Step 1
Mel notes the poster casually, but has no reason to study it closely.
Step 2
"Dinner was excellent," she says to Perrin's query. "The Colonel has a superb chef."
Mel hovers, unsure of what to do.
Step 3
"He's right," she informs the guard, peering at the basket. "There is something magical in that basket." She turns to Colonel Smythe. "Colonel," she says. "Would you be so good as to have one of your men inspect this delivery? Preferably one with some knowledge of the arcane. After all, it surely must be standard policy to inspect deliveries for prisoners to ensure they do not receive any banned items. For such a dangerous and ... politically sensitive prisoner as Elrin Weh, that would be doubly important."
An equally burly Kazador stomped over to the guard. ”He’s with me. Ye’ve got a problem with him then ye’ve got one with me as well.”
He reached out to pull the poster back.
A couple of the guards move around Kazador as he snatches the poster back, trying to get the Dwarf to back down. "Mind yer own business, bumpkins!"
Perrin stumbles back from the menacing guards, grateful to Mel and Kazador for coming to his defense. "Sorry, I was just worried it could be something dangerous! What if it gets someone hurt?" His concerns don't seem to make much of an impact.
Oh my god, yes! - says Roet, approaching Perrin - Don't you all remember that story about the "sweet bomb"? It was something arcane, very well hidden between some sugar loaves, and it put down an entire building! From that moment on, every time someone tells me there's something arcane on a bowl... I never neglect it!
-
The guards stumble back in surprise and fear. "'Sweet bomb!'" Check it out, Doc!" They pull back in fear and encourage Perrin to deal with the problem. The delivery boy starts to complain "Hey now, you can't just mess with the food." But the guards shut him up. "You've been paid! Now get out of here!" The boy shrugs and heads out the door.
Perrin's look of surprised gratitude quickly turns to Roet. Even he seems nervous at the man's tale, but the doctor picks up the offending loaf and peels back a layer of dough, revealing an oddly papery center. He yanks out the scroll within and holds it up triumphantly. "Aha! Looks like some sort of translocation device. Not quite a sweet bomb, but maybe a sweet... jailbreak?" He muses over his wording for a moment, then looks up in panic. "Who sent these breads?"
The guard receiving visitors (and holding the basket nervously) speaks up "The Colonel ordered them for the prisoners from a bakery near the Elven Embassy!"
Mel watches this scene with bemusement. "Wait ... the Colonel ordered them? For Elrin Weh?" Mel's opinion of the Colonel drops further.
She gives the guards a sweet smile. "I trust that there is no chance you'll give the prisoner a teleportation device now that it has been discovered. And perhaps, in future, it might be a wise policy to carefully inspect all packages for prisoners? Just in case someone is trying to smuggle contraband in to them. Magical or otherwise."
The guard nods and tries to wave Mel off. "Of course, of course! We'll be sure to do that!" He and the other guards start cutting the sweetbread into small pieces and examining it carefully.
A few minutes after the boy heads outside, you hear a scraping sound coming from a nearby part of the guardhouse.
Mel turns her head. "What's that scraping noise?" she asks. She moves towards the source of the sound.
Mel's keen elven senses follow the sound to an empty cell. She looks inside and sees a cloaked figure hanging from the grate over the window by one hand and sawing at the bar with another. His head snaps up when Mel opens the door and the man curses harshly. He kicks the partially sawed bar in and begins moving through the gap while snarling at Mel (and anyone who came with) "Outta my way if you want to live!!"
Roet waits back and looks with curiosity as Perrin examines the loaves. Finally, when the guard identify where they came from, he speaks.
We probably should head there to investigate. - Roet states the obvious, but then looks at Melira, not knowing how sensitive she was on the Elven question - You know, not because of the Elven Embassy thing...
Melira then speaks about a scraping noise - that he didn't hear - and starts moving towards it. The brawler looks at Perrin and Kazador, then follows carefully - until they found the man causing the noise!
When Roet notices the action, he feels he has to move fast. He instinctively enters in his usual fighting defensive style and moves towards the man. He pulls his weird-looking spike shield - a madu - on the way, and such movement is made as a sort of combat feint.
"Guards!" Mel yells. "Someone's trying to break in!" She moves inside, drawing her dagger as she does so. Unlike the unfamiliar human, she hangs back, waiting for an opportunity.
Aaaand that will undoubtedly fail. Which means that if he moves past Mel and leaves her threatened area, he'll provoke an AoO. Here's an attack and damage roll for that.
-.-
Never mind on that damage roll.
Roet moves up and feints high then strikes the invader in the gut, drawing a heavy grunt of pain.
Perrin nonchalantly pockets the scroll and follows Mel and Roet to the source of the noise. Ev swoops down after him from the ceiling, landing on his pack and grabbing a small pouch in their teeth.
Seeing the intruder and the scuffle unfolding, Perrin stands in the cell doorway with his hands raised in the universal symbol of nonaggression. "Hey there. No need to run. We can talk about this. Just relax." The last word is filled with a strange intensity.
The man forces his way through the window, shakes off Perrin's attempt to enchant him, and strikes with fist and dagger at Roet in retaliation. He moves with a blinding speed and expertise, leaving Roet gasping for breath and in severe pain (54 damage from one unconfirmed crit and one confirmed crit). But the strange ruffian who jumped into help demonstrates a remarkable ability to defend himself and avoids two more blows that surely would have sealed his fate.
A guard, surprised by Mel's exclamation, comes running to check out the situation while several others begin rising to their feet.
Perrin steps back in horror as the man lashes back at Roet. He lets out a burst of healing energy almost by reflex, closing a small portion of Roet's wounds.
Meanwhile Ev takes to the air, flapping up to the ceiling and releasing the small cloth pouch toward the enemy. It explodes on impact in a burst of gooey fibers.
The doctor's attention turns back to the man with the knife. "I said, relax."
The man dodges the worst of the bag and shakes off Perrin's magic once again. But he is greatly slowed by Ev's sticky attack!
Very hurt, Roet coughs blood on the floor. Yet, the man doesn't back up - you're likely to get wet when you come out on the rain.
If I ever commit a crime, send me here! I never saw guards take so long to come help against a prison break! - he says to the others, smiling to Perrin for the healing and obviously exaggerating on the time the guards were taking to arrive.
He moves his madu again, trying to feint the man, then unleashes a single strong attack against the entangled man.
The man staggers from Roet's blow but wipes his bloodied cheek, ready to continue to seek his goal.
The man seems to have lost about 1/3 of his ability to keep fighting thanks to Roet's blows.
Kazador rushed forward, his hammer raised. He didn’t know who this man was or really what was going on, but his newest comrade was coughing up blood. That meant that there was only one thing to do!
”Yield! Ye....wazzok!”
Cursing at the man his hammer swung. He wasn’t going to allow anyone else here to be hurt by the man, whatever his reasons might be.
.
.
Mel gapes at the violent tussle practically blurring before her eyes. Then her gaze hardens. This is not acceptable behavior. She reaches out and tries to flip the man's cloak over his head.
"Why does this keep happening to me?" she asks no one in particular. "A week ago my biggest worry was whether my field notes were up to date, and now people keep jumping out of nowhere and trying to kill people!"
After Kazador's mighty blow, the man grows much more serious, no longer ignoring Mel's hindrance. He strikes back at her while trying to end the resistance stopping him. He clicks his boots and unleashes a brutal onslaught in three directions.
Mel's attempt is met with an open palm to her chin at lightning speeds (14 dam) while Roet defends himself nimbly from an attempt to bring him down. But three blows with foot, dagger, and fist leave Kazador seriously wounded as well (58 dam). Seeing that his efforts failed to fell any of his adversaries, the man crses with frustrated rage. The guard enters the doorway and starts calling out to others while readying his spear.
Forsaking the fancy stuff, Mel tries valiantly to stab him. But he knocks aside her blade with contemptuous ease.
"What are you even trying to do?" she yells at the man. "Most people try to break out of prisons!"
Roet keeps flurrying his attacks with his strange looking spiked shield. His style is still defensive, in crane style, and he fights with a clear combat expertise.
Kazador fell back under the onslaught. His eyes went wide...he knew that this man was more than a match for him. He couldn’t keep up. His hands began to trace the runes of teleportation.
Kazador stood in gleaming full plate, with the huscarls. He was next to the Thane, their lord, their liege. They were oath bound to protect him. Strands of gold ran through his immaculate beard. His head was held up in pride. The orcs would be beat back, as always.
He froze. He had what, six seconds? Six seconds to decide what to do. If he stood his ground he might well die. There was no way he could match this foe. Or he could say the word, and he would teleport to safety. He would live to see another day with pockets full of platinum. Six seconds.
Kazador coughed up blood. The thane was dying, armor rent and shield sundered. The huscarls were dying where they stood, surrounded by orc berserkers. And through it all rampaged the beast. The largest orc Kazador has ever seen. There was no way out. His once magnificent fullplate was dented and rended. His beard was a matted mess of blood. His blood. His comrades’ blood. The blood of his enemies. There was no escape. There was no chance of victory. Looking at the dead and the dying he saw no glory. It hurt to breathe. He saw the *beast* stomping towards the Thane. The beast cut down three huscarls in as many seconds. Severed heads and limbs rolled. The Thane weakly raised what was left of his shield. There was no way that he would survive. There was no way any would survive. Kazador was all that stood between his liege and death. And he was powerless before the beast. He had tried to fight it, and he knew that it was beyond his power. With seconds left...
Three seconds. He could teleport. He could. His comrades might well die. They might not. But he would survive. What to do?
Kazador sat alone in the tavern, surrounded by humans. The last of his gold that once adorned his beard had been traded for beer. He drank to forget. There was ever enough.
Tears of rage and shame rolled down his face. With a wordless roar Kazador threw himself at the man, his hammer raised. The arcane words of teleportation turned into a savage battle cry.
The nimble attacker dodges Kazador's first hammer blow by a hair's breadth but the back-hand blow catches him in the face, crumpling it inwards. His body slumps to the ground.
Within a few seconds, guards come rushing into the room. "What the hell is going on here!?" a lieutenant asks. The first guard responds "That man was trying to sneak in here! They stopped him!" Soon, the paladins of helm come to the scene as well. After a minute, a white-haired man in white robes also approaches. Behind him follows a quiet Colonel Smythe. The elderly man surveys the situation and shakes his head with the heavy cares of a leader.
"Helm thanks you." He then holds up a golden carving.
"Colonel, I will see the prisoners now. Please provide these good people with every courtesy until I can thank them more fully." He then walks away as several of his personal guard escort Elrin and the other elf into a private chamber.
Smythe steps up to you. "Well then, I suppose you have the rights of salvage. That man's cloak looks to be finely made, though the dark cloth is less than flattering."
The first guard pipes up. "They have right to more than that,sir! I saw his face before the dwarf smashed it! That's Alric the Slow! Here, see the scars on his arm." The guard pulls back the man's sleeve, revealing a twisting net off scars on the dead man's forearm. Smythe looks at the group of you in surprise. "This man is wanted for murder and assassination. You are entitled to a substantial reward." He writes you a note for 12800 gp.
Kazador opened his eyes with a moan. He looked up at the ceiling and then rolled over and saw a white haired man in robes. He muttered ”Am I dead? What happened?” before he saw the guards and the colonel. He shook his head. He wasn’t dead. He had been right, he was no match for the mysterious warrior. And yet somehow, it felt like a weight had been lifted from his shoulders. The pain and the guilt were still there, only it wasn’t as raw. As if though the wound had scabbed over, and was on the way to becoming a scar.
He got to his feet and picked up his hammer. Gromthi! Akrak-an! His hammer glowed and his wounds began to heal.
| 1 person marked this as a favorite. |
Roet coughed blood, once again, then smiled, tapping the shoulder of each of his companions.
It looks like I chose the right people to follow around! - says the brawler, a bit more recovered after taking a good beat.
And this is already more gold than I’m used to see... - he chuckles as he sheathes his madu on his upper back - We should stick around a little more before going forward with our investigations.
Perrin cries out in anguish and frustration as the man once again ignores his magic and continues maiming his friends. Even after Kazador smashes in the man's head, Perrin's face stays twisted in a grimace. He glares down at his feet and mutters something that sounds an awful lot like "useless".
Then he whirls on Roet and draws a wand in the same motion, tapping his chest in a series of rapid jabs that slow the worst of his bleeding.
Perrin looks with interest at the guard who identified the body. "Alric the Slow? Who's that?"
After listening to the answer, he turns to Smythe. "I think I could cast a spell to make his corpse answer a few questions - would that be alright?"
Finally, when he has a moment to breathe, he does his best to identify the salvage. "Huh. This cloak seems to be of elven make." He offers it to any of the others. "Could be helpful for staying out of sight." He stows the other items that had auras he couldn't identify.
Smythe nods distastefully. "Yes I suppose so. It isn't as if he has a family that would object."
Mel sheathes her dagger shakily, and profoundly grateful that she came out of the confrontation unscathed. She also appreciates the guard's testimony making it clear who was responsible for what -- she favors the man a smile and a nod.
Mel begins shaking, shock setting in with the immediate danger past. She wraps her arms about herself to still them.
In the midst of this minor distress, Mel somehow fails to recognize the Bishop until after he has left. Then it clicks. "Oh," she mutters to herself. "Get it together, Melira. You weren't even hurt!"
But it has been a long day, and the shakes continue. She leans back against the wall and breathes deeply.
Recovering herself somewhat, Mel heaves a deep sigh. "Alric the Slow?" she says. "Never heard of him. But he was badly named -- he was fast ... like a snake, almost."
She eyes the cloak as Perrin displays it. "I have read of such things," she says with a distinct note of longing in her voice, "But I don't think I deserve it. All I really did was yell -- it was these two who did the hard parts." She indicates Roet and Kazador. "Thank you, by the way," she says to them. "Both of you. I'm pretty sure that if you hadn't leaped in, he would have murdered me in seconds flat."
Like my thane. Kazador thought bitterly. ”It was my...our...duty. I will not allow that to happen.” Looking at his companions he realized that the past couldn’t be changed, but it didn’t have to be repeated. It wasn’t with pride that he spoke, but with relief. ”We’re in this together.”
The brawler shook his head in agreement with Kazador, then turned to the Elf.
I'm pretty sure he practically murdered me down there, my friend. - said Roet, giving Melira a warm smile - If it wasn't for the intervention of you all, especially the healing power of Perrin, you'd be now also cleaning my guts from everywhere.
Melira's relieved smile fades, but she nods.
Perrin nods firmly in agreement, sending an exasperated smile toward Mel. "It was your yelling that kept Brookside from falling apart in battle." He looks over at the damaged window. "And if you hadn't sounded the alarm this time, we'd probably all be buried in rubble right now from a sweet bomb, or whatever it was he was planning." He tosses the elven cloak to Mel. "Take it already."
Then he stoops down and tugs at the corpse, wrapping it in a spare cloak and awkwardly feeding it into his magic bag. "My spell will take some time, and I think we've got a lot to talk about. Maybe we should clear out of the crime scene?" If the others agree he withdraws from the room, pausing in the foyer to check for a poster on Alric the Slow.
Mel catches the cloak. She mumbles something, and exits the cell towards the foyer, tucking it over her arm as she goes.
Smythe nods at Mel's comment. "Yes these low-lifes seem to love ironic nicknames. He worked with the Reaps. As I said, they are full of irrational behaviors. Breaking into a jail! What on the Continent did he expect to find worth stealing in here?!"
The group takes a few minutes to collect themselves, catch their breath, and look around with a new sense of teamwork, having survived the brutal and sudden onslaught of the well-equipped assassin. But soon, they are interrupted by the reappearance of the older man. The lines on his face seem deeper than ever. "Colonel, forgive me for interrupting but I have obtained the preliminary information which I require from the prisoners. I now wish to speak with these brave friends of Helm and thank them properly. May we use another one of your rooms? I doubt that you will have further attempts to free the Elves in the mean time." Smythe agrees with a bow and ushers the four of your, the Bishop, and his accompanying guards into a private room. Once the door is shut, the Bishop sits and turns to you.
"Thank you for your help. I fear there is worse to come for this land. But despite the Council's desperate and rather transparent efforts, I have the information I need first hand. That assassin was their last chance to get Elrin out before I could question him. Now I face many difficult decisions. For the time being, can I trust you to share this information with no one?"
Melira has regained her composure during the brief break. She listens intently to the Bishop's words.
When he finishes, she says "You have my word, Your Grace. But given the circumstances, I would understand entirely if you wished me to bow out of further discussions of sensitive topics."
”I swear it.” Kazador said, seriously. He thought back to the information he sold (just his name and profession...but still...) with a pang of guilt. But, he rationalized, he wasn’t under oath then.
Claudius looks gravely at Mel. "You've done far too much for me to wish you to leave. Where would my people be without your help? Those men, women, and children would be lying dead in the mud while a storm bigger than I could have imagined brewed just out it sight. You've been through too much for me to feel honorable asking you to do more but, for the sake of my flock, I must ask. Will you stay and hear me?" He nods with a kind smile to Kadado, acknolwedging the value of the word if the Dwarf. He glances to Perrin and Roet as well, wondering what the humans have to say.
