You can hear shuffling and scrunching, and Bronx and the gnome/mushroom thing moving around, further away from you, mixed with the sound of Bronx swishing his scythe, but you can't see any of it.
Bronx:
Spoiler:
The gnome/mushroom thing flattens itself into the snow for a moment, avoiding the swishing arc of your scythe, before dragging itself up into a more regular crawl position, and making it's way on. Having crossed past you to the east, it takes advantage, whilst you ready your scythe for another swing, to head on further south. Your pony, unnerved by the approach of this creature, takes a skittish step or two backwards, floundering slightly, in the snow. (Five foot step backwards, south).
If you want to say anything to Nim, (who still can't see) before the end of the round, the gnome/mushroom thing is still prone, with (effectively) two five foot squares between it and Nim, half left (due south) of the direction which Nim is currently facing (southwest). It is immediately southeast of you.
Nim & Bronx:
Spoiler:
Waiting here to check if Bronx has anything he wants to say to Nim before I give end of round summary and move to next round.
You wait patiently, whilst the men search the room, going through everything methodically. At one point a couple of men with a stretcher remove the deceased from the bed, and take him away somewhere. At another point a short whispy human male, looking rather harrased arrives, exchanges hurried words with Orcbane, mutters a spell off a scroll, and surveys the room intently. He then exchanges more words with Orcbane, pointing at the glass and bedside water jug as he does so, then leaves the room in a hurry, apparently having somewhere else to be. At points Seebo and Davkul are asked to move aside, so the men can check the parts of the room where they have been located. The men seem mildly interested by the signs that papers have been burnt in the fireplace, but concern over this seems to be minimal.
At one point, the maid who discovered the body and disorder is summoned, for questioning, with the reluctant agreement of Mrs. Prestwick.
At length the investigation appears to be winding down, and Orcbane addresses the pair of you.
"Looks like you were right about the water-jug.", he says. "The only thing which we know to be missing, in terms of papers and possessions, is the guest's journal, which the fireplace would seem to account for. But if he wrote anything late last night, which either of you have pocketed," he seems to favour Seebo with a suspicious glance here, rather more han Davkul, "you would be wise to produce it now. Or if you have anything which you can tell me which you may know or suspect about the circumstances of his death or the hours immediately before it, it would demonstrate your willingness to be helpful to the authorities in this town."
Davkul:
If you make a DC 15 Spellcraft check, by the way:
Spoiler:
As you probably have surmised anyway, that was a Detect Poison spell (arcane casting) used by the man with the scroll.
The gnome/mushroom thing starts to crawl, determinedly, diagonally past you, heading southeast at first, away from the rock face, onto the part of the shelf just east of Bronx. This is not a five foot step, so provokes an attack of opportunity from you.
Her saving throws, as listed in Dawn of a New Age (Dungeon #135), are Fort +24 Ref +33 Will +32, although I can't make out if there are circumstance bonuses included in those. She doesn't seem to have any spells already factored in, or to derive any bonus from her situation at the time.
Assuming that you did sidestep west, could you please clarify what you intend to do if the gnome/mushroom thing does something which would provoke an attack of opportunity, but which does not allow for a trip attempt?
Just got home from a very long stint at work and I am barely ale to think at the moment, I am about to go to sleep so I can go back in tomorrow. This is just a post to let you know that I will most likely be unable to post for the next 24-36 hours or so. If I need to be NPC'd, no problem.
Okay, thanks for mentioning it, Longreach. Sleep well.
I take it that is a five foot step to the west, to put the rock face to the west and the creature north of you (and heading it off from heading directly south along the western edge of the shelf)?
Nim goes berserk and starts chopping away madly with his longsword at where he thinks that the gnome/mushroom thing is with blows that would surely do severe damage if they struck something; however Nim fails to make contact with anything. Check for 50% miss chance (1d100=16) Bronx?
No, Bronx, no attack of opportunity; it only ended up moving 5ft.
The cloud of spores didn't seem to be big enough to reach either the pony or the dead bear, by the way, and is currently settling on the snow or dispersing on the slight breeze.
At the end of the round:
Nim has dropped his glaive, has his (cold iron) longsword drawn, and is currently blinded. (Usual attack penalties, including 50% miss chance, to be rolled by DM after Nim attacks anything.)
Bronx has his scythe drawn, and is not blinded. His shortbow is over by his pony (10 feet south of his current position).
Bronx and Nim are standing with a 5ft gap in between them.
The gnome & mushroom thing is currently close to the ground (effectively prone) immediately northwest of Bronx, and immediately southwest of Nim. When it crawls it is making scrunching noises on the snow, the same as anyone else is, so Nim currently knows where it is. If it moves again- especially if it moves away from Nim, whilst staying close to Bronx, Nim may get confused over which sound source is which without further audible clues.
Next round, again acting in whichever order you prefer.
Bronx:
Spoiler:
You can see that the blue mould is continuing to pull the body back together, and to spread back across the areas where it was torn apart by your and Nim's first attacks of today.
The creature rolls aside, desperately, as Nim's sword comes down, and although the sword ploughs through some of the light purple mushrooms, sending them flying, where it rips through the clothes it only traces the thinnest of lines through the mould that covers the flesh. Where the tip of the sword did make contact, it looked like smoke puffed, for the briefest of moments.
An angry buzzing noise emerges from the mould and mushroom covered figure, and moments later, the air is filled with a cloud of eye-watering spores. Nim and Bronx should each make a DC 12 Will save, to avoid being blinded for the time being. In the aftermath of this attack, Nim and Bronx can hear the creature crawling around nearby, crunching in the snow. I am waiting to discover if you make the saves or not, before posting my end of round summary, and going on to the next round.
Nim & Bronx:
For either of you who make the save:
Spoiler:
Through the swirling spores you can see that it has crawled five feet west, across the shelf, out from between the two of you.
Mrs. Prestwick intervenes and mutters something to Orcbane, but he seems unimpressed.
"That may be so, but they're staying until my men have checked which of his possessions were left by those who have been looting this place. Fortunately, he sent a preliminary report that included a list of all important documents and items which he would be bringing for inspection." He orders a couple of his men: "Check this place, thoroughly, and try and account for all papers."
He turns to Seebo and Davkul.
"You two can wait here, whilst we search, or until Seryn arrives, with a scroll, so I can determine if I can trust you or not. I haven't heard of either of you before, and whilst it says either you or your employers have good taste, if you're staying here, I'd be an idiot to let you just walk out of here on your say-so that you've done nothing wrong."
Two of the men start to search the room, beginning wth the pile of papers which Davkul left on the dressing table. They start going down a list, very slowly, marking things off with a stub of coloured chalk which one of them produces.
Orcbane glowers around the room for a moment, then heads across to the bed to check the body. The other couple of men in the room hang around just inside the doorway, whilst Mrs. Prestwick looks around seeming very flustered, and muttering things about 'must have been them blasted pixies', and 'have to hire a holy man to ward the place against them'.
Bronx makes contact with his scythe, and the creature, for a moment, tries to nimbly dance out of the way of Bronx's 'hook' action, but miserably fails. Dex. check, avoid being tripped (1d20+2-4=5) Maybe it was expecting Bronx to try and hurt it instead of put it down on the snow. At any rate it falls over flat again. (Currently prone.) Nim. Your turn.
For a moment whatever it is that you're fighting goes down, and lies twitching on the snow. Then you notice that the blue mould visible covering the flesh, including in the places exposed to the air by the new injuries which you have just ripped through the clothes and dealt, seems to be pulling the body back together, and knitting itself back up to renew a continuous blanket covering any exposed flesh which you can see. With a horrible squishing squelching noise, the creature rises back to its feet, a squeaking sound vaguely resembling laughter emerging from the light purple mushrooms covering it.
"Thanks.", it titters in common.
Bronx is currently standing five feet south of the creature, whilst Nim is fifteen feet to the north, backed up around the east end of the dead bear. Bronx's pony is ten feet south of him.
Bronx's shortbow lies discarded next to his pony. Bronx is armed with his scythe, and Nim is armed with his glaive.
Next round, again acting in whichever order you prefer.
Nim:
Spoiler:
Please remember to spoil your posts.
Bronx:
If you make a DC 12 Knowledge(Nature) check:
Spoiler:
It occurs to you that you have heard that some creatures can soak up incredible amounts of damage from weapons not inimical to them, and keep on pulling themselves back together to attack again and again. Magic, fire, acid, holy-water- even weapons made of unusual materials- might be needed to finish such creatures off.
Whilst I'm afraid that dice roll proves that you're apparently either a munchkin or a power-gamer, Kobold Cleaver, yes it does look like you made that Reflex save by 13 points. Go ahead. You catch the cleaver in your claws, (possibly martial arts style, clapping them together as it comes spinning in, end over end, and stopping it inches from your snout). (Good in-character Roleplaying by the way; 10 XP for that.)
Unless you provide a roll from Invisible Castle, with URL link, I'm afraid that nobody is going to believe that you made that saving throw. Please try again.
If you make the save by more than 10, then you will be able to snatch the wrench from the air. Please remember to apply an appropriate circumstance penalty to your Reflex save for being temporarily dead on this thread, however. Your feign death spell still has a number of posts from you to go before expiring.
Davkul leaves the pile of papers in a neatish pile on the dressing table, and hurries over to the writing desk to extract a book to read from his pack, whilst Seebo unbolts the door.
Suddenly the room seems to be full of hefty men in the chain shirts and black tabards of the Company of the Sable Bow (or at least that is to say that there are five of them, which is pretty full in a room this size) and Mrs. Prestwick. Seebo and Davkul can see at least one more man, through the door, out in the corridor.
Several of the men apparently recognise the dead man in the bed on sight, (despite the distortions of the ugly death) and show signs of not being at all happy about this situation.
One of them, clean shaven unlike the others, who has gold wire wrapped around the hilt of the longsword at his belt, and who is presumably the senior officier here looks at Seebo and Davkul.
"So who are you two, what are you doing in this town generally, and in this room, specifically? I am Merruth Orcbane, and the Lady Mayor has graciously delegated authority of the investigation of the death of this man, to myself as a representative of this town and my employers. They weren't happy, let me tell you, to hear that he could be dead, and worse still, foul play involved."
Raven 34/Nim:
Spoiler:
Sorry to have to do this, but it looks like I am going to have to remind you every time I post to you to use a spoiler, please, or at least until it is no longer necessary.
Nim & Bronx:
Spoiler:
Nim's blow slices into the thing, with a squishy noise accompanying the impact, although since it doesn't exactly seem to be alive, it's difficult to tell how much it's been hurt. It's still standing, and Nim backs away five feet as he indicated, to the east side of the bear.
Bronx?
Watched by Bronx, Nim heads forward past the mushrooms and rags to the big mass, and dislodging some snow from it, discovers it to indeed be the dead bear from last night. Nim begins to gingerly 'fish around' in the snow surrounding it, stabbing the snow with his glaive and sweeping from side to side, hoping to hear the clink of metal on metal.
Suddenly, the small piled of black rags and mushrooms stirs, snow being dislodged as the dead gnome of last night abruptly 'sits up'. The injuries dealt to him are still clear upon him, and what flesh there is exposed has a soft and moist appearance- and looks to be covered with powder blue mould. A turquoise mushroom protrudes from each of the otherwise empty eyesockets, and for a moment the jaw clicks soundlessly open and shut, as if the gnome was trying to say something.
Then, a shrill squeaking noise emerges from the light purple mushrooms covering him: "Pixie Food".
initiative check (1d20+2=3)
Would one of you please roll initiative for the pair of you, and unless the roll is 3 or worse, you may each take 1 set of actions (in any order of PC) as if you were in a combat round. The dead gnome covered in mushrooms is currently 10 feet south of Nim, and fifteen feet north of Bronx on his pony, between the two of you.
Bronx:
Spoiler:
The mushrooms are obviously part of some unholy fey sorcery which may be reanimating the body.
Davkul has finished collecting together all the papers which he can find, though he has not concluded going through them yet, when you hear voices and many feet in the corridor outside, then the rattle of the door knob and finally: "Someone's bolted it. Wait a moment and I'll fetch out a key." in the familiar tones of Mrs. Prestwick.
Time: Approximately 09:20, 30th Nightal, 1373 DR
Going through the papers, you come across a handwritten receipt for the payment of a 'consultation fee' marked with the mage rune in the top-right corner of a Waterdhavian sage... whose speciality, if you recall correctly, is magical beasts and some of the less common varieties of outer planar creatures. It looks from the price as if just one 'standard consultation' was paid for, and you aren't seeing any other papers amongst these to indicate that that sage was visited again.
Bronx waits for Nim to recover his breath, then lets him lead the way up the final slope.
Nim and Bronx (the latter on his pony) arrive on a rough shelf, set into the side of the ridge, running approximately north-south, the back of it a long face of dark rock outcrops.
The snow here is perhaps three quarters of a foot deep, although there are weird grooves and ridges in it which average less than a foot across- almost as if something has been burrowing around in the snow at some point, disturbing the surface.
Thirty feet or so north of Nim & Bronx there is some enormous obstruction lying on the eastern side of shelf, beneath a covering of snow. Here and there strands of brown fur are visible protruding from this obstruction, and it may very well be the dead bear of last night.
Half a dozen feet south of this larger obstruction, tatters of black cloth stick up from the snow, amidst a clump of what appear to be small light purple and turquoise mushrooms growing up through the snow. (This was about where Nim dropped the body of that dead gnome last night.)
The dark rock of the rear of the shelf runs north beyond these features with few distinguishing features. There certainly isn't any apparent sign of the symbol incised circle inlaid into it which you both thought that you saw last night.
Bronx is currently on the back of his pony, with his bow readied.
Nim currently has his glaive readied.
Nim: Please remember to use spoiler tags by the way.
You plough onwards and upwards through the snow. After some particularly hard and noisy going by Nim through some deep drifts, finally a break in the rising slope of the ridge appears up ahead, and it looks like you're just short of the horizontal shelf. A lighter covering of snow, only a foot or so deep, lies on the ground between the trees over the twenty or so yards of the slope between here and the shelf (it looks like a lot of snow slid down last night to make that final big snowdrift Nim has just forced a way through).
The occasional 'schlump' of snow falling off of distant trees echoes through the woods, as the day (slightly) warms up.
Nim is blowing hard after the effort of forcing his way through that last drift, which was well over four feet tall on the downslope side, to its crest. (Treat Nim as fatigued until he gets a minute's rest.)
Bronx:
Spoiler:
You're fairly pleased with your navigation, as you think that you're pretty close to the spot where you left the bear and other things last night. From the back of your pony you can make out a snow covered hump on the shelf a little way north of the point where you should reach the shelf, which you figure could be the dead bear.
Seebo & Davkul:
Spoiler:
For the time being carry on conversing or doing other things, and I'll let you know if you turn anything up or if/when other people arrive.
For an hour or so you proceed upwards through the trees, Bronx surveying the route ahead from the back of his pony in the increasingly frequent breaks between Nim having to force a way through snowdrifts for Bronx to be able to proceed onwards. The forest seems eerily quiet today, echoing with none of those strange bird-calls or shrieking wind sounds of the night before. Occasional flakes of snow continue to drift from the grey skies above, although the cloud is not so low today as it was last night, and visibility is currently unhampered by weather conditions.
Random encounter check (1d100=77) Current time approximately 10:00, 30th Night, 1383 DR
The snow, lying on the ground beneath the trees is now over a foot and a half deep where it is undrifted, and reaches in three or four feet deep in places where the wind has blown it, or there has been a small slide down the slope.
Bronx:
Spoiler:
You haven't noticed any sign of trouble so far, although you've been keeping a sharp eye out for it. You have a feeling that you're starting to get close to that shelf of last night... maybe only another hundred yards up the side of the ridge through the trees, and hopefully you'll reach it fairly close to where the dead bear was.
At this point I'm checking if there's anything different you want to do, as you proceed upwards across what you hope to be the final stretch and any instructions/advice you want to give to Nim.
I have noticed that posts going to the PbP threads that have spoilers in them seem to fail much more often than plain text do. maybe that has something to do with it.
I have personally had no difficulty with posting on Call of the Forgotten Realms, but did find a thread last week in the Crimson Throne section of the Pathfinder forum, where it was impossible for me to even open a box to start to type a message in, and yet here was no indication from the PostMonster that the thread had been locked, and I do not think that I saw anything which should have been a reason for the thread to be locked.
Strange things seem to be happening with posting recently.... of late I have noticed an apparent rise in the ease with which Internet Explorer causes me to double-post if I am not careful.
Whilst Seebo is busy with the body of the deceased, Davkul noses around the room, trying to think of any places which other searchers may have missed, or clues which they might have left as to their identities and motivations. In the fireplace, amongst the glowing embers, Davkul identifies what look like the remains of what might once have been sheets of paper- possibly pages from some sort of book or journal- although so blackened as to be illegible (if once they contained writing) and fragile that they crumble to fragments as he rakes the embers with the fire-irons. The bedside jug (which I should have mentioned is glass, for what that's worth) contains a transparent liquid from which a faint scent of lemon rises.... Mrs. Prestwick sometimes supplies jugs of water 'with a drop of lemon juice in, to keep it fresh' for guests who have dry throats at night. There seems to be a faint trace of the same liquid at the bottom of the accompanying glass, which is smeary with the marks of having been handled by someone (probably with sweaty hands) since the staff member put it out. (With Mrs. Prestwick's obsession for 'good housekeeping' it would be a major reprimand for a staff member to put out a glass with marks from handling like that on it.)
Davkul:
Spoiler:
On the writing desk you find a bottle of black ink with the label of a Waterdeep company, of a sort suitable for stopping up for travel. It is three quarters empty, and another one (full and unopened) sits next to it. The papers on the floor, crumpled to a certain extent- probably as a result of what appears to have been the general ransacking of this room- all look to be receipts acknowledging payments of one kind or another. You recognise the crests of several Waterdhavian businesses and families on some of them, and a couple of businesses based in Silverymoon on another two. Your best guess is that if these are Pophilov's papers, he may have been collecting them as proof of expenditures which he had made, and that he may have travelled (going by the dates on them) from Waterdeep by much the same route overland as you took, albeit at a somewhat more relaxed pace than your own flight if the dates are anything to go by. Whoever ransacked the place apparently had no interest in these papers, anyway.
The clothes, from the variety of quality and 'upkeep' (state of repair, cleanliness, etc) convey the impression of an owner who required a wardrobe able to 'blend in' in a nondescript fashion in a variety of situations.
The heels of all the boots seem to have been stabbed with a small pointed implement, by the way, as if to check for hidden compartments in any of them.
Seebo:
Spoiler:
It might be helpful if, whilst Davkul is searching and you are making necessary religious observations, you mention to Davkul anything which struck you as significant which you learned between parting company and meeting up again here....
(Edited to untangle mix-up):
I gather that there have been some technical difficulties experienced recently by Davkul's player, with regard to posting on this this thread. I realise that Pres Man/Bronx may have been experiencing similar problems. I can copy/paste posts from the Discussion thread, if necessary, if Pres Man/Bronx is able to make them there instead.
Longreach:
Sorry to hear that you have been trying to post on the thread but failing. I will do a copy & paste into my next post for you and Seebo, to indicate to Seebo what Davkul's actions are and that you are still around. If I have the time I will fire off an email to the PostMonster inquiring if there is anything wrong with your account, or if it just seems to be the boards playing up.
Edit:
Just checked the PbP and discovered your last one got through! :)
Hmmm. I wonder if Pres Man/Bronx is having the same difficulty? I know he's been posting around the boards generally, but apparently not on the PbP thread. That email to the PostMonster is starting to look a good idea.
Davkul sees Seebo cast a detect magic check the room, sigh in disappointment, and then begin to conduct religious observances for the deceased fellow lying in the bed (the presumed Mr. Pophilov).
Longreach/Davkul: Are you having difficulty posting at present?
You cast your spell and scan the room intently but your detect magic is not showing up any auras on anything except any items which you and Davkul are already carrying and know about. If there were any spells in use here recently, it seems that they weren't powerful enough for their traces to have lingered until you arrived. (I did take a random percentile, Random percentile chance. (1d100=29), just in case there might have been something lingering, outside of what I thought of as having happened, but nothing was indicated.)
As you head past the mercenaries, trying to gve them a wide berth, some of them notice you, and glance in your direction. (Random percentile chance (1d100=85) ) The seated man in fact calls out to you:
"Be careful, travellers. There were reports of strange happenings in this part of town yesterday, and of dangerous beetles that may have chased down and eaten at least one gnome or halfling before vanishing here- perhaps burrowing into the ground at the feet of the trees."
Nim and Bronx arrive at the edge of the forest. The snow looks maybe only a few inches shallower beneath the trees, here on the edge, than it does in town, and any traces of your passage of last night have been thoroughly obliterated. Occasional flakes continue to drift from the grey clouds overhead.
If you want to proceed with this, Bronx, then please make an unmodified Search check (to determine how generally effective you are at picking up any clues that may remain as to where you went before last night's snowfall) and a Survival check (to try to navigate where there are no clues, based on a half-remembered sense of direction). Nim is completely out of his depth here, and could maybe take ten to give you +2 'aid another' bonus on the Survival check.
An inspection of the door shows it to have the expensive (but common to Mrs. Prestwick's boarding house) dwarven 'rolling bolt' mechanism set into the wood, whereby it can be 'bolted' by sliding a screw set into the bolt on this side, but also be opened/closed from the other side by anyone with a fitting key. You can certainly bolt shut the door from this side, although it is likely anyone with an appropriate key will be able to gain access from the other side. (Presumably the staff keep keys additional to the ones which they hand out to guests. Davkul can certainly secure the room against accidental intrusions by sliding the bolt, however.) Time: approximately 08:55, 30th Nightal, 1383 DR Carry on talking to one another, etc, for now, and I'll supply updates as/when necessary. At present I'm looking to you to give details of what you're doing or looking for, with ability or skill checks as appropriate.
You hear the door open suddenly behind you and half turn around (I assumed you were on the south side of the bed, looking north, having headed straight to it, to begin your search) to look back and find Davkul coming into the room.
Given the circumstance that you have been caught in the act of going through a dead man's pockets with no forewarning that anyone was about to walk through that door, I have taken the liberty of suggesting to Davkul that you might have a slightly guilty look on your face. If you could keep an initial response brief please, or wait for Davkul to post first? You can address spoiler tags to both myself and Davkul again, for now.
“What? He’s dead?” The boys look caught between fear and curiosity for a moment, before apparently deciding that discretion is the better part of valour and scarpering.
Davkul takes a firm grip on the handle, twists it, opens the door and steps into the room. (I hope you’ll please indulge me in waiting for you to confirm in your next post if you close it behind you, since someone else is already in the room whom you have just taken by surprise!)
The pair of windows of this room look east, over the snow-covered rooftops of the town, and the curtains in one of them are half open, letting the morning light in to lend illumination to the room. (The curtains of the other window are pulled tight shut.) The door through which Davkul has just entered is in the southwest corner of the room, opening into the room, and inside, to the north, is a single bed. Lying in the bed a horrible expression on his blackened face, and an equally blackened tongue protruding from between his lips, is a clean shaven black-haired human man (Mr. Pophilov, Davkul guesses), who looks to Davkul maybe thirty years old. He seems very dead, and is lying in between the sheets. Standing next to him, caught in the act of going through the pockets of the dead man’s pale blue nightshirt, and with a surprised expression (and slightly guilty look on his face, perhaps?) as he half turns to look at who has just entered is Seebo.
As to the rest of the room:
On the far side of the bed from Davkul is a stand with a jug of water and a glass- the jug is half full and there are traces of liquid in the bottom of the glass. There is a fireplace in the north wall, which still contains glowing embers. There is a writing desk and chair in the northeast corner of the room, a washstand plus ewer of water against the east wall between the two windows, and a broad chest of draws with dressing table & mirror on top against the south wall. A pair of small travelling chests are lying open on the floor in the southeast corner and all manner of papers, clothes, and other gear lie strewn haphazardly around them. The burnt out stub of one candle has dribbled wax all over the dressing table, and another one burnt out over on the writing desk.
If you could keep you initial response short, Davkul, and address it to myself and Seebo, please.
You leave the dwarves and make your way back through the snow-covered streets to Mrs. Prestwick's establishment, where Bronx retrieves his pony from the care of the stable staff. With Nim to the fore (to trample through any deep drifts as necessary) they proceed westwards to the patch of open ground between the rear of the boarding hous and the forest. Here they find a group of eight men wearing the chain shirts and black tabards of the members of The Company of the Sable Bow (the mercenary company employed by Deadsnows’ elven mine owners) with a variety of winter cloaks thrown over their armour and other gear. Six of these men are standing poking at the snow banks along the edge of the forest with longspears, laughing and joking at one another, whilst the remaining pair are sitauated a couple of dozen feet further back, on the open ground, the one of them standing whilst the other sits on some sort of folding stool. Of these latter two, the standing man has a bow out and drawn a couple of arrows nocked between the fingers of his gauntlets, apparently alert for trouble, whilst the seated one has a heavy crossbow in his lap, a bolt loaded, and a light crossbow propped up against the side of his stool. By the look of the trampling of the snow, this group of men seem to have been active here for quite some time.
Time: a couple of minutes after 09:00, 30th Nightal, 1383 DR
Nim looks at Bronx, to see what he wants to do.
The first thing which occurs to you is to head over to the bed, toss the rumpled sheets back, and start checking the body for anything. The deceased seems to be wearing a pale blue night shirt, with pockets, but doesn’t apparently have any other possessions on him. No jewellery or other personal effects, nothing in the pockets, and no signs of recent injuries on him. You do guess though, from the state of the body and your past experience of attending the dying or deceased in a clerical capacity, that this man died maybe five or six hours ago. (I’m including this as further information from that relatively high Heal check which you made.)
At this point, if you make a DC 7 Listen check:
Spoiler:
You notice voices coming from the corridor outside appear to have halted outside the closed bedroom door.
In addition, if you made the Listen check by at least 4 points (DC 11+):
Spoiler:
You recognise that one of the voices seems to be Davkul’s.
At present I find I am not sleeping too well. There may be some occasions for the foreseeable future where I have to defer responses until times when I am less tired, in order to produce coherent posts. Apologies for any delays resulting from this.
Davkul asks what they know about the ‘other’ man meeting with Mr. Pophilov?
“What? The sage Leafgreen whose men he talked to last night and arranged to meet today?” The older lad responds. “He lives in a small house on the south side of town... real stone, on account of sometimes his alchemical lab catches fire. Used to assay rocks for independent goldseekers, but that trade dried up when they drifted away, and the elven mine owners have their own alchemical set up, so he spends his time buying and reading books and hoping to charge to answer questions on anything odd going on in these parts. He keeps a couple of servants who ‘fetch’ things for him. I guess he wanted some of those beetle things to cut up and study, so sent his men out last night to find him some, once word got around town about the excitement here.”
Davkul asks how long Mr. Pophilov has been here?
“He arrived in town yesterday. On a horse. With a mule to carry his luggage.”, the younger lad, Merrick, begins this time.
“No. He had his chests on an ass.”, the elder lad disagrees.
“That was a mule.”
“No it was an ass.”
“Mule!”
“Ass!”
“MULE!”
“ASS!”
(At this point another guest heading along the corridors comes into sight and they both quieten down in response to the severe look which they get.)
“Well whatever it was, he arrived yesterday, riding a big brown horse, and with his luggage being carried on a smaller four legged thing.”, the younger one concludes. “Very tired. Said something about having come all the way from some port underneath Waterdeep.”
(They get into another argument here about whether or not it makes sense that there could be a port underneath Waterdeep; Davkul knows that ‘Skullport’ is a settlement underneath Waterdeep, in the Underdark, and where some of the City of Splendour’s more disreputable elements sometimes hang out.)
Davkul asks about anything they think might be suspicious which has been going on or which they have seen these last couple of days?
“You mean except for you lot and those beetle things with green lights last night?”, the older lad responds first. “Well our aunt and uncle who live in Deadsnows- which is why we’ve come here for the end of the year- are complaining to mum and dad that there seem to be lots of nasty pixies around these days, and ‘how it didn’t always use to be like this’.” (He parrots an elderly female voice to say the latter part of his sentence.) “But I think the elven mine-owners are suspicious. I mean everyone knows that elves live in forests and sing songs and rubbish like that. They don’t ever have any interest in getting involved in real work. They’d only come to a place like this, if they were being punished for not being elven enough, or as spies for one of their elven queens. And those girlfriends they’ve got... they’re posh ladies… posh human ladies. Normal elves never have girlfriends from a different race.”
“Well I think that peddler we saw the other day going into ‘The Black Bear’ was definitely suspicious.”, the younger lad adds. “He went there straight from the lady-mayor’s mansion, without trying to call in on anyone else to sell them anything. Maybe he was blackmailing her.”
By this point you have proceeded out of the lower levels, up the stairs, to the upper storey of the boarding house, and have come to a stop outside a door with ‘D14’ on it. The door is firmly shut.
“This is it.”, says the older lad, gesturing. “Mrs. ‘P’ was getting it ready all yesterday morning ‘for the special guest’ she had been told to expect. She did it herself. Anything else you want, sir?”
I see that dice rolls have been made, but no specifics of exactly what ability or skill (?) checks they represent. Please clarify upon your previous post.
The dwarf takes the money and one of the light hammers off the counter, and leaves you the longsword (for Nim) and the other light hammer (for Bronx). (Bronx please note, that besides being cold iron, the light hammer is masterwork.) Please adjust profiles to take into account these expenditures and items accordingly.
"If you could bring the hammer back tomorrow morning- or sooner, if you're done with it before then- and report on any success you've had looking for that pendant?" The dwarf comments. "I'm Haskul Ironfounder, by the way, Gedrik's eldest son, if you need to ask for me or to mention my name to anyone. We live in the house just east of the workshop. Now go get any of those darned fey you can find."
Since Nim's player is about to depart on holiday, but business here in the dwarves' workshop is about to be wrapped up, would it be okay if I assume (unless something strange comes up) that for the forthcoming likely search in the forest, Nim will be following Bronx's orders, as an alternative to having to temporarily halt posting?
Seebo narrowly avoids another trolley, on his way back up the ramp. He heads out into the hall, up the stairwell there, and onto the upper floor of the boarding house. He speedily locates room D14 (the door of which is wide open, as the maid presumably left it) and standing just on the threshold looks inside.
Random percentile things (1d100=86)
The pair of windows of this room look east, over the town, and the curtains in one of them are half open. (The curtains of the other window are pulled tight shut.) The door is in the southwest corner, opening into the room, and inside, to the north, is a single bed. On the far side of that is a stand with a jug of water and a glass- the jug is half full and there are traces of liquid in the bottom of the glass. There is a fireplace in the north wall, which still contains glowing embers. There is a writing desk and chair in the northeast corner of the room, a washstand plus ewer of water against the east wall between the two windows, and a broad chest of draws with dressing table & mirror on top against the south wall. A pair of small travelling chests are lying open on the floor in the southeast corner and all manner of papers, clothes, and other gear lie strewn haphazardly around them. The burnt out stub of one candle has dribbled wax all over the dressing table, and another one burnt out over on the writing desk. Lying in the bed a horrible expression on his blackened face, and an equally blackened tongue protruding from between his lips, is a clean shaven black haired human man, who looks to Seebo maybe thirty years old. He looks very dead, and is lying in between the sheets. His eyes are open- he was probably awake when he died. It looks to Seebo from here as if the man was poisoned in some manner.
If Seebo makes a DC 12 Heal check (regarding identifying the likely cause of the man’s death):
Spoiler:
Seebo thinks this looks like it could be a death from dark reaver powder, a poison which must usually be ingested to have effect. It has only a mild flavour of its own and- whilst not a poison which occurs in nature- is at the modestly priced end (300 GP per dose) of the scale of products of the assassin’s laboratory. It dissolves in most liquids with little visible sign of its presence.
“Understood, sir, and I shall try to be as brief as possible.”, the dwarf says to Bronx. “When those obnxious fey broke in last night, besides going on a wrecking spree of our stocks of cold-iron tipped arrows and crossbow bolts, they took something which had carelessly been left out in the workshop, easy enough for even the smallest of pixies to pilfer: a small, black, drawstring bag of velvet, containing a mithral hammer pendant on a fine gold chain. This was to have been a gift, and should have been locked away securely. We would like it back, undamaged, and if you should happen upon it during your pursuit of those tricksters today then we will be prepared to pay a small reward for its return to us. If you will swear to seek to return this item, should you happen upon it, then we will be happy to loan you one of the fine light hammers you see here before you, for the day, for the price of five gold pieces.”
Nim. If you want to hand over 25 gold pieces (and return any of Bronx’s money to him that you do not need) the dwarf will let you have the sword. (Please make appropriate adjustments to your profile.)
Sorry. There has been a slight hold up with going into details of what Seebo has been doing, and logically he is likely to have got to the room slightly ahead (even if only by a whisker) of you. Please deduct the gold pieces you have given the boys, if you had not done so already. They have eagerly pocketed the coins, (their eyes as big as metaphorical saucers once they saw gold come out) and will be more than willing to offer comment or answer any questions which you can think of to ask them (such as anything else they do know about Mr. Pophilov and his habits, or Deadsnows’ important figures or in general), as they lead you back upstairs on the way to the room.
“Ho no you weren’t, my fine fellow.”, Mrs. Prestwick tells Seebo. “Having stuck your nose into this, you can turn about pretty sharpish and head straight up to the late Mr. Pophilov’s room- That’s D14, up above the front porch, with the nice views of town- and since you have the look of a priest start saying prayers for his soul if you can’t do anything more practical. Mr. Pophilov was a guest whose board was being paid for by this town’s mine-owners and when I see them, wanting to know what has been going on in this establishment, I intend to be able to tell them at least every possible measure has been taken to ensure him a smooth transition to the hereafter. Now jump to it! I’ll see to Agnes- and be up later to make sure you’ve been properly respectful to the departed. And if you pocket anything for reason prank or otherwise... well it won’t just be me after you, but some very angry elves as well, I dare say.”
“The sword?”, the dwarf considers. “To buy it would be twenty five gold pieces to you, today. However we might be prepared to hire one of the hammers out as well for the day for, say, the nominal fee of five gold pieces- if you would both be prepared to undertake an errand for my brother dwarves and I, whilst you’re out looking for fey? Would you be interested in hearing more?”
Upon following the maid into the hubbub of the kitchens- the scurrying staff, the roar of the fires and stoves, the bubble of pans of water or of soup for lunchtime, the clatter of dishes in the sink- within moments Seebo is spotted and descended upon (despite the smoke and steam) by the eagle-eyed Mrs. Prestwick.
"OI! YOU! What are you doing in MY kitchens? BOARDERS STAY OUT OF HERE. You could cause a nasty accident, getting in the way, wandering in here like this during mealtime. And what are you doing with Agnes? I don't approve of personal friends or intimates being brought down here by staff, Agnes, least of all during working hours, as well you should know."
As she speaks, a trolley laden with dirty crockery, bearing down from the dining room above in the company of a staff member straining to control its progress down the incline, comes close to hitting Seebo as he stands at the bottom of the ramp.
Mrs. Prestwick is wearing a much stained apron and holding a dishcloth, at this moment in time; that and she is looking none too plesed by this perceived intrusion into her personal demesne.
The dwarf behind the counter drops the lid on the rosewood box and passes it back to the other dwarf, with a comment in dwarven as he does so. He leaves the hammers where they are, for now, looking very thoughtful about something, as he looks to serve Nim.
“Are you two guys actually contracted in any employment right now?”, he asks, as he waits for Nim to confirm if he wants to buy the sword or not.
Sense Motive checks against Davkul. (1d20=2, 1d20=12)
The younger of the two gnomes seems to have been taken in by you, but the older lad looks distinctly unimpressed.
“Yeah; pull the other leg.”, he says scornfully with the amazing cynicism that only a child can muster. “Sure, you’re the fat gnome who was fighting those beetle things last night, but if Mr. Pophilov had wanted to speak to you about them, he would have waited for you and the others to come back from the forest, instead of arranging to see the sage Leafgreen. I saw him speaking to the sage’s men when they turned up with a barrow to collect some of the dead beetles for ‘specimens’.”
“Tell him he already had another appointment.”, the younger gnome nudges his elder. “He said he’d have to ‘try to fit the sage in’ with those men, ‘before his main business’.”
“Shut up, Merrick.”, the elder one reprimands him. “This fellow might be looking for information about Pophilov, which he will pay us for... meaning firecrackers for us for tonight.”
The dwarf behind the counter looks somewhat taken aback, as if from something about you he had expected you to be looking to buy in a different market altogether from that which you have just indicated.
“Cold iron longswords like the one he’s interested in”, he nods at Nim here and is starting to recover his composure, “usually retail for 30 golds- or the equivalent in silver or gems- each. As to the gnome sized hammers... we find all our smaller customers in the weapons market to be highly discerning folk, and each and every such item is a masterpiece of craftsmanship. It’s rather more a case of paying for the craftsmanship, you understand, than exotic materials, in most cases. Two hundred and fifty golds for each of the light hammers, absolute minimum. That’s what craftsmanship costs.” In the awkward pause which follows, he does his best to look glum. “There isn’t any patron you can refer me to, letter of credit that you can produce, or some other suggestion which you can make, is there? I’d love to help you if it is at all within my power it do so.”
Bronx and Nim are getting the impression that he seems to be genuinely sincere.
Seebo:
Spoiler:
You cut in, diplomatically, introducing yourself as a priest of Garl Glittergold, and offering to escort the maid to her quarters.
“No, no. I have to tell Mrs. Prestwick”, the maid protests. “Someone has to go up there to the room to clear up. It’s a terrible mess up there. Oh dear. I left the door open. Someone will have to keep curious guests out. And the Lady Mayor will need notifying. It’s horrible. His face and tongue swollen and blackened, and someone having gone through his possessions by the look of it- and he said something about wanting to be woken because even though he’d been travelling hard and only arrived yesterday night, he had an appointment to keep today. And we were supposed to take special care of him, because someone important in town was paying for his bed and board here...”
By this point you are on the edge of the ramp to the kitchens, Seebo, the other member of staff whom the maid had encountered in the dining room having broken off to resume normal breakfast duties. Your first impressions of the likely cause of death, based on the miad's rather vague description so far, is that it could be strangulation, poison, or magic. You'll need to get a look at the corpse, or get a better description to be more certain.
Davkul:
Spoiler:
You head downstairs into the upper parts of the subterranean lodgings of the boarding house, and begin to work your way along the corridors, in what you hope is a suitably methodical manner, looking for anything out of the ordinary, or which might indicate where the maid had just rushed from. After some five minutes or so of doing this, you become aware that you appear to have acquired a pair of shadows... two red headed gnome boys, who look to be in their twenties and to be following you, spending a lot of time whispering conspiratorially to one another. You have a suspicion that you may have seen them about the boarding house before, possibly playing pranks yesterday evening.
The dwarf turns away from you briefly to shout a string of instructions in dwarven at some of the other dwarves, then turns back to you. He continues to address Bronx, apparently preferring to have to deal with him than to give very much attention to Nim.
“Blasted fey. Seem to have been more of them around in recent months, or at least more talk raised by their activities. Always been reports of the occasional stand-offish dryad or well-behaved mountain nymph in the woods for as long as I’ve been in this town, but seldom of those flying, tittering, sneaky, invisible wretches until this last year. Something’s gotten them interested in this area- or driven them out of some other haunt, mayhap, to come and plague us. Ah. Here we go.” Another dwarf has arrived, arms piled high with a polished wooden box, a couple of gnome-sized light hammers, and a ‘big folk’ sized longsword. The dwarf behind the counter takes the box carefully from him, and puts it on the counter in front of Bronx, moving the buckets of broken arrows and crossbow bolts aside. Up close, Bronx can see that the box is crafted from rosewood. The dwarf behind the counter opens the box up to reveal, in the velvet lined interior, a gnome hooked hammer, beautifully crafted, with some sort of black leather grip on the handle, and cold-iron heads, polished to mirror brightness and inscribed with dwarven runes, at either end. The heads glow with a soft blue light, and the weapon is sized for a gnome.
“The gnome we made this for, was unfortunately unable to collect it... never came back from an escapade into the heart of Anauroch a couple of years ago, and his heirs declined to purchase it. The sharp end is woven with spells and runes of power to ensure that it is more likely to strike true in an enemy’s flesh, rather than cause some mere graze. At the other end, the hammer has been incised and bound with magic which means that even the tricksiest of incorporeal creatures will be unable to avoid the impact of your blows when you strike true. The shaft is made of the highest quality Adbar steel, and the grip is fashioned from black dragon hide, meaning that it will resist picking up the usual sweaty odours that some adventurous sorts find that grips acquire with hours clutched in their hands as they seek perils to destroy. The whole has been treated with a process which I regret is a trade secret I can not disclose, but which, rest assured, has much the same effect as blueshine in rendering the weapon impervious to most known forms of corrosion.” He snaps his fingers, and says something in dwarven and the other dwarf lays the pair of gnome-sized light hammers on the counter in front of Bronx. Whilst not inscribed with runes, they too are finely crafted, and have cold iron heads.
“Nineteen thousand gold pieces, let’s say for the gnome hooked hammer- no, I like the look of you... eighteen thousand seven hundred and seventy five let’s say... and I’ll throw in the pair of unenchanted- but finest workmanship for all that- cold iron hammers as well, and one of our cold iron longswords for you big friend.” He nods, and the other dwarf puts the long-sword, on the higher counter for Nim to inspect. (If Nim slips it from the scabbard to look at, he and Bronx can see that the blade appears to be forged from cold iron, although in this case of a much more 'average' standard of craftsmanship than the other items.)
The dwarf looks at you expectantly.
Seebo & Davkul:
Spoiler:
Seebo approaches the maid, who is being currently guided towards the ramp down to the kitchens by her fellow member of staff, whilst Davkul (unless he wishes to indicate otherwise) makes for the hall and the stairwell there.
Seebo:
Spoiler:
Whether you wish to engage in any specific form of action or not, (which may give circumstance modifiers which I shall factor in as appropriate) please make a Diplomacy check to indicate to what extent you are able to get a favourable reaction.
Davkul:
Spoiler:
Whether you want to outline any further details (which may give circumstance modifiers) to what you have already posted in terms of your intended rapid investigations down below, please make a Search check to indicate how effective you are in locating anything of possible interest.
Raven 34/Nim:
Please spoiler your responses for the present, and address them to myself and/or Bronx. Seebo and Davkul, no matter how loud Nim shouts, are unlikely to be aware of what Nim is doing, given the current probable difference in your respective locations.
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