Othos Khandrikar's page

"Ah, good boy, Beaky. This is just what I needed." After pocketing the ring, Othos turns his attention towards the source of the thunderous snoring. "Well, what do you know, we just found the Draconic rune for 'baked beans'. Damn amateurs could not even copy it right", he mutters to himself as he strides across the living room, before stopping in the doorway, leaving plenty of space between himself and the outsized sailor in case he didn't like being woken up. No sense in repeating that scene from the Efreet's Djinn last night.... "Ahem. Rise and shine?"

If the rune is an imperfect copy, can I see what the original is? Also, does Calimport have any big libraries I could go to to do some further delving? And, finally, what did Beaky bring me?

Meanwhile, back at Casa Othos...

"Indeed. One of the first customs I adopted once I ended up here was the midday nap. Today, it will also cool our mental, as well as our physical, bodies. I most certainly could use a break".

The two outlanders make their way back to Othos' apartment, picking up the fixings for a simple lunch along the way. Once there, they eat a modest meal, before Othos offers Torbjørn the use of his bed while he conducts some research in his personal library (and, incidentally, takes a look at what Beaky has dropped in his little nest in the office...).

Time to sit down and do some academic analysis of the mysterious sigil. I don't expect my oddball collection of scrolls and tomes to contain any remarkable insights, but it might contain a few clues to where to look in a larger library... Mechanically, I guess I'll take 10 (if possible) on a gaggle of Knowledge skills, starting with arcana and religion, then working through history, local and any other that seems appropriate until something or someone interrupts me.

Othos climbs to his feet and falls into step next to Torbjørn. "We abandon the 'wrath of the gods' thesis, then, and assume that the perpetrators, whoever they may be, are mortal men? We could approach Talos' Altar of Storms and ask them of their interpretation of the situation ..., but, having said that, I would be most happy to leave this place as well". Turning away from the pile of waterlogged dead, he glances up at the sky. "We could take a short break and go back to my dwelling and catch some respite from the burning sun. With some luck, Gimble or Shador might have returned with some information. So, what say you?"

So, the captain is dead, then. Othos leans forward as he tries to listen in on what the bizarre duo was discussing. Though the conversation between the sailor and the priest seemeed to mostly veer between the realms of the burlesque and the ridiculous - Othos had almost snorted with disbelief as the priest had referred to Calimport as a "our fair city" - the priest was approaching a matter that interested Othos as well. Of course, Torbjørn would probably feed him a load of nonsense, but it would nonetheless be interesting to hear just what kind of nonsense it would be...

Aha! Othos wanders off a little to get out of the line of sight of the priest of Kelemvor, while he sends out a psychic impulse. A few moments later, a raven lands next to him. “Here is the plan, Beaky”, he mutters while affectionately ruffling the bird’s head feathers. “Behind us is a pile of dead men. I need some of their shiny jewelry. I want you to collect as many as you think you can get away with, fly back home and put them on your perch. However, do not get caught by the hooded man! He is powerful and dangerous. Be sneaky. You can eat any excess flesh that comes with the shiny stuff if you want, but do not dally in order to feed. Does that seem doable?” As the bird flies off, he waits a little before retaking his place on the bench. Surely the Talosians will appreciate storm-brought offerings…

That is indeed a very good point... ;D Is it just the three of us here?

I'll sit quietly and wait for Torbjørn to finish his talk with the priest, before talking to him about our deplorable lack of leads and then suggest we head out to Talos' Altar of Storms. We'll need something to donate, though...

The spirits of the dead stole his friend away in the night?! This is getting more interesting by the minute. Unless... Othos has to briefly turn away from the priest and his discussion with Torbjørn and swallow down his astonished giggles. The poor sap thinks the vengeful undead nabbed Torbjørn away from the Djinn last night. He must be a very heavy sleeper indeed... He wanders back to the bench and picks out a parchment sheet and a piece of charcoal out of his backpack, checking off the case's possible leads.

The captain is either dead or has faked his demise so well as to be virtually unfindable - most probably the first. Helg might not be the most reliable witness, and Torbjørn does not want to involve him. Other ship notables are all dead. The goods were disposed of at sea, and nobody knows who operated its original ship. Dismayed, he looks down at the list of crossed-out names. "We are left with the temples, big man", he mumbles to himself, "the shrines to the least trustworthy gods imaginable". He scratched his head in despair. Does Talos even have a temple in Calimport? Or Umberlee? How about the demonic entities of the deeps? Or the elemental lords?

Knowledge (religion) to determine where to start looking - or at least which entities to consider?

"Well, if he is a charlatan, he is a rather good one", Othos grudgingly admits; he is almost disappointed in the apparent sincerity of the high priest's efforts. "Of course, the gods of death are not quite what they used to be; it would have been almost inconceivable to have an emissary of Myrkul doling out public services like this one is doing. Good thing he is doing it, though, as the gods alone know what kind of spiritual imbalances would have occured here without proper rites and blessings. Even if the curse did not directly destroy the ship, many men died here with their minds in turmoil. Such conditions is a recipe for the restless dead and for vengeful haunts". He shudders visibly, and his eyes involuntarily narrow in disgust and hatred.

"However, even though these dead might never stir again, no matter how poorly prepared for their meeting with the afterlife they were, others might actually come to claim them. A port this size probably has a nest or two of lacedons, but a far scarier proposition would be that the gods of the seas will send minions of some sort to reclaim the sailors' bodies unless they are buried at sea". He shakes his head, as his voice grows softer and more distant and contemplative. "The gods of the seas are fickle and demanding, and quick to take offense at perceived slights, whether they be real or imagined". He breaks out of his reverie and snaps his focus back on the immediate task at hand. "Now, did your captain have a distinguishing mark? Unique ring? A giveaway tattoo? After all, we could go over and take a look at them, or even ask the death priest".

I'll sit around for a bit and watch the priest do his thing. Anyone other than us that are watching the funeral rites or checking out the dead? And are anyone following us around the pier?

Othos' gaze returns to the wreackage for a while. "20 meters? This is is a big boat. You must have made quite a good living trawling the oceans for the misplaced goods of careless merchants". He lifts his head and eyes the dredged dead. "Heh. The vultures are already here. Knowing this city, he is likely a necromancer in disguise, here to spitit away the bodies of the crew. Let us go a bit closer to see if there are any notables among the floaters, as well as to properly appreciate the man's craft". They get up and wander a bit closer, allowing them to take in a bit more detail.

Knowledge (religion) check to see which faith, if any, the robed figure belongs to - and to see what he is doing. Also, is the number of dead commensurate with the size of the ship?

"Hmmmmm...." Othos scans the scene of the wreckage while absentmindedly scratching his chin. "Quite the salvage opetation, or what do you think? Do you see anyone among the onlookers that strikes you as familiar? Fellow crewmembers? Mercantile liasons? Anyone at all?" Using Torbjørn's immense bulk to wade through the crowd, the unlikely pair make their way to the edge of the dock and peer into the murky water, but see little more than floating rubbish and screeching seabirds. Moving futher down the pier, they sit down on the immense coils of rope securing a nearby vessel and take in the scene. Othos removes his turban and runs his hands thoughtfully through his hair before turning to the sailor.

"As previously discussed, I see two main exploratory avenues here. The first is thet the Nansen and its crew fell prey to an insidious and powerful curse brought upon itself through the actions or inactions of certain crewmembers. In this scenario, the marked goods are the catalysts of doom. The second scenario is that the actions of the Nansen made someone sufficiently angry to hire a powerful mystic to blow the ship out of the water. If this is true, the goods are still important, as the crew's,..., um, acquisition of it enrages an outside party; however, it plays a passive part, rather than being the actual agent of the curse. It seems rather redundant to ask if the Nansen and its captain had any enemies, as men in your profession invariably have; instead, it could be helpful to know if he had any foes determined and powerful enough to enact such powerful magics. Rival captains? Offended merchant lords? Ruthless crusaders?"

Taking in the ship's charred masts sticking out of the water and the waves lapping over its ruined forecastle, he snags a passing sailor. "Out of curiosity, how deep is the harbour?"

I am getting sloppy. There is no excuse for this sort of silliness. Othos is in a foul mood as he rejoins Torbjørn at the cafe. Not only had he forgotten to check the purse, but once he had gone back, it was all for nought. A proper practitioner of the magical arts would have committed neither of those mistakes. Curses! "The purse is entirely mundane; there is not a shred of magical properties imbued in it", he replies to the Northman's questioning look. "However, the design is obviously a replica of a magical original. That leads me to believe that the goods your mates came upon is of a mixed nature - some items are magical, while others are not. That would also explain why some sailors went crazy and others did not. The disappearances, on the other hand - they still puzzle me. Now, let us see how the Nansen looks in daylight".

As Othos and Torbjørn head down the street towards the harbour, they stop at a cafe to get the big man some breakfast, as well as a glass of lemonade for himself. As they sit down, a sudden look of utter disgust and annoyance crosses Othos' face. "I forgot to do an incredibly basic procedure on the purse. I will run right back and do just that, and then return momentarily. Just enjoy your meal, and I will be back in no time at all". He pays the proprietor for the food and drinks, and promptly jogs back to his apartment, cursing himself with every step.

I've forgotten to magically examine the purse... I initially cast Detect magic on it, concentrating on it for as long as is necessary; I then cast Read magic to see if anything can be magically deciphered from the rune. Once that is done, I return to Torbjørn, and we then resume our walk to the waterfront.

"Aha! I was under the impression that your ship had contracted to transport the cursed goods to Calimport, but it now turns out that it … fell … off another ship in a rather unfortunate accident. How serendipitous. You could not perhaps recall the flag this hapless freighter flew, could you? Hmmmm… This does complicate things a bit, but such are the obstacles that fate throws in our way". Othos gets up, still running his hands through his hair in frustration. "It seems to me that we should still visit the port, if nothing else just in order to see who else is showing an inordinate interest in the Nansen. If your captain did not go down with his boat, he should be one of them".

He loos back to Shador. "Your plan is as good as any I have. Let us meet back here as dusk falls to eat dinner and compare discoveries. With some luck, we will have plenty to talk about". He turns to Gimble. "Do you have any tasks planned for today? If not, could I prevail upon you to head over to the textile districts and ask them if they have seen anything marked with the rune? Here, let me draw you one more copy - if the goods’ curse is as potent as it seems, we probably should not carry the original items around on our persons. Now, let us be off".

I draw two more copies of the rune - one for Shador, and one for Gimble. Torbjørn and myself keep the last one as we head for the harbour. The pouch gets locked down in my sword coffer together with my longsword - a dagger ought to suffice for wandering the streets…

After memorising his spells, Othos feels far better. He allows himself some extra sugar in his tea as he eats breakfast with Gimble and Shador, before nudging the sleeping Northman awake.

"Rise and shine, big fellow", he says with a evil grin, deriving a small measure of amusement from the sight of Torbjørn’s pounding hangover. "Obviously, some of the marked goods made it to town despite your valiant efforts to destroy them. Either your captain lied about his complicity and smuggled them here, or someone else are supplying Calimport with cursed trinkets. It seems to me that the easiest way of finding out would be to have a chat with your captain. Do you know where he stays when the Nansen is at port? Of course, he could turn out to be entirely incidental in this whole story". He turns to Gimble and Shador. "If the Shadow Thieves were involved in importing the geegaws, their internal chaos could be ascribed to the items’ baleful effects - and that makes the Nansen and its crew bit players. However, we are about to find out".

He drains his cup and stands up. "Lead the way, sailor. I will get you some kebabs and a pitcher of drinks on our way".

Pocketing the gold, Othos raises his hand in a mock salute as Berzeral makes off with the girl. "May the gods, both yours and mine, look favourably upon your endeavours, maniac", he mutters. "May your travels be obscured by the cloak of darkness, leaving your enemies confused and afraid. It was a pleasure knowing you, and I look forward to seeing you again". For all Berzeral's quirks, if that was what one should call them, Othos had grown rather fascinated by the feral shaman. He would definitely have to look that kid up in, what, 15 years or so?

He turns around, flipping Shador and Gimble a gold piece each. "Spoils of war, lads", he says with a small smile, keeping the last three coins for himself. "Now, should we perhaps wake our rather large friend? Just give me a little time with my scrolls first". He picks up a leather-bound book and wanders off into his study.

I'll memorise the same wizard spells, with one exception - I'll trade Magic missile for Ray of enfeeblement.

"Terrific. I have been expecting you. Look who showed up here last night". Othos indicates the still-sleeping Norseman with a nod and a sour smile. At least all that mead he swilled last night was good for something. "Can you believe it? Incredibly, he does not know that she is here, but you had better get her out of here fast. She must know about him, though, as he was far from quiet on his arrival. Need any help?"

“One short moment, and I will be right with you!” Othos had not slept well – not only had Torbjørn snored like a walrus in heat, but his side still ached after last night’s escapades. With a grimace, he mutters a magical formula and passes his right hand over the angry welts, smiling in relief as the swelling subsides a bit. Not bothering to put a shirt on, he walks to the door, tucking his dagger into the waist of his linen pants before pulling the door open. “Yes?”

I cast a Cure light wounds on myself before opening the door - if my math is correct, I still had 6 points of damage after resting

"Heh heh…" Othos’ laughter is wildly incongrous with Torbjørn's grim tale. "So, the symbol fills the hearts of men with vanity and greed, eh? Morn was carrying one of those pouches, and we promptly killed and robbed him! What delicious irony!" After a last snicker, Othos regains his composure.

"This is both better and worse than I initially feared. First, it is better, because we did decide to do so independently of any magical, or even monetary compulsions - indeed, what we primarily wanted was information, not his possessions. It is also good that not everybody fell prey to the runes’ insidious power; your own self is one such exemplar, unless, of course, your angry resentment against your enruned companions is yet another manifestation of its curse. On the other hand, it is worse, as it indicates that the marked items possess the power to change the minds of both those who wear them, as well as those who observe them". He chuckles again. "Morn did change his sartorial habits quite radically before he met his sad end. Hmmm….. Did your friend at the tavern display any symptoms of the curse? How about the captain - was he encouraging the proceedings? We should look for both of them tomorrow morning".

He leans back. "I do have meat. No mead, though - you will need to go elsewhere for that tonight".

"Why, yes, we might as well do that. Please wait here, and I will be back momentarily". Othos wanders out into the hallway, trying to calm down his agitated neighbours - No, nothing serious; Yes, he is a drunken boor, but one cannot really choose who your friends are, can you?; No, there is no need to call for the Watch; No, there will not be any further disturbances... On his return, he is calm and awake. "Now, could I perhaps offer you some food and drink? Unfortunately, all I have is leftovers, but they are both fresh and tasty. Here, take a seat". Othos pulls out a chair for Torbjørn, and takes one himself after putting on the teakettle, taking some care in positioning the Norseman so that his back is towards the bedroom. Berzeral would be most displeased if anything happened to his precious prisoner in there, and Othos had no desire whatsoever to anger the Malarite lunatic. Come to think of it, Berzeral made him even more nervous than Torbjørn, and that was saying quite a bit. Hopefully he would not have to make a choice about whom he’d rather anger - at least not tonight...

Taking a deep breath, he starts talking in a calm, professorial voice. "You know, Torbjørn, even though I recognise that the rune is meant to approximate some form of magical sigil, I have never seen this particular sign before. Though I intend to remedy this, I do not yet know what it signifies. That alone is enough to pique my interest, but, more importantly, that scurrilous little knife-vendor Morn carried it secreted away on his person. Perhaps fate has linked us closer than we first thought?" He takes a sip of tea, and offers the kettle to the oversized sailor. "Would you care to elaborate a little more on how the mark signifies death and doom? Establishing how the rune ‘works’, so to speak, can bring us closer to determining what it is and who is behind it - and that will enable us to solve your mystery". Lost in thought, he takes a minuscule pause before resuming. "Is this the entire symbol, or is it just a part of a bigger whole? And where did the symbolically marked goods intersect the path of the Nansen and its crew?" Fascinated, Othos pulls out more parchment and dips his quill in ink. This could be a magnificent tale in its own right…

A somewhat relieved smile spreads across Othos’ face. “Of course I have ulterior motives, Torbjørn – as you are well aware of, nobody ever does anything out of the goodness of their hearts. Instead, you would do well in looking at this as a mutually beneficial business relationship – together, we can accomplish things that we are unable to aspire towards as individuals. While I do not currently have a specific favour I require from you, I would like you to do two things. Initially, you need a good night’s rest. There is a decent enough hostel just down the block that will serve that need perfectly well. Secondly – you are an experienced, well-travelled man – so have you seen this before?”. Othos picks up Morn’s enruned purse, deftly drawing a replica of its strange design on a sheet of parchment, before giving the sheet to Torbjørn. “Does it ring any bells or awaken any memories?”.

“I would suggest that you collect your companion from your ship and meet me at the quay at midday, and we will then proceed to look at the wreckage of the Nansen. Hopefully, we will find some clues to the source of its bad fortune”. He gets up from the table and leads Torbjørn to the door. “Now, if you will excuse me, I need to go calm down my neighbours”.

Hooray! I finally get to use my Profession (scribe) skill!

Uh-oh. Suddenly somewhat concerned, Othos banishes a developing smirk from his face. “How I know? I know through the power of”, he takes a short dramatic pause and twirls his hands in a small flourish, “magic. I am a diviner, Torbjørn; I learn of many things. The hunger for knowledge runs thick through my blood. One of my servants watched as the Nansen was struck by a bolt of lightning which ignited its copious grog reserves. And before you return to your unfounded paranoia – no, I had nothing to do with it. While there most certainly are magicks capable of calling bolts of lightning from the tempestuous skies to sink ships and sear the flesh of the living, I have not mastered these. Nor would I have used them in such a roundabout way if I knew such powerful sorcery. Think about it – if I were such a mighty arcanist that I could sink ships without even being present and I sought your doom, why would I not have annihilated you in the same fashion, and at the same time?”

An idea strikes him. “Which, of course, is not to say that others could not have done so. However, the main figure in our argument is most probably not you, but your ship’s masters”. Othos starts pacing, running his hand through his hair. “There is no explaining why lightning struck the Nansen, yet spared the other ships at port. Have your superiors offended the Storm Lord Umm… that would be Talos, right? or angered any of the mighty beings that dwell in the darkest canyons on the deepest of ocean floors? Have they, through impudent behaviours, attracted the unwanted attentions of the gods of the oceans? The masters of the seas are fickle and jealous beings, Torbjørn, which is yet another reason you might want to remain on land for the time being – at least until we find out why your ship and its crew met such an unkind fate. How does that sound – you do not crush my head like a moldy grapefruit, and, in return, I will help you in discovering the truth about your ship and its end?”

"Once again, Northman, you both underestimate me and overestimate yourself. If I had ever wished to see you dead, we would most certainly have exploited your states of both undress and confusion in the inn earlier in the night. Also, what drives you to believe that anyone seeks your death? As you so recently told me, you are but a simple sailor, nothing more than the first mate on the Fritjof Nansen. In what way does that mark you for death? Now stop your ridiculous posturing and put that hammer down". Othos shakes his head in amazed disbelief, as a vein starts throbbing on his forehead. He gesticulates wildly with his right hand as his vioce drops into an enraged snarl. "Your cognitive powers, or, should I say, the lack of such, baffle me. We entered the Djinn intending to speak to Morn; after a slight impasse, you burst out of nowhere and cold-bloodedly murdered him. Then, you come here, ranting about some imaginary plot against your person, when the simple truth is that nothing of that sort exists. Do you insert yourself similarly into all other things that just happen to take place in your vicinity? Methinks that your god, whichever deity you demean with your devotion, has cursed you and clouded your faculties".

Othos grits his teeth, regaining some self-control. "What do you intend to do, sailor man? Your ship is nought but a charred hulk, your friends little more than burnt shreds feeding the crabs of Calimport Harbour. You are alone in this notoriously unforgiving city - alone but for us. Now pay some attention to that voice of reason speaking within that huge head of yours. You did not rise to your position through wanton willfulness. Relax and sit down. At the very least, you can then kill me later".

Darkness at noon! What was going on? Groggily, Othos rolls off his sleeping mat, grasping for his longsword. It couldn’t possibly be the City Guard? Had those two wretched whores talked? I should have killed… Huh!? "Good afternoon, Torbjørn", he manages to stutter when he finally gathers his wits, "or should I say good morning? It is hard to tell at this time of the day". Othos puts down his sword as he sees the Norseman’s stance and attire. Steel would surely not carry the day here. "I have to admit that I am more than just a little surprised at seeing you here at this hour - or does it perhaps mean that you are here to accept our offer? If so, could I respectfully venture to suggest that, as your night might not have been among the relaxing for you, you would probably benefit from a little food? Here, have a seat, as I warm up some tea and stew". Hopefully, that would slow the lunatic down a bit…

Flush with newfound loot and perplexed by the significance of Morn's strange token, the three companions wander back to Othos' apartment. Along the way, Othos picks up some good-quality meat and fresh fruit from a small all-night grocery store, intent on throwing together a hearty dinner once they got back to his quarters. "I am genuinely puzzled by this diagram, or whatever it is. However, if it is an approximation of a magical sigil, I could probably find it in my personal library. The other thing it could possibly be is a part of a larger whole - a large rune, or a piece of art, possibly a map. Fascinating..." His voice trails off. "But first - food and rest!"

If nothing majorly strange happens, we're off to drink tea and eat beef, potatoes and lentils at my place, sharing with whatshername and engaging in polite smalltalk if she is interested. We'll ponder the rune and divide up the loot tomorrow morning. At that time, I'll also rememorise the same spell suite.

Othos considers Berzeral's question briefly. "Hmmmm.... How about at my place again? Do you plan on bringing even more people there, by the way? Perhaps someone to take care of her?" He turns to Shador and Gimble as Berzeral shambles off. "Let us get out of this damnable rain and take stock. I have floor space, sleeping mats and warm food. Any takers?"

“I also hoped to catch her alive, but she had other plans. While I am not entirely satisfied either with the outcome of our little adventure, it is by no means a loss. We have his keys, and we have this”, Othos says as he shows his companions the weird rune. “As I see it, we need to do two things – initially, we need to get the things Berzeral needs for my houseguest, and then we should look at Morn’s business and apartment. I am certain that we will find further clues there”.

Between the four of us, we should know where his shop is, and we might know where he lives. Also, does the rune look like it is of a magical or religious type? I also have the Decipher script skill, does that help?

“Excuse us, ladies – but it is only fair that we relieve Morn of his ill-gotten gains, don’t you think? See it as a tithe, which we will put to far better use than he ever did”, Othos asks amiably as he picks up the late, unlamented knife-dealer’s belongings. He pats Torbjørn on the shoulder as they emerge back into the hallway. “You did well tonight, and we are most appreciative”, he mutters in a low voice. “Our offer still stands. Now, go get some sleep; you have had a rather rough night, losing your ship and all. We will be back in touch in a couple of days. And now, for a small distraction…” He whoops and hollers loudly. “Patrons of the Efreet’s Djinn! The whoremonger Morn is dead, felled by the blades of the Crusaders of Purity! Our arrival signals a new era in this wicked city – an era of cleanliness, piety and morality! Keep his cruel fate in mind as you go through your daily lives! Long live the Martyred One!!” . Let the Watch figure that one out… Grinning, he jogs down the stairs. “Time to move on, my friends”.

Othos spits as he stares at Kaja's rapidly disappearing form, willing his eyes to burn holes into her back. "It seems she got the better of us - at least for now". He then winces as he looks at Shador's sliced-open hand. "Here, here, let me take care of that", he says before casting yet another spell. "Let us grab Morn's possessions and get out of here - after that explosive exit, the Watch will be here shortly".

I first cast Cure light wounds on Shador. As we are probably out of acting on rounds now, I then cast another one on myself, before cleaning myself up with Prestidigitation. After that, it is probably time to talk with our naked, hammer-wielding friend...

As for Morn's stuff, his gold, though welcome, is actually secondary - what I really want is the keys to his business. I'll take his knives as well, if nobody else wants them

Why, I'll be... She is certainly full of surprises. Shaking his head in a mixture of grudging respect and raw hatred, Othos briefly turns back towards the stairway. "Gimble!", he barks, "She is leaping out through the hallway window!", before returning to the matters at hand. He shifts his blade over to his shield hand and sprints towards the window, hands weaving frantically as he casts yet another spell.

I'll run up to the window and then zap her with a Magic missile as she lands on the ground

Othos Khandrikar wrote:

I cast Cure light wounds on myself, and then re-ready the action to throw the tanglefoot bag

We are still in round 3. Berzeral has not taken his action for this round yet. Readying an action requires a standard action in this round (which you've already declared), so in round 4, if Kaja fulfills your readied action conditions, you will expend your standard action for round 4 to throw the tanglefoot bag (and move to that place in the initiative stack). Therefore, you would not be able to heal yourself unless you wanted to surrender the ability to throw the bag in round 4. Does that make sense to you? If you want further explaination, please say so in the discussion thread.

That makes perfect sense. I hold onto the bag, then. Healing can wait. However, can I get my shield out while maintaining the readied action? One can draw a weapon as a free action, but getting the shield off my back might be pushing it a litle...

"She turned invisible again, just like when she stabbed me!". Othos points down the hallway. "I think she snuck down that way, but I could be wrong... Be careful when looking for her". Thinking of Kaja's initial attack brings Othos' thoughts back to the throbbing, bloody wound in his side. With a grimace, he passes his free hand over it, muttering a quick prayer to the Lady of Loss.

I cast Cure light wounds on myself, and then re-ready the action to throw the tanglefoot bag

The shutters aren't actually closed. If you'll remember, my description of the hallway featured a flash of illumination from a bolt of lightning pouring into this part of the hall. The window, an approximately 6' x 4' plate-glass picture window, is right there at the end of the hall with only a quarter-inch of glass between the inside and the outside. The rain is clearly continuing.

Just as good. She'll still need to open something to get out - and when she does, the bag comes flying through the air.

A furious snarl disfigures Othos' face. "She did it again!!" He lashes out against where he thinks she might be, more in frustration than hope. His brow then furrows in though. "Not so fast, little girl", he whispers softly, digging into his belt pouch and pulling out a grenade-loke object.

I try a listen check and attempt to hit her. The next round, after I (presumably) miss, I dig out my tanglefoot bag and ready an action to throw it at the window when the shutters are opened

Attack missed. Total Defense action saved her. :)

Not to mention that I'm not exactly the be-all, end-all in melee combat...

"Torbjørn! Collect your wits! 'Tis I and Berzeral, and the dwarf is one of us as well!! We are not your enemies - she is!" Othos waves his empty hand at Torbjørn while pointing his sword at the kneeling Kaja. As enjoyable as it had been to see Morn get battered around like a pugilist's training dummy, the realisation that in his current semi-awake state the howling Norseman might strike him or Shador next fills Othos with cold dread. "Control yourself!"

Talking is a free action, right? With Kaja kneeling and facing away from me, I fancy my chances at hitting her, so I poke her with my sword and then take a 5' step to the side to give the guys behind me a straight line at her. If talking as much as I do isn't a free action, I just talk and then step aside

I'm helping a friend move, but he has wireless internet! Man, I'm such a geek...

With Kaja momentarily out of the fight, a triumphant grin splits Othos' gory face. Hands whipping about in another arcane gesture, he turns towards Morn, casting another spell.

With apologies to initiative order, I'll cast Daze on Morn on my turn, before returning to previously scheduled events. I keep casting defensively, trusting my excellent Concentration skill to save me from trouble

"Foolish, foolish girl", Othos snarls as he wipes blood spatter off his face. "We wanted to resolve this peacably, but you give us no choice. You brought your own doom upon yourself! Now kneel"

Of all times, I need to be offline for a few hours - this how I act if it becomes necessary to speed things up a little: Initially, I delay my action, moving me after Berzeral on the initiative list. I then cast the "fall" Command on Kaja - or on Morn if Berzeral gets to drop her right away. I cast defensively - initial concentration check roll is 12+8=20. After that, I zap the weakest looking one with a cause light wounds spell, and then I heal myself (unless I get badly wounded in round 2 - then I heal myself first). If anyone is still standing, I cast True strike and lay into them with my sword

"Hmmmm...." Something was fishy here. Though he couldn't quite put his finger on it, Othos was having a rather bad feeling about the semi-cooperative receptionist. As the others wait for Morn to get dressed, he takes two steps further back from the party and mutters another incantation.

I cast Detect magic and scan the group until the door opens - then I scan whoever opens it. As an added benefit, this also shows me if my friends have any magical stuff. :P

"Excellent. No need to be unreasonable", Othos says cheerfully to Kaja after giving Shador an appreciative nod. "And he is right - we have no quarrel whatsoever with you. While your loyalty to the establishment is both commendable and impressive, it is poorly placed - considering the little incident here earlier tonight, I rather doubt that the reputation of this place would change measurably if further bad things were to take place". He makes a grand gesture towards the staircase. "After you, miss. Kindly leave the blade down here, though - after all, you will not be needing it now, will you? We will be coming right up with you". Othos steps away from the girl and passes his hand across his chest, muttering an arcane formula, momentarily becoming encased in a ghostly aura that quickly sparkles and then dissipates; he then unsheathes his sword. He looks over to Gimble. "Watch the door.".

I cast Mage armor on myself, just in case. Now that I am in a position to look into the kitchen and behind the bar - are there any trapdoors or such things here? How about a back door?

Yeah, that's the thing with Charm spells... We'll find out soon enough, I guess :/

"Thank you ever so much, Miss. However, I do not think we will be needing a room - as you have no doubt surmised yourself already, Morn has been quite the naughty boy lately. He has been engaged in unauthorised economic activities, as well as romantic dalliances of the rather sordid type. Mrs. Morn is most unhappy. We are here to give him a stern talking-to and encourage him to change his ways. It should not take very long. Surely you do not disapprove of that?".

Othos glances down at Kaja's arsenal. "Now, that looks rather intimidating. Do you find that you need to use those anymore, now that the Shadow Thieves are gone?". He gives her a knowing wink. "Or are things less tranquil than they might seem?".

Do I roll a Diplomacy check? Y'know, just in case the spell did not work

That should do it… What in the Nine Hells was that anyway? As Berzeral flops and gasps, Othos deftly casts his Charm person spell as quietly and unobtrusively as he can at the receptionist. He then staps towards her with an apologetic expression. "Pardon our loud entrance, Miss. We are looking for our friend Morn the blade-merchant. Perhaps you could tell us which room he is in?".

Lets see how this goes, then… Nice move, Berzeral!

As the four unlikely companions wanders through the drizzle towards the Efreet’s Djinn, Othos keeps considering alternative attack plans. "Simple is probably best", he grudgingly concedes after a number of elaborate and unrealistic ideas. "Berzeral unlocks the front door and I cast my mind control formula on the night attendant while the rest of you walk in. Make some noise and all that, and she will not even notice my thaumaturgic efforts. If that fails, we subdue her as well - if she possesses guild ties, she should be an interesting conversation partner". He looks at his companions for a reaction. "Morn should be easy enough to convince to cooperate. It will be a quick job - fast in, fast out. We will be back home so fast that not even our houseguest will miss us". He turns to Berzeral. "Does she have a name, perchance? I tire of referring to her as ‘that girl’. Ah - here we are. Everybody ready?"

“Those are indeed good points, Master Shador, and they are greatly appreciated. I know a simple spell that should make her a little more amenable to our purposes; it is not foolproof, tough, and somewhat limited in scope and power. We will ultimately need to rely on our wits and talents, I fear, rather than my overwhelming magical might”. With an unhappy grimace, Othos steps into the heavy rain again. “Truth be told, I do not wish to spend any more time with the loathsome little merchant than I need to, either. Now let us get this over with”.

After a minute or so of slogging through the downpour, an idea strikes Othos. “Perhaps we should acquire the various objects my new houseguest desires before going to the inn? Our cover story can then be that we need to pick up something from Berzeral’s room in order to make his move out complete. It is not the cleverest story in the world, but it should get the door open – ad that is really all we need”.

"Ah, there you are. I was just about to regale master Shador here with a tale about your exploits". Othos is still giggling as Berzeral joins them in the apartment building’s foyer. "I completely sympathise with your concerns - and I have a few of my own as well. You are of course aware that it will be difficult to tell if she is pregnant for quite a while? And that she might have certain reservations about bearing the spawn of the monstrous sailor? That she might even hurt herself?". Othos looks quizzically at Berzeral. "I am certain you will think of something. Keep her here for a few days. I need my office to work, though, but that can wait for some time".

"Anyway, here is the plan. Morn the merchant is our mark. He used to be a struggling blade-seller with guild ties - now that the guild is gone, he is suddenly conspicuously rich. There must be a dodgy connection there. We will return to the tavern - Gimble is there already, and he is handy with locks and can thus get us inside. We politely encourage Morn’s newfound lady companions to leave, and then we have a … chat. It will all be nice and civilised, as well as rather enlightening - and rewarding, judging by the size of his purse". He indicates his ornate sword. "I have not seen their half-breed doorman for a while - but even if he is around, I doubt he is especially formidable. The challenge will not be to get past him, but rather to do so quietly. Morn himself is rather handy with his steel, but he will not be able to resist a determined effort like ours. Also, his knives will not be readily available to him". Othos smirks at the thought of an undressed Morn frantically searching for his concealed weaponry. "Comments? Additions? Any further elaboration is more than welcome". He looks over his companions, watching their reactions.

"But of course,… old friend". Suddenly all the pieces fall into place. Othos relaxes completely, walking over to the cupboard where he keeps his clothing, pulling out a shirt and some loose-fitting linen pants. "She is a lot smaller than me, so I guess you will need to cinch up these a bit", he chatters along with the ‘matron’. "By the Lady! This is amazing! How did you do it?", he whispers very quietly as they leave the living room, awestruck at the Malarite’s hidden talent. "And how long do you plan on keeping her here? No matter - we will discuss that at a more opportune time. We will move on now."

"Here you go, Miss". Othos is the model of concern as he and Berzeral return from the bedroom with the clothing. "Unfortunately, we must move on", he says - half to her, half to Shador. "Just let me gather some of my things". He gets back into the bedroom, gets the sword from its locked box and then straps his shield to his back, before gently, but resolutely, leading Shador back into the hallway. Down at the street level, he can no longer contain himself and starts laughing uncontrollably. "You will never believe this", he tells the curious dwarf between guffaws. "Let me start it off this way - what did you think of the older woman? Did she seem… odd in any way to you?"

“Um..., terribly sorry about that, Miss. I... was…just a bit… um, ...surprised to see you in my kitchen, that’s all”. Inside, Othos’ mind is reeling. It is the girl from the tavern! But the old woman… It couldn’t possibly be… Did Berzeral have an unknown associate? With a massive exertion of willpower, he regains his composure again and sheathes his dagger. “Please do not worry. I will make you a new cup in a second”.

He steps back into the hallway and turns to Shador. “No worries. Try to act normal”, he whispers under his breath. He walks back into his living room. “Now, where did my associate go – you know, the person who brought you here?”. He casts an inquisitive glance around the room as the dwarf ambles in behind him. “You look like you could use a little help – here, let me find you some clothes and put on a little food”. Berzeral had better be nearby…

"Oh. How rude of me. My name is Othos, a humble scribe". He gives Shador a firm handshake. "I am also a practicioner of the magical arts. Welcome to our little undertaking. I grant you that our 'plan' may not sound like much. However, I will explain a few more things once we get to my humble abode; no sense in doing it here, where unintended or unwanted listeners might hear". As he leaves, he drops a silver piece on the bar. "Good night, everybody, and may all the gods continue to bless this place".

As Othos walks out, he lets the raven hide underneath his cloak to stay dry. He's upbeat enough that he hardly notices the rain himself. However, this changes as the companions walk into his flat. Flabbergasted, Othos stares, goggle-eyed, at the unfamiliar woman from the bar as she calmly sips tea at his table. "Explain yourself", he snarls, as he reaches for his dagger.