience the last time in this city. Still. The damage is done.

If she were her normal self, then Gwen might actually sympathize with the thieves' guild, since the Shamans of Justice in Halas see no contradiction in allowing the Rogues of the White Rose. They keep the others in line, much as the Freeport rogues were attempting to do to Kwen. But maybe they were trying to keep him in line to be more ruthless instead of less predatory?

The Northwoman doesn't know, and the drink has eaten at her judgment anyway. She made a promise and it's done. She briefly considers casting a spell before deciding that it would be too hard, and so she just shoulder-tackles one of the rogues aimed at them. She points at the others. "Don't make me draw a weapon!" She'd only put her pack away, not her arms or armor, so this is a meaningful threat.

Nogglegrop is in the middle of the donnybrook giving as well as he gets, which is a surprise considering that his system probably has more ale in it than blood. He is across the room, which might save him from a rogue's attack, as long as they do not associate him with Kwen. There is far too much noise to yell, and the crush of bodies will make it difficult to get him him without getting punched in the face a few times. You lose him more oft than see him due to his small size, but people jumping in the air, after an accurate foot stomp or groin strike lands, make it easy to track his progress.

Within the chaos of the room it is difficult to discern the true nature of the attack until a bit of steel reflects the fire's light. This is a lethal encounter amidst a harmless bar brawl.

A lull spell is considered sufficient to bring it to the enchanter's lips, but is quickly disregarded, in short order he will seasoned enough to cast the mesmerize line of spells, which will stop charging foes in their tracks. Both men choke and momentarily grab their throats (failed save x2).

Fort save vs. DC 19: 1d20 + 0 ⇒ (8) + 0 = 8
Fort save vs. DC 19: 1d20 + 2 ⇒ (12) + 2 = 14

Both barbarian and vah shir are forced to rely on their hardy systems to ward off the heady effects of the drink, for all of their previous drinking does not help them to quickly sober up on this occasion (no bonuses conferred by alcohol tolerance checks).

Sajeek's claws rend separate furrows, like tiny little rivers, down the choking man's armoured chest. The rogue glances down, then back up and hisses, "Only little old ladies attack with their fingernai....", and the he expires having had his throat all but closed by the enchanter's attack and the beastlord's manicurist's nightmare.

A chair, propelled by the rogue's foot, chatters across the floor missing everyone by miles, until his slams into an approaching rogue's knees causing a fairly impressive injury considering the improvised nature of the weapon (-4 to strike).

Chair: 1d3 - 1 ⇒ (3) - 1 = 2

Gwendalyn catches a previous unscathed man in full sprint so efficiently that he lands on his back with his head facing in a rather awkward direction. He does not rise again.

The two rogues, one still clutching at his throat, and the other rubbing the expansive bruises that have formed on his knees, melt back into the crowd.

(end of combat)

Perhaps this is nothing more than a ruse, but you appear to have some time to mount your defences, or to make plans, before something else happens.

With eyes wide two young women run away from you screaming, pointing at the bodies and you. The make for the door. At least there is far too much chaos in the room for anyone to heed their words. You are not that lucky, since they meet up with the large, burly men with watchful eyes. They point back at you, and new combatants start towards you, while the women continue out of the tavern.

Across the room is the exit and the way upstairs, but all of the rogues and large men stand between you and that freedom.

You might be hanged, but at least time with Kwen is never boring.

Kwen's thoughts start racing, trying too think if these are the type of men, that could be give a small fee and everyone could be on their way. Of course these also could be more thugs looking to finish the job that was botched from the first group.

Revery steps back and waits to see what the burlies do. In the meantime he casts a spell on himself...

Sajeek looks down at his claws and then to the man that just tried to attack the young Beastlord.

"I know I might be drunk," the Vah Shir slurs. "But, I didn't hit you that hard."

Movement catches. Sajeek's attention, not to mention the screaming, and he looks at the wave of larger combatants. They parted the fleeing crowd with ease.

Gwendalyn blinks dully when the man that she shoulder-tackled stays down and unmoving, and she sees that the one clawed by Sajeek and choked by Revery is similarly still. "Ummm... whoops. Don't know my own strength sometimes." Then there are feminine screams, followed by watchful men heading in their direction.

While she's kind of stupid right now, Gwen retains enough basic common sense that she doesn't want to be discovered with dead bodies during a bar brawl. "Hope it's not too late," she mutters to herself. The decidedly tipsy shaman casts a minor spell of healing on each of the new-fallen rogues, then checks for signs of life, starting with the one at her feet.

You have only just met, but it is amazing how well you each move together when faced with a threat. It is almost as if the fates have provided you with your missing limb and only when you start walking you learn how awkward you were hopping everywhere on one leg.

The defensive half shell you have formed wards off all comers. You give far better than you get, though a few punches, or thrown items work their way through (all take 2 subdual damage, please take artistic license to describe how the damage occurred in your next post).

Kwen instantly discerns that these large and muscular men are no rogues that he has ever seen before. A flash of a tabard reveals the truth: these are Steel Warriors, the most widespread mercenary guild in all of Norrath. Their members include caravan guards, city defenders, gladiators, swordplay instructors and adventurers. They stand for duty and honour, which sounds good, but the guild doesn't care if its members engage in activities of a morally questionable nature, as long as they are open and honest about it.

As to bribery, the 12 rogues, now that two have been dispatched, that have entered the Hogcaller's Inn could likely be bribed off individually, but en masse one would need a ridiculous amount of gold to pull of such a tactic.

Revery armours up as Nogglegrop crawls through some legs and finds refuge for a moment behind a rather portly man's unconscious body. Finding some spilled bar peanuts he starts chewing like a crazed squirrel, trying hard to stifle his giggles.

The Steel Warriors are having a hard time working their way through the crowd, since it appears that the rogues are working to slow their progress using subterfuge, so their companions can skewer Kwen in peace.

Gwendalyn's ministrations and spells bring the men from the brink of the great beyond back to the land of the living. The one with the broken neck remains unconscious, but should survive (stable), though he will need to be gently moved to a place where he won't get accidentally stepped on, while the second starts to stand up, while looking for his dagger (full health).

"Ahha! I knew you were faking!" Sajeek says with a drunken cackle. The drunk Vah Shir realizes that the man is going for his dagger. "Some people just don't learn," Sajeek says with a laugh.

"No blades, just fists, girly-boy," Sajeek mocks the rogue as he throws a punch this time.

The man is still trying to clear the cobwebs from his momentary bout of unconsciousness, while Revery's spell tries to choke him out (statistic negatives), and he is hardly light on his feet while sitting on his ass. If anything he appears to lean into the punch and then goes night night once again.

Brushing his clawed hands off, Sajeek looks down at the man who had rushed him. He looks at the knuckles on his right hand. 'What an odd way to fight,' the Vah Shir thinks hazily. 'I guess if you don't have claws, it makes sense.' The Beaslord shrugs at the thought.

As he brings his gaze back up, Sajeek spots his fallen mug. Picking it up, the young Beastlord looks into the empty mug. He pouts slightly.

"You made me drops my drink. Ass stain," Sajeek comments to the knocked out rogue. "That was very mean of you. I'm sure your parents regret not drowning you at birth."

" Well this is fun and all, but we now have the Steel Warriors here, they are supposed to be law and order around here, but they have been known to join in quasi legal stuff." Kwen says out loud, looking around for any more rogues coming in to stab him or the others.
Kwen really want's to run but being there is no easy way out balls his fists and waits for the next person to try and attack him. His mind whirling, trying to weigh out if the Steel Warriors were after him because they were paid to. Or if they were going to make sure that the group wasn't killing patrons and try to keep the peace.

Revery looks around for any other exits. Windows, anything they might escape out of, away from the Steel Warriors.

Gwendalyn fights to protect the fragile man at her feet, as well as her comrades, and the one that she made a promise to. She bends over to check on the guy with the broken neck again, and gets clocked with a wild roundhouse punch. 2 subdual. She looks over at the drunk, dark-haired, 5'10", somewhat pudgy, thirty-ish human that hit her. Her eyes narrow with anger and his eyes grow wide with fear as the Northwoman straightens to her full height, throwing an uppercut as she goes.

Freeport is nothing short of a mess in terms of who runs what and why. Getting in good with any one faction inevitably destroys ones chances with another. Conversely the opposite can be true.

Kwen has no idea what the Steel Warriors might be after him. Perhaps they are in league with the rogue's guild. Then again these men might be coming over to at the owner's behest, or might be after another of the group. The answer comes quickly as they get to Nogglegrop and snatch him up into their burly arms. He did start the fight after all.

Exits are twofold, but both are near the bar, and the group got a table furthest away from that place, so they would not be overheard. The chimney might be an option, though Gwendalyn would never fit, if there was not a raging fire merrily blazing just 5' away from you. There are a few leaded windows, but they are filled with stained glass and never made to open.

The powerful Gwendalyn knocks a man unconscious with a single blow.

..and then 6 shapes coalesce out of the crowd, but the party is ready.

Initiative
- Party
- (6) Rogues

" Six of you, can't we just be sit down like adults and just talk about this?" Kwen sardonically asks " No? Didn't think so." He finishes, waiting for the first one to get in close, then throws a roundhouse punch, hoping that they don't have steel in there hands.

Within the chaos of the room it is difficult to discern the true nature of the attack until a bit of steel reflects the fire's light. This is a lethal encounter amidst a harmless bar brawl.

Steel lives in the comforting embrace of each of the rogue's hands.

(please include a listen check in your next post)

A number of hammer fists are employed to render the biting gnome unconscious. He is casually tossed over a shoulder and the men start to depart the inn with him in tow. The fight rages on, but the combatants either get out of the way of the powerful group, or they are pummeled into submission.

Strangely there is a single figure leaning against the bar calmly sipping his glass of wine, seemingly unconcerned, and more importantly unaffected, by the bedlam transpiring around him.

The Vah Shir's eyes narrow as a this new figure appears in front of him. Steel fang in hand, the furless one stank of kill-lust, and was coming right for Sajeek.

The bar was a chaotic sea of cheerful brawling, becoming a backdrop to the battle that was brewing. The raftmates (minus Noggy...), the dark haired stranger, were squaring off against those who stank of kill-lust.

Flinging his empty mug, Sajeek spreads his arms and roars. The Beastlord flexes his fingers, his claws catch the nearby light from the fireplace.

While watching the scene, a chair hits him in his private area, and he bends over in pain (2 pts subdual damage). Hopefully everything would be fully functional for the wedding, whenever that would be; this is the thought that passes through Revery's mind.

Suddenly Revery sees Nogglegrop being handled and taken away. Acting as quickly as he can he casts a spell to help others follow Nogglegrop's gnomenapper (Quickened Lull on the man carrying the gnome; no AOO; Will save vs. DC 19; mana 17/32).

(hp: 14/14 + 2 temp, 2 subdual)

Slowly working it's way through the alcohol haze the blanketed his mind, was the realization that the left side of his head was wet. And the shoulder as well. A faint, but noticable circular ache throbbed under his left ear.

Some twisted wretch had thrown an ale mug at the Vah Shir.

The young Beastlord hopes the spirits strike the fool that had wasted good booze, blind.