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"I would like to renew my acquaintance with shrimp," Akahale continues in reminiscent mood, "but perhaps the beach should wait. The grove of trees now, that seems interesting. Shall we walk that way?"
"Good enough place to start," Rowan agrees thinking as long as there's no lightning it might make a good place to shelter from the rain if not the wind...
Mandrake, having circumnavigated most of the crowded room and come full circle back to his original table, checks his bag. Still only half full. That will never do.
HE sits on the floor cross-legged next to his chair and lays the half-full bag on the floor. Pulling out a slim weather-beaten wand almost as worn as he looks, he taps the floor three time lightly, as if getting an orchestra's attention. Holding it aloft as if ready for the downbeat he softly chants,...
"I've lost my marbles,
This will never do!
Sing a little song, I sez,
and they'll come back to you!"
With that he begins conducting. At first there is no apparent result. But those closest to him can hear faint strains of music barely audible over the hum of the busy room.
Slowly at first, then with gathering speed, his escaped collection begins to reluctantly return towards him from all over the room.
"Odds and ends and bric-a-brac,
polished stones go in the sack!"
As the marbles reach the mouth of the bag, they give a little hop and jump back into the sack with a clatter. Soon, the bag is full again. Mandrake finishes with a flourish, and replaces his wand up his sleeve. He then carefully picks up his bag.
"See? THAT wasn't so hard now, was it?" He says into the bag before tying and double-knotting it.
Rising and reclaiming his seat, he takes a swig from the nearest mug. Sighing in pleasure he says, "ALright! NOW! Where,... Where,.. we,...?!?" He stumbles to a stop, just realizing that the table is empty. He points accusingly to the stationary IT standing nearby.
"You! Where did everybody go? Why didn't you tell me?"
The mage gives a sad, slow sigh before returning morosely to his drink.
"It's just like my 10th birthday party,..." He mutters into his mug,...
"ALright! NOW! Where,... Where,.. we,...?!?" He stumbles to a stop, just realizing that the table is empty. He points accusingly to the stationary IT standing nearby.
"You! Where did everybody go? Why didn't you tell me?"
"It did not say everybody had gone, because everybody did not go, sir." It gestures with Its hammer, but seems to mean no threat. "Dragonborn Grafire Serpenthelm is there."
Rowan
Rowan doesn't know of any faiths that hold Melora's worship in especial hatred, nor does he recognise the type of trees in the grove. He doesn't sense that they are being watched, but he does know that they are both now very wet.
[b}Grafire[/b]
The woman's manner softens slightly, and she replies with a sigh, "I aplogise for my abruptness, sir. I am unused to compliments and it sounds strange from one of your people; I am Terza of Four Winds. I hear by your accent that you yourself are a southerner. As to what you should keep an eye out for, you may see that the locals turn up interesting artifacts and jewellery. If you could let me know of some, I would appreciate that."
Manny and It
People have been looking at the antics at the mage, and in interest at his stoical servant. After the excitement, they go back to their drinks and food.
Rowan
Rowan doesn't know of any faiths that hold Melora's worship in especial hatred, nor does he recognise the type of trees in the grove. He doesn't sense that they are being watched, but he does know that they are both now very wet.
"Well I've got nothing, how about you," Rowan asks after a moment looking around.
"Well except even wetter than before," Rowan adds as he takes shleter underneath the tree and looks up before taking more of a look around BUt making sure he doesn't mess up any of the shrine any further than it is.
"What kind of weapons did that, axe or sword?" he asks after a moment shivering.
In the white-capped waves whipped up by the stormy winds, it's almost impossible to make out the sequence of small wooden jetties. Over half a dozen of them stretch out along the coast. Several small fishing boats are tied tightly to them, rising and rocking with the waves like drunken winos, threatening to completely tip over.
As Seram heads north he can see that the beach slopes up as it heads north, until it rises to become a cliff-face.
Akahale shakes his head. "I know only that edged weapons of some kind were used. Let us proceed. We can scarely be wetter. More rain will not harm us."
He proceeds out of the grove, passing buildings 6 and 5, which he pauses to identify if possible, before heading towards the prominent hill.
"A church I would imagine, judging from the location. We should see who is worshipped here."
"Ah yes, Terza, a befitting name as well. I shall keep an eye out for these things. I imagine that with weather like this there would be the occasional ship wreck. I am indeed from the south and this is my first visit here. Do you visit Ashenport often? Seems like quite the trip from Four Winds as well." Grafire takes another pull from his mug and thinks to him self it must be getting late.
Akahale shakes his head. "I know only that edged weapons of some kind were used. Let us proceed. We can scarely be wetter. More rain will not harm us."
He proceeds out of the grove, passing buildings 6 and 5, which he pauses to identify if possible, before heading towards the prominent hill.
"A church I would imagine, judging from the location. We should see who is worshipped here."
"And if its not Melora maybe they can explain why its in the state it is," Rowan agreed.
Grafire
Terza replies, "No, this is my first time in this stinking town. Remarkable that such a place can turn up such artifacts."
Seram Zal
You trudge up the beach as it rise to the cliffs; you see two familiar figure approaching from the east. Akahale and Rowan walk down the muddy path out of town.
Seram Zal, Akahale, Rowan
Atop a high, rocky hill on the northwest side of town stands what is obviously a church. constructed of heavy wood, it appears to have once been coated in a bright whitewash that has since largely sppeled away. the great holy symbol atop the short steeple seems almost to be bleeding as it sheds the rain.
The hill is very steep, but there are steps carved into the stone, which make the climb easier.
There's little to differentiate this building from the other surrounding shops, save that the walls are meticulously whitewashed (or at least they were meticulous before the heavy rains). Above the door hangs a painting of a beautiful shoreline, with the words "A Bountiful Tide" etched above it in gold paint.
With that Grafire takes his seat back at the table and turns to It.
"It, were did everyone go? I do hope they do not run into trouble with out me there. I would surely miss the taste of battle."
MAnny blinks, raising his head from his morose funk, and looks thoughtful.
"And how, exactly, pray tell, does battle taste???" He asks Grafire Innocently.
"I've cast spells that brought forth rainbow beams you could hear, and sonic booms that could blind you, so why not taste?" He continues musing without actually waiting for a reply.
"Personally, I think it would taste rather bitter, possibly even sour, seeing as how I find physical combat distasteful. But One man's Sour is another man's sweet!" He grins. "I can only imagine how that addle-brained barbarian would rate the flavor of combat!" He shudders at the imagined horror.
"And speaking of addle-brained,..." Mandrake says, glowering at the stoic IT standing nearby. "I thought you were supposed to be watching the barbarian, keep him out of trouble! I know, I know, you were watching him. You watched him walk right out the door!" The wild-eyed mage rants at the metal man.
The wizard looks like he might be winding up for one of his famous diatribes, which only someone with IT's metal skin might be able to survive unscathed. Fortunately, the mage's gestures slosh the drink in his hand, and the resulting scramble to save the beverage delivers the Inn from any immediate danger of indoor fireworks.
Plunking the now empty mug onto the table with a satisfied sigh, Mandrake licks some foam from his mustache. He blinks, looks around the table, and focuses on Grafire.
"Oh, terribly sorry. You were saying?,..."
"Ah yes the sweet taste of battle. It is mostly the victory that taste so sweet. Like licking ones lips after eating a sweet pastry, in memory of defeating ones foe." A slight smile draws across Grafire's lips and the memory's of yesteryear's battles pulls his attention away from his current surroundings. With a snap back to reality "Yes ol Mage one mans bitter is another's sweet. I have lost many a friend in such battles."
Looking at the holy man and the dragonborn. "What brings you two out here", Seram asks, but really not caring for thier answer.
"Someone descerated a shrine to Melora in that grove back there, thought we'd see if anyone in there may have some answers," Rowan replies matter of factly wondering what they'll find in the church.
"And you?" Rowan asks.
Seram, Akahale, Rowan
You find yourselves within a long chamber, its vaulted ceilings making it seem far more cavernous than it truly is. On the far end, a raised dais boasts a heavy altar, draped in cloth embroidered with a smattering of holy icons, and supporting several chalices, incense burners and candelabra. Rows of wooden pews, made rough and rickety by years of use, face the altar. Several stained glass windows - probably worth more than the rest of the building combined - sit high in the walls. The occasional flash of lightning sends multihued patterns dancing and wriggling obscenely across the floor.
Rowan spots nothing unusual upon entering the church.
Grafire
You notice the other party of outsiders looking over at you now, talking amongst themselves after your conversation with Terza.
Seram, Akahale, Rowan
You find yourselves within a long chamber, its vaulted ceilings making it seem far more cavernous than it truly is. On the far end, a raised dais boasts a heavy altar, draped in cloth embroidered with a smattering of holy icons, and supporting several chalices, incense burners and candelabra. Rows of wooden pews, made rough and rickety by years of use, face the altar. Several stained glass windows - probably worth more than the rest of the building combined - sit high in the walls. The occasional flash of lightning sends multihued patterns dancing and wriggling obscenely across the floor.
"Hmm Pelor and Melora," Rowan openly says as he looks around standing a few feet behind the other two as he briefly looks up at the stained glass windows before focusing on the interior (and avoiding being blinded by the lightning).
"Anyone home?" Rowan asks the others as he takes a good look round where he's standing.
"Curious is it not that worshippers of Melora should deface her statue."
Akahale prowls the church (respectfully), looking for clues.
Akahale bows politely.
"We sought shelter from the rain and the construction of churches is a passion of mine. My companions are kind enough to indulge me. Father Rowan is naturally interested, Seram is merely indulgent. May I look more closely at the architecture and furnishings? I should also like to make a contribution to the maintenance of the fabric of the building."
He does his best to appear benign and harmless while sizing up this stranger.
The woman listens to Akahale's eloquent speech and her frown never shifts, "That is all very well," she says, "but I am afraid I must ask you to leave. I am preparing for an important rite beseeching the gods' grace on our town and the coming gathering."
Rowan
Akahale
Grafire attempts to define the appearance of the other group looking at him.
Perception check on other group. (1d20+4=24)
The woman listens to Akahale's eloquent speech and her frown never shifts, "That is all very well," she says, "but I am afraid I must ask you to leave. I am preparing for an important rite beseeching the gods' grace on our town and the coming gathering."
"If your goal is for the sake of good and law, please accept our aid, if something troubles you or you know of such a problem afflicting this settlement please tell us, we can help," Rowan entreats to her.
Rowan, Akahale, Seram
"Your aid? That is very kind of you, but it is nothing you can help with." she says more warmly and she continues in a baffled manner, "I'm not sure I understand what you're driving at; the only problem here is a very bad storm that may make our trade fair a wash-out."
She looks in a concerned manner at Rowan, "Are you quite alright? You do seem very agitated" she asks. "Perhaps you should rest; do you have rooms at the Sail? Of course you must. Please do try to shelter from the storm, and send the staff there my blessings for all their hard work. I am Mother Sharallan, by the way."
Rowan
Looking at the holy man and the dragonborn. "What brings you two out here", Seram asks, but really not caring for thier answer."Someone descerated a shrine to Melora in that grove back there, thought we'd see if anyone in there may have some answers," Rowan replies matter of factly wondering what they'll find in the church.
"And you?" Rowan asks.
"Melora? What care is it of us that some shrine was descerated." Seram says uncaringly.
"As for me...I'm looking for some fun"
MAndrake looks at Grafire as he explains his feelings of the 'taste of battle'. FOr a moment, the old mage's eyes are crystal clear, and look at the dragonborn as if he can see through him. Or at least into him.
"You,... have a touch of the poet in you friend Grafire. Not altogether unheard of among your people. But still, rare enough to be appreciated when found." HE says calmly, if cryptically, still staring at the dragonborn as if seeing something important.
Then the moment passes, and the usual bewildered look returns to the wizard's weather-beaten features.
"Ooh! I know a poem! You wanta hear it? <Hem-Hem> 'There once was a man from,'..." Mandrake begins cheerfully as Grafire swiftly turns to investigate the other group of merchants.
At the church
Taking advantage of Rowan's discussion with Mother Sharallan, Akahale walks further down the church and finds an excuse to look at the oddly placed pew as discreetly as possible under the guise of examining the architecture.
"The windows are exquisite and unusual" he remarks, drawing attention away from the actual object of his search.
"Mother Sharallan, we will not intrude any longer on your preparations. Allow me to make a donation in support of this fine building and the work you do here."
The dragonborn rummages for coins, taking advantage of the opportunity to look long and hard at the mystery pew.
Akahale
Mother Sharallan purses her lips and says, "Very well, that is most kind of you, sir." and continues more gently, "And I hope you can find some rest on this tumultuous night."
With that, she ushers you out of the church and closes the door.
"Good and law...God's grace", the massive man snickers.
After the group in lead out of the church, "What a boring place. You sure get sent on the worst missions, Gilbrid."
Seram casts a toothy smile as a bolt of lightning rips through the air. "Only thing to do now is have another round of drinks and sleep"
Akahale drops 10sp into the collection box (all churches have them) on his way out.
Once the noise of the wind can mask his remarks to anyone who be listening, he turns to Rowan and Seram.
"Mother Sharallan may be preparing for a ceremony, but I will wager it is not in the church. There is a hinged pew at the back. I suspect there is an underground vault that would bear investigation. We should tell the others and come later tonight to explore further."
He shivers suddenly. The weather outside is in marked and horrible contrast to the comparative warmth of the church and the prospect of returning to the Smooth Sailing seems really appealing.
"Food do you think?"
As an afterthought he adds, "Seram, did you walk up the beach? Do you think it is a likely spot for shrimping when the weather clears? I wish to frolic in the surf."
Akahale drops 10sp into the collection box (all churches have them) on his way out.
Once the noise of the wind can mask his remarks to anyone who be listening, he turns to Rowan and Seram.
"Mother Sharallan may be preparing for a ceremony, but I will wager it is not in the church. There is a hinged pew at the back. I suspect there is an underground vault that would bear investigation. We should tell the others and come later tonight to explore further."
He shivers suddenly. The weather outside is in marked and horrible contrast to the comparative warmth of the church and the prospect of returning to the Smooth Sailing seems really appealing.
"Food do you think?"
As an afterthought he adds, "Seram, did you walk up the beach? Do you think it is a likely spot for shrimping when the weather clears? I wish to frolic in the surf."
"Food, sounds good to me", he looks at dragonborn. "Don't you think you're being paranoid about the church. In any case what can a few prayers do anyway."
"Shrimping, huh. Perhaps after the storm and waves have died. Probably have a chance near the cliff facing. I would think shrimp would like hiding in the rocky surface.
"Food, sounds good to me", he looks at dragonborn. "Don't you think you're being paranoid about the church. In any case what can a few prayers do anyway."
"Shrimping, huh. Perhaps after the storm and waves have died. Probably have a chance near the cliff facing. I would think shrimp would like hiding in the rocky surface.
"You are correct. I am paranoid. But I am also alive. The two are connected. I see no good reason to build a hidden entrance to anywhere in a church. Mother Sharallan did not appear to me to be lying about a ceremony, but I saw few preparations in the building itself. She was most anxious for us to leave." Akahale thinks for a moment. "It is possible that our appearance frightened her," he concedes.
"Ah Seram. We shall hunt shrimp. They are worthy adversaries. Do not be deceived by their size. And of course, they taste delicious." Akahale's eyes gleam at the thought. "Possibly the Smooth Sailing has samples. What was the beer like?"
"Why yes Manny, I have studied a bit of poetry. Battle and poetry are linked, at least from my perspective. But I ask you why some many traders in such a gods forsaken place..." Grafire turns his attention to the other traders from Greyhawk. Grafire's curiosity overtakes him and he rises to approach the group in the middle of Manny's sentence. "Excuse me my friend, I wish to inquire about why this group is here." He turns from Manny and approaches the trader group from Greyhawk.
Grafire approaches the human. "Ah another fine group of traders I presume, possibly from Greyhawk? I am wondering what goods you are here for or maybe you have something special for sale, hmm?" Grafire gives the human an inquiring look hoping for something interesting.