Anja recovers her daggers and begins examining the quality of the traps around the workshop.
"Why? What do the books say?"
On the bottom floor of the shop beneath the loft there is a set of double doors.
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Shan attempts to bind Yip's wounds.
"Today, we still have to deal with the chieftain. Negotiations may be more difficult if the prince had died. I hope his father is more responsive to our cause."
In response to Sahar's suggestion, Shan in his best dwarf (read Scottish) accent, "You start reading books instead of burning them." A smile parts his thick orange beard at the social joke.
"But Sister Sahar, I would advise not lighting a large fire down here. Underground, poor circulation with sewer gases. I would be happy to carry what I can, and we can dispose or sell them as you see fit."
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Sahar turns towards Ezrek and bows deeply, her hands palm up and her eyes looking at the ground.
To Shan she responds, "Brother Shan, books written in draconic which presumably detail how to make things explode and set traps likely have a very...limited target audience. Though such a rarity would likely fetch heavy coin in the markets of Katheer. Do you believe that in this state the little dragon will be of use in bargaining with his father? He has lost so much honor at our hands already, he has little choice but to kill us to regain the respect of his people."
Sahar pulls out the healing wand and uses it on herself, "Anyone else?"
Wand CLW (x2):
"Oh, I thought maybe you could read dragon. Well, considering we probably ruined the Captain's chances of trading with this trapmaker, we could at least bring back his books so the Society could train our own."
"And I thought the chieftain was the one we were trying to kill, since he's the one most likely authorized the attacks on our supplies."
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Shan look around for some antiques, but otherwise signals he's ready to go.
"That would be the perfect tool for the job, Sahar."
"Kill, yes. That is one way of ending the raids. Another is to come to a common agreement that both sides could benifit. Of course if that doesn't work, we can always return to option 1."
"I thought the agreement was already with Yiddlepode."
He was small so yes, all of his armor and weapons are small-sized too.
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Having put on the cloak, Desmond turns his attention to the kobold. Desmond lightly slaps Tok in order to get his attention.
"Listen, Yippitok, you can see that Pathfinders are not a group to be trifled with. We need to reach your father, the chieftain. Now," Desmond then pulls out a dagger and holds it up to the kobold's face, "I'm sure you will help us out, right?"
Tok's unconscious body remains unresponsive to Desmond's threat. ;)
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Desmond glances around in hopes that the rest of the party were too busy to see his embarrassing attempt at intimidation. He now understands the difference between conscious and unconscious. He decides to use his wand of cure light wounds to wake the little guy up.
Once Yippitok is awake, Desmond resumes his intimidation techniques as before.
"My father? He's right through there." He motions his head to the doors in the back of the room. "Waiting for you I presume."
The kobold then spits at Desmond's feet.
"No traps. Just my father, his pet. . . and an audience." He smiles crookedly.
As they interrogate the trapmaker, Anja moves over to one of the bay windows and looks out.
Anja peeks out into what appears to be the entrance foyer of an old theater. It is empty and no one is in sight.
When you proceed through the doors, you enter the foyer, draped in old red carpet that stinks of mildew. The stairs lead up to a set of doors beyond that open up to the central aisle of a theater.
It is clear that at one point this was a grand theater. The gold railings still gleam despite years of sitting unpolished, and plush red velvet covers the walls and cushioned furniture. The cushions are mostly brown now, covered with mold and dirt. The damp, pervasive scent of moldy fabric and rot fills the air. There are two large balconies on each side of the theater about twenty feet above the orchestra level. The floor slopes down slightly, ending at a theater pit at the base of the stage. The stage itself is empty save a large, comfortable-looking chair in the center, illuminated with an ingenious system of magical lighting and mirrors.
Sitting in the chair is the grizzled old form of Chief Kibizax. Next to him rests a large blue dragon, seemingly lounging and awaiting orders form its master. The balconies are filled with anxious-looking kobolds but the seats at stage level are empty.
As you enter the theater, the dragon stands up and stretches its wings as if about to take flight. The chieftain holds up a single hand, as if signalling a halt and demands, "Pathfinders! Where is my tribute? I hope it is glorious, one that befits the King of Absalom Below."
"You will stop where you are right now! I demand tribute! This is my kingdom and you dare to trespass without payment!"
The dragon launches from its perch and begins to circle overhead at the front of the stage.
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Sahar drops the bag of gold on the floor, with a thud and a clang. "Great and powerful Kibizax, Venture-Captain Dreng bids you long life and great power. Now is the time for both our tribes to journey forth into a new dawn. If I may be permitted to approach your throne, I will bring you the tribute your power has earned you." Sahar gestures to her wayfinder, removing it from her belt, "Another gift to your great skill, a gesture of brotherhood."
Perception:
Sense Motive:
Kibizax pauses for a minute after Sahar's proposition. "I like the way this one thinks. But these gifts are far too meager for one of my stature! You are addressing the King Under Absalom! I shall be set up as the Lord and Commander of the Grand Lodge, nothing less would suit one such as me!"