”It’s alright little guy”, the big ulfen says while scratching at his shaggy mane. ”We all got our demons.”
Randall seems to be formulating a response to the party's questions when the conversation turns to Antal, so he stops and listens. "Yes, for example, Njord's potions - they would not help you? It needs to be a poison instead?"
"Not quite, but you're correct about Njord's potions. A poison would hurt me. You basically have to treat me like the undead. If it would heal the living, it would harm me. If it would heal the unliving, then it will heal me. Poison would just hurt...and probably make me wish a whole heck of a lot of pain on you."
"But you can heal us, if needed?"
"Give me time, and I can learn to. I've had to be self-sufficient, so for now, we may need to lean on Njord's talents initially."
"Har! I don't know about you lot but I don't have a lot of experience with the walking dead. I'll have to take your word on it."
Randall shakes his head, indicating his level of knowledge of the dead that walk. "Maybe Njord can make you a special potion?"
"You hurt elf? Har! I shouldna known you were paler than usual", the big ulfen fishes out a vial and tosses it to him.
"Apply that to wherever they got ya. It'll clean up the wound and help it heal."
Remembering that he's injured as well, Njord retrieves an ointment and applies it to the jagged gash across his ribs.
"I bought some healing potions on my last shopping trip. I'll be okay for a bit."
Njord shrugs and pours half the vial onto his own wound and swallows the rest.
He shrugs, scratching his neck, obviously not used to this sort of attention. "I should be able to take care of my own healing for the most part, but I'll make sure to keep a small store of potions, as well, just in case."
The group sits around chatting and drinking a while longer, until slowly the yawns become more frequent and the talking less so. After the remaining mugs are piled for the staff to collect the next morning, the group retires to their private apartment.
As they enter, it becomes clear that something is wrong. The door is unlocked, instead of locked as the group is always careful to leave it.
Njord frowns at the sight and draws his sword.
He gestures for the little folk to check out the door.
Antal grimaces, gripping his morningstar free of its tie, as the unlocked door prickles the hair on the back of his neck.
Jametor drinks one of his potions.
Jametor takes out his longbow.
Swiftwing is the first to notice the note, pinned to the inside of the door with a small dagger.
Feeling the Swiftwing's curiosity to something on the door, Jametor looks behind the door to see the note.
The note is a bit low for Jametor, but by stooping slightly he's able to make out its contents.
Plague Street, near the old mill, two hours past sunset tomorrow
The ink is brown and crusty.
"Not sure I am interested in going to a meeting on...Plague Street. I bet it's the best street in Riddleport."
Njord enters the building, sword in hand, to make sure it's clear.
"Who would have the guts to pull something like this?"
The room seems empty, except for the note.
”It’s clear”, Njord says as he sheathes his sword.
”Everyone get some sleep. We’ll figure this one out in the morning.”
Jametor sleeps all night, regaining energy and waking up feeling better. After breakfast, he studies his spellbook, committed to having more spells available than he had at the fight at the docks.
After he studying, he creates another scroll, this time with Mage Armor. He makes a note to himself to make a scroll of Ant Haul the next day.
He prepares the following spells:
0:Read Magic, Detect Magic, Resistance, Prestidigitation
1: Summon Monster 1 (school) Mage Armor, Color Spray, Magic Missile, Summon Monster 1
Antal sleeps, restless as ever, tossing and turning through most of the night, although he does stay asleep the whole night.
He wakes up slowly, aching as he does every morning. "Well...hopefully this stroll to Plague Street proves...educational," the halfling says between long yawns.
The morning light glints off the handle of the dagger, the blade of which remains embedded in the door as if to prove that it was no dream.
Leaving the blade embedded in their door, the party heads off to work. The day is mostly quiet, with no more than the usual number of drunks or customers wanting to bring in weapons.
Saul is mostly unseen, only emerging a few times during the day to assure himself that things are still running smoothly. Dinner is a simpler affair than that of the night before, though there are some leftovers which retain their deliciousness, and there's more of the expensive wine as well.
Once things have wound down for the day, Njord gathers the team.
"Let's get going. We have a meeting with someone that doesn't understand boundaries. Har!"
Jametor casts Mage armor on himself as the group gets ready to leave. He brings his scrolls, potions and weapons with him, leaving the assorted other stuff in his room.
Antal puts on his new cloak and wraps it around him, stretching and tightening his mask. "Time we teach them a proper lesson then."
Fíriel frowns slightly, trying to think whether she's familiar with Plague Street. After a few seconds she nods at the group and heads off toward a shady part of town.
As the group follows Fíriel through the streets, they see more than a few unsavory characters. A few of them break away from the shadows to follow the group for some period of time, but by the time the party arrives at Plague Street, they are alone.
Suddenly a nearly deafening cacophony of fluttering wings and screeching voices can be heard from all over the city. The air is filled with sea gulls, all taking to the air at once, flying up and wheeling above the city in ever-gathering numbers.
Antal draws his Morningstar, wheeling about and looking for the cause of such a stir.
Jametor looks around, along with Swiftwing.
Njord looks around in confusion.
”What’s riled up the birds?”
The ground begins to shake slightly even as the huge flocks of gulls continue their erratic flight. Njord and Jametor (along with Swiftwing) notice that the birds seem to be flying roughly in the direction of the Cyphergate. The temblor causes only minor damage to the surrounding buildings, but the group is forced to stop moving in order to even remain standing.
The cacophony is broken after a few minutes by hundreds of distant sounds like the pitter-patter of rain on metal. The longer the sounds continue, the fewer the cries of gulls overhead. The shaking dies down as well, and a short time later, the evening is once again as quiet as Riddleport ever is.
"Wait. Something killed those gulls. That's the only thing that makes sense. They stopped crying because they fell out of the sky. That's the sound of rain.."
Jametor stops to think about what just came to him. He begins looking at his companions seeing if they think he might be crazy.
Njord grabs onto something solid and as many of the little folks as he can when the strange phenomenon starts. A hostile, animal, growl rising in his throat as it reaches its climax but ends a moment after the danger has passed. He releases any of the halflings he’d been holding onto and looks to the skies for a sign of the gulls.
”Har! Never felt anything like that. What the hell was it?” he asks while scratching at his beard which is noticeably shaggier.
Fíriel brushes herself off, studying the Ulfen curiously in the semi-darkness. "I... am not certain. Are you... is everyone alright?"
Antal just raises an eyebrow at the strange commotion, grabbing hold of the nearest steady object, which happens to be Njord's arm. Seeing the shagginess of the big man after such a nasty bit of noise, Antal dusts himself off and tries to look respectable.
"What the hell was it? It was strange, that's what! Antal grins and chuckles nervously. "I'm a bit worried as to what could be next.
Once the shaking stops and he's on his own two feet again, Randall says, "Seems like there is a lot of weird stuff lately, doesn't it?"