Natalya thinks about it for a little bit, before replying "Get me something to write on and with, and I may be able to scratch one out. Just bear in mind, if I were a fancy artist, I wouldn't have earned my money the way I did. It's gonna be a little tough to follow, it jumps around to a couple different floors, but I'll do what I can."
Natalya uses some ink and paper to start scrawling out a rough breakdown of the Crow as she knows it. Once she's done, she tries to explain what it all means. Holding out the map for everyone to see.
"Okay, listen up. You first come in at the 'docks', there's a couple old rooms we stayed in for a bit. They are also the ones everyone has seen, so no big deal. Up above, almost as high as the thing is, the opening I said is there. If you can't climb or fly, I wouldn't try it. The only stairs on this level go ALL the way up. No stops, no other floors, just right up to the fourth. These rooms were also already over-explored. But there is a hidden passage, and it opens to the room that opens above the dock."
She looks at them all, making sure they are watching "Here's where it's a little dicey. There is a platform, and right above it in the ceiling, there is a hatch. If you climb up, there is a crawlspace to all new parts of the crow. Not much on this floor, except a constant fountain. Then you go down one floor."
She shakes her head, and chuckles a little "That's right, you go up three, only to have to find a way to go back down two. Stupid design if you ask me. Don't know what all these old world people were thinking."
She rolls her eyes, before going back to her explanation, "This is the floor where most of the girls are staying. But way down this way are more stairs down. Down to the second. There isn't much there except a set of great big black doors that wont open... and Ayala's room. Right next to it is the closet where I found the shard thing. Didn't get much chance to look around before I started to feel weird. I only found it by sheer luck, and even then it wasn't easy. Beyond that, there isn't much to tell."
"That's very helpful, Natalya, thank you. It at least seems like they will have some difficulty out-flanking us with such a convoluted layout as this. If we're quiet we may even be able to move through a good bit of the structure before things get earnestly violent."
Faedrin looks up from the map and smiles at the former Tower Girl then turns to the rest of the group. "I think as stealthy an infiltration we can manage would be our best bet at this point. Perhaps a night time approach by boat, shrouded in fog? And, if it's at all possible, securing means to scale the Crow and get in from that upper hatch seems like it'd afford us a worthwhile advantage. Thoughts?" He looks pointedly to Dareon, Tanjvats, and Oz as he asks the question.
Being so late by the time you all are done talking and planning, it is obvious that you would sleep in almost until noon. When you finally arise, and have made it to the Manor proper, the majordomo has a package for Dareon. He informs him the that it arrived only a little earlier that morning. The package is wrapped in white cloth, containing a solid rectangular object, about the size and shape of a book.
As you all finally make your way into the manor as a group Lady Heidmarch approaches, two men alongside her. As she nearts she directs all of your attention toward the two, "Pathfinders, for those of you that have not met him, this is my husband Sir Canayven Heidmarch. He would like to speak with you."
After the introduction, he nods his thanks to Sheila and there is an obvious look of love between them. He is a well-built man, of noble bearing, but there is a certain hint of power brimming just beneath the surface. This is a man who looks to be capable of handling himself in even the toughest of fights. Despite that, he looks to be brimming with excitement, almost a child-like enthusiasm not belied by his general appearance. "Sheila tells me you are all planning a trip into the Crow, and that there were new chambers discovered. I would love to join you, but alas other responsibilities keep me from being able to do so." with this he truly looks disappointed.
He shrugs, reluctant acceptance in his face, "What I can do is ask if you would mind me sending along one of the newer recruits I have sponsored. He will be there to try and record every significant new piece of information you can learn about the ancient empire of Thassilon while you explore the Crow." With that he presents the third person, and introduces him. "This is Uriah Jaroka, a fellow Pathfinder, please treat him as you would any other of our group."
Dareon stays up very late, fingering the Shard and staring off into space. What had he seen that day? Dareon was a very strong guy, but that little wimp, Natalya, had evaded them for what almost seemed like months. Once, even, he tries to evoke the illusionary powers of the Shard. He pictures a pseudodragon, a little catline and draconic creature, and miraculously, it appears, snapping its teeth with audible cracks and flapping its wings with audible leathery air-noises.
He marvels at the creature he's evoked, eyes sparkling with almost childlike delight. He did that.
But then he loses concentration, and the creature winks out of existence. He tries to evoke another, but the Shard is not so forthcoming a second time, and he sinks into a little quiet tantrum.
He begins to nod off, and somehow, dreams find him right at the edge of sleep. In his mind's eye, he sees visions of power, shifting forms, dominion over others, and magical prowess. He snaps out of his reverie of torpor after only about an hour's sleep.
Quietly making his way to the library, he spent most of the time that he remained awake perusing tomes of magic and of spellcasting and things. Once, with the guidance of a particularly rudimentary tome, he tries the casting of a very simple light spell, mimicking the gestures and the words within the tome, but, infuriatingly, he finds himself unable to even cast that simplest of spells.
Eventually, he falls asleep, his face in a book.
Dareon is filled with aches and pains after not only the previous day's adventure, but the uncomfortable, sitting position he managed to fall asleep in. Going back to his room to change, he finds a package on his bed, and a note explaining that it's for him from the majordomo.
Dareon changes quickly into a tight-fitting suit of blue and black and moves to the Manor proper, carrying the wrapped bundle of cloth with him.
He's met Sheila's husband before, and respects the man immensely, which is why he doesn't feel TOO disrespectful when, instead of looking at the pair as they introduce a new companion, he's busy sitting off to the side, unwrapping the package he's gotten.
The binding on the package is loose, a basic tie, and the white cloth opens up. The contents are indeed a book. The title is in elven, simply named Leaf and Limb, and looks to be a children's history book of Kyonin. It is clearly geared toward beginner elven readers with very simple sentence structure and grammar. Sticking out from just inside the cover is what appears to be a bookmark made of leather. Opening the cover and removing the item shows that it is in fact the tight leather undergarments often used by the gladiators that voluntarily fight in the Magnimar arena known as Serpent's Run.
Appearance: Uriah is the pro to-typical Varisian. He's average height, of medium build, with brown shoulder-length hair, brown eyes, a bushy handlebar mustache surrounded by a thick 5 o'clock shadow covering a hard angular jaw. Around his neck is wrapped a voluminous scarf woven in an orange and brown checkered pattern. He's wearing a dark green shirt with sleeves pushed up to his elbows, a leather lamellar cuirass and brown pantaloons stuffed into soft leather boots. A bandoleer hangs across his shoulders.
The backpack at his feet has a short spear lain across it and supports a light crossbow.
Uriah makes eye contact with each person, offering them a smile in return. Upon seeing the masked man, his brow furrows and lips purse in a measure of frustration.
h'Good h'morning. h'I am h'Uriah h'and I hope to prove a h'useful addition h'to h'your group. h'I promise I can h'do h'more than just take h'notes. Uriah half laughs at his little quip, hoping to take the edge off of this serious group.
Dareon quickly stows the leather undergarment within the book and closes it, putting the book at his side and giving the newcomer a little bit of attention.
'When will that stupid Elven woman stop pestering me? My Elven is fine! Gah.'
A frustrated look on his face, he impatiently waits out the introductions, shaking Uriah's hand and offering, simply, "Dareon" as his name.
"Hello, Huriah. I am Faedrin Lantherion, pleased to meet you. I trust the lord and lady have briefed you fully on our task?"
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Walking up, Oz takes note of the man and his rather strange accent. He goes so far as to chuckle at how comedic it seems, but no doubt, the person here, despite his average look, has quite the aura to him he believes. Atleast, the same aura as the others, anyway...
Oz had slept well, for once. Having a nice roof over his head and the threat of people that might be looking for him incapable of arriving, he most certainly slept well.
The fact that the men had constantly been watching the man that had come with them somewhat bothered him. You don't take your eyes off of things that, well, you didn't want to lose track of. Hell, Oz had often been that thing before. Hell he might even be now. Regardless, the man had certainly gained his attention.
It was somewhat strange, but Oz's mask came off as somewhat unnerving to newcomers, and frankly, it wasn't much of a surprise... He'd even noticed the newcomer's brow furrow when he noticed him.
Approaching the newcomer whilst looking straight at the third wheel; "Hello. My name is Oz." he said, presenting a hand.
Uriah acknowledges Faedrin, though not quite making eye contact with him and nods his head in assent. h'Aye. Sir Heidmarch has briefed h'me accordingly and h'I am h'eager to get started.
Uriah accepts the masked man's hand but looks to Sir Heidmarch to relay the man's comments.
Tanjvats did his best to interpret the Varisian clothing he known so well from Sandpoint. A former Sczarni, perhaps?
It wasn't until the man spoke that Tanjvats realized he was deaf. Uriah seemed friendly enough, and Tanjvats respected anyone who could thrive in Varisia with a disability.
Forcing himself out of his natural reticence, he moved forward and introduced himself, enunciating clearly to aid what he assumed was the man's lip-reading ability. "Well met, Uriah. I am Tanjvats. We welcome your help."
Realizing the issue with Oz's mask, he added, "Our masked friend says 'Hello, my name is Oz'".
For some reason Tanjvats blushed at this and stepped back, his left hand shaking slightly.
h'Thanks, Tanh'jvats. h'I'm pleased to h'know you. Grateful for Tanjavt's efforts, Uriah risks a possible slight to Oz and asks Tanjvats... h'Does h'Oz h'always h'wear his h'mask? Or just h'when h'meeting others for the h'first time?
Tanjvats shrugged and nodded nervously. "I think he wears it always, but I've only known him for a few hours."
Lord Heidmarch is pleased to see the group getting to know one another, he taps Uriah to get the man's attention before he speaks, "Now don't forget, I specifically want any information about ancient Thassilon you all can find. With that said, I'll say adding a new member isn't altruistic. I'm gonna be taking Gaileyon with me. What I got coming up could benefit from him, a dwarf with a strong family name, tagging along. Now, I must prepare for my mission. Shiela, shall we?" he asks his wife as he heads off. She joins him, hanging endearingly on his arm.
Impatiently, Dareon leaves the meeting room just as the Heidmarchs do, heading for the library. He doesn't really care for the newcomer or the fact that the dwarf (strong as he is) is leaving. All that does is give him more chance to shine in hand-to-hand combat.
What he was interested in, though, was getting that damn magic thing down. He fingered the Shard as he grabbed a bag from his room and then took nearly a dozen tomes from the library - the largest and most helpful treatises on magic - and took them back to his room.
His approach the previous night to magic had been too freeform...as was, he thought, the approach of so many others. A more scientific, a more precise, a more logical approach was called for. He had to experiment.
Dareon finds a small vial-heater and a vial.
As the day settles into night, Dareon leaves the Heidmarch Manor, a few clinking (but empty) vials of glass now attached to a belt that he wears. Heading to the market, he decides to buy a few things, you know, just in case.
Tanjvats spent some time that day shopping, offering to pick up the rope for Faedrin's plan. He also picked up some special paper and some fine inks. Finally, he found a few silvered bolts for use against the wererats.
Getting back to his room, he took some time to scribe a spell to bolster morale. He made a soft prayer that he'd be able to use it to help his comrades, and not suffer the shame of needing it himself.
Feadrin and his sister wander about the manor grounds for most of the early afternoon. Eventually, after a late lunch, the two call a carriage and ride off into the finer parts of the city. When the carriage returns later that evening, only Faedrin emerges, though he carries a small bundle of supplies.
As everyone heads out in separate directions, Uriah stops at the PF Lodge's vault to make a maximum deposit. Taking only what he needs to purchase supplies, he heads out, making a mental list as he goes, clicking his tongue to a catchy beat.
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The thought that he might be the one who succumbed to fear was too much. His hands began to shake and he ripped the parchment with his quill. As he tried to put a new piece of parchment in place, he spilled his ink. With his fingers stained once again, he went to bed filled with self-loathing at his failure. He did not sleep well.
Done.
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The night of victory in regards to Natalia was one that happened to be bittersweet for Oz. His comrades thought him more than just a little useless, and he, himself, thought likewise. He had been so easily bested by such a simple man of arcane ability... In his bed, he felt firmly of his chest, where the spears of light had struck. Clenching his fist he still felt a bit sore from them.
Magic. Oz fancied himself capable of dodging the most accurate of blows, and what's more, he enjoyed his dexterity far more. It had saved him, and for so long had it worked. Indeed, his ability to flee was just enough for him to escape, but what his agility had when it came to staying hidden, it lacked, when it came to being effective in dispatching.
Raising up, he removed the mask from his face, taking a long, drawn-out sigh. He raised the body suit up to his forearm, taking a look at his old plague. His fingers had turned a sickly black, and freckles of the ailment were starting to creep up his arm in slowly-forming tendrils. He felt of his neck, where the whelps of the ailment had started to encroach there.
The issue wasn't that whatever it was was eating away at him, rather, he just didn't know what it was. Feeling closer to his chest, the whelps had become larger than they were the previous day, he was certain. Raising the garment up to his chest, he looked down, and to his own horror, a mass of rippling, tar-black lines radiated from the 2 spots that the previous beams had sank into him at.
Magic. He thought, unconsciously whispering it. In a rush, he sat the clothes down about his person once more, and proceeded out of the bedroom into the library. Sleeping was out of the question for the next few hours. This didn't make any sense whatsoever, and his addled brain would certainly get to the bottom of it.
It was in the library that he ventured that he found a surprising number of the group sitting about scribbling into papers and reading into books. His presence there was certainly strange to say the least...
Waltzing about, Oz couldn't see anything of even a small bit of value to himself, that was, until he discovered within the library, a small, old, worn book of Arcana. The book was, like himself, ironicaly, pitch black. It's cover was tar and it's pages were an off white, as a result of age. Within it, he delved, learning of... odder, forms of magic.
Unbeknownst to himself, Oz picked up on the magical scripture and writing rather easily, putting pieces together as he read and just surprisingly having a knack for it. It was his thought processes. It cut out the fluff, for the most part, and seemed to have been just what magic needed. It was somewhat luck, and the sharpened wits he'd gained on the streets of Magnimar that taught him how to teach himself this strange new thing.
He took to it like water, and, later that night, learned that what he'd been reading was a small, faded book on the Wizard's specialty of "Shadow" a sub-school of illusion. Small, old, faded pictures of dark tentacles, people turning invisible, and the creation of illusions viciously intrigued him. It was phenomenal, to say the least. So many ideas went through his head as new and greater thoughts entered his mind. Ways to create dopplegangers, and silly images of himself.
Finally, after reading for long enough, he took the book up, found a pen, and started to commit certain things to memory from scratch. Curious conjourations, and things that seemed all-the-more interesting and useful in his day by day actions. Oz may not have been extremely intelligent, but he certainly would take to world of magic as a beautiful blend of dexterity and trickery...
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After introductions are over, Oz takes to the library once again, this time with intention to create a bond with one of his belongings. Sitting in the chair, he looks at the table. On it are his belongings, which currently include 8 daggers, a Gladius, his personal favorite weapon, and the newly acquired Masterwork Silver Dagger from yesterday's events.
Looking at the dagger he thumbed it, hoping it would hold well in the coming events. It would be at the crow that he'd redeem himself, after all. Finally, he goes to grab the gladius, but then realizes that that may not be the best choice. Finally, in his frustrations, he collapses his face onto his hand. There it is. His mask...
Taking it off, he places it on the table. This will do... he thinks to himself. With the black, faded book on standby he begins the ritual of bonding it to himself, much to anyone that may watch's surprise. The previous day, he'd learned 6 spells. Six very peculiar things he couldn't wait to put to use.
The morning after he'd collapsed from reading all night, he'd commited three particular ones to memory, along with a few regular ones here and there. Things he could constantly make use of.
The book he found that he had so diligently learned from didn't have any more to offer beyond those, and he practically hungered to learn more. He had come to terms very later that day that he was what some would call an "Illusionist"
Finishing the ritual, he felt tried, tired, and mentally exhausted, but his mask had never fit better.
The day after finding Natalya and the shard is filled with preparation and a little time to recollect yourselves. The night was filled with rattled thoughts and self-reflection, and especially a new focus on the study of the arcane arts. By the next morning, if you could call it that with everyone waking later in the afternoon, everyone has mostly adopted the later schedule. This should help in the decision to assault the hideout of the Tower Girls after dark. Faedrin, however, looks a little pale and clammy, and his eyes are dark with rings from troubled sleep.
Faedrin staggers into the dining hall last, looking far worse than he did the night prior. "Ugh... I- I don't feel so well." He slumps into a chair and buries his forehead in his hands as he elbows rest on the table. He groans quietly as he pours himself a cup of watered wine.
Tanjvats looked over a Faedrin as the sick elf stumbled in. Concern furrowed his brow.
"Let me take a look at you," he offered, moving over to examine the symptoms.
As Tanjvats regards Faedrin and his symptoms, he is quite sure that the elf had gotten too much of the sewage into his system. The filth was attacking his body from the inside now, and if it keeps up too long it could be deadly. Tanjvats recognizes it as something that can kill the average person in about a week's time if not properly cared for. It seems Faedrin may not be in good condition to engage in an assault on the Crow this night, or until this funk leaves his system, but that's really up to him.
In their downtime, Tanjvats and Dareon have a look at some of the treasures and baubles they've collected. The magic ring that was found earlier allows the wearer to fall at such a decreased rate that it's almost as if they were a feather. The brass comb is worth a mere pittance, and no one is willing to give Dareon the sixty gold he thinks the buttons with the semi-precious stones are worth.
Faedrin nods to Tanjvats as the half orc finishes his ministrations, "I'm dying aren't I? It feels like I'm dying."
Dareon is fitting with several vials filled with dry ingredients and one vial filled with liquid ingredients when Fade staggers into the dining hall and neglects his food. "If you're feeling a little bit down, we can go without you. I wouldn't mind letting you lie down and miss out on the action. I suppose if you're not okay with that, we could either ask Miss Heidmarch for help or we could continue to wait. I'm not comfortable with remaining idle, here, though. If we wait, we ought to at least keep eyes on the Crow while you recover."
Questioning Dareon's ability, Oz looks at the valuables as well. Although Dareon was right that the comb was worth very little, the buttons were worth half of what Dareon wanted for them, at best.
Uriah enters the dining hall, apprehension playing across his face upon seeing Faedrin. h'Good h'morning all. I guess h'we're not going h'anywhere today? h'Maybe h'I should h'alert the Heidmarchs. They have quite h'a bit h'invensted h'in this h'venture. Perhaps they h'will have a tonic that can help?
Faedrin languishes at Dareon's terse reaction and simply deflates, laying his head down on his crossed arms in the table. At Uriah's question, he mumbles a reply into the crook of his arm, "Would you, Uriah? That's kind of you."
A few moments pass before Faedrin wearily looks up and realizes once again that Uriah is deaf. He nods and repeats himself before collapsing into a heap again.
When asked about supplies, Sheila informs the requestor "Sorry, the Pathfinder Lodge does not maintain supplies, as such. We offer food, lodging, a library of study materials, scintillating discussion between members, and a place to pick various quests to be performed by its members and compensation upon completetion. If you've the funds, the city of Magnimar should offer easy access to a tonic that could fight off Faedrin's ills."
"Let me see if I can't do something for Faedrin first. I have a bit of experience with filth fever...it was common among the street sweepers of my youth."
Tanjvats searched the kitchen for a few supplies and made a thick, pungent onion-based sauce on the stove. He arranged a few peppercorns on the top in the shape of Pharasma's spiral and whispered a few words of prayer. He seemed pleased with the results.
He offered the small bowl to Feedrin and worked out a plan for the next few hours. It involved a lot of water and many trips to the Heidmarch facilities.
"The trick is to, well, put it all back in the sewers, where it belongs," he explained timidly.
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Venturing from the Library slightly tired, Oz can't help but notice that Faedrin is currently less for ware. He walks in holding his newest, strange, black spellbook. It's the very same spellbook he spent so long using the previous day. A lot of the pages were dull, and so he's decided to just use it for his own personal spell writing. He might even complete it some day!
Lying the book down on the table, he walks forward and takes a glance at Tanjvats who he'd seen working on scrolls prior. Shaking his head at the prospect of filth fever being heavy in the air, Oz can't help but wonder if it's contageous. He hadn't had the luxury of being with them for that. One of the few things he was thankful for...
His thoughts return to the idea of the scrolls that Tanjvats had so thoroughly been working on prior, and just from thinking about it he realized a rather wondrous thought! He could do the same thing. It was sort of tucked away in the pages, but he most certainly could make those same scrolls... Though he was still baffled as to what he'd make.
Walking back towards the library to do just that, he couldn't help but ask; "Mind if make scrolls?"
It was simple enough, but part of him wanted to believe that the lot hadn't expected him to become a wizard overnight.
Especially Dareon.
Both will get the +4 bonus.
Fade was already treated and neither Oz nor Uriah were there, so...
Faedrin spends the remainder of the day cringing as he forces himself to drink the tonic Tanjvats prepared. Otherwise, he avoids nearly everyone apart from his caregiver and remains cooped up in his bed chambers on the Heidmarch grounds.
The most obvious vantage point from which you can watch the Crow is at the end of the Irespan. That is, of course, if you have no problem with the heights sitting roughly two-hundred to two-hundred fifty feet above the bay. Even then, it's tough to see much around the vicinity of the piling, being as far out as it is. Regardless, there isn't any activity beyond the flight of sea birds.
After spending some time tending to the filth fever, it became clear to Tanjvats that they would not be going to the Crow today, and likely not tomorrow.
He decided to take the time to scribe a few more scrolls. Maybe his success in treating the disease would build his confidence for the more complicated task of inscribing his divine supplications.
Tanjvats decided to confirm his plans with the others.
Since I had a combat spell build-out for today (Moonday, Rova 16), I'm going to scribe what I have. Then I'll prep spells for the next day (Day 2, Toilday Rova 17) and scribe one of those. That will have us setting out on Wealday Rova 18 when Faed has healed his ability damage.
Let me know if this is a problem for anyone.
Scribe a scroll with bless on it at CL 2. (1x2x12.5gp = 25gp)