Brand's short sword neatly parts the kobold. As in, one part's over here, the other part's over there.
Prescience
Tragershen misjudged the distance to the melee, and held his spell until he was much closer to the kobolds.
Too close.
Before he could get the spell off, the kobolds had closed, and one of them had managed to get through his arcane defenses. He works through casting the spell to release a gout of flame without getting impaled in the process.
Concentration check to cast defensively
Edit: Let's substitute the prescience roll for the concentration roll so that he makes it.
Tragershen's fire engulfs the kobolds attacking him, and one of the ones attacking Aurora.
Alas, even though flames engulf all three of the kobolds, the only one that was going to get really charred manages to duck just in time.
Hakram swings at a kobold:
...it dies.
Chases Moonlight and Bites Ears do the same:
Chases Moonlight crushes another kobold, but her wolf, perhaps distracted by his wounds, snaps at nothing.
Hakram takes eight damage (HP 13).
Tragershen takes four damage.
Brand takes one each from both of his dancing partners.
Aurora takes three.
As the party continues its insanely brave assault against the kobold army, they make more progress than their foes. Whittling down the kobolds, everyone has made some sort of a contribution. The situation seems similar in the distance, as murderous crossbow fire from the crew of the Laughing Dolphin wilts the kobold slingers even as the townsfolk force back the main kobold force.
If anyone takes a glance that way, they'd see the huge guy with the glowing sword, a small cadre of soldiers in uniform, and behind them, a set of irregular fighters who might well just be the people who live in the town.
Looking considerably more bloody and beat-up than she did just twelve seconds ago, Aurora takes a few guarded steps back and incants another spell and a faint aura of shimmering blue and white sparks dance around the cleric.
Aurora's penumbra of holiness clings to Brand and Tragershen.
Prescience
Tragershen shifts, looking to assault a group of unwounded kobolds. Calling on the reservoir of energy pent up in his ring, he conjures a spray of scintillating colors at the small combatants.
Concentration check for defensive casting, using Divine Vessel bonus .
Using bonded object to cast Color Spray. DC 15 will save negates the effect.
Three kobolds go on a psychedelic journey, dropping their weapons and passing out on the ground.
Brand shook off the two minor scrapes from the kobolds' dull yet still pointy spears and swung at one of the two still facing him, "Did ye see?! Me arrow, skewered yeh big floppy ogre an' killed 'im! Now yeh friend is dead! Ye really want to face me?!"
Brand wounds another kobold so badly that he loses all will to fight on, and will try to slink away and lick his wounds... consider him dead.
Kobold Spear vs. Joden: 1d20 + 3 ⇒ (17) + 3 = 20, 1d6 - 1 ⇒ (4) - 1 = 3
Joden reels from another stab from another kobold spear. It was almost like back home, these stupid dragonkin must be everywhere across Avistan!
Grunting, Joden makes another attempt to add to the party's growing count of kobold bodies.
Joden fells both of the kobolds who remained adjacent to him, finishing off the wounded kobold and chopping the other kobold in half.
The rest of the party joins the party, as Hakram, Chases Moonlight, and Bites Ears each account for further kobolds.
The party's almost casual execution of so many kobolds, the destruction of their leader, and the surging pressure of the townsfolk and sailors causes a catastrophic cascading failure of nerve in the mighty army. They begin to flee.
As Hakram shrinks to his normal size, the townsfolk arrive alongside this plucky band of strangers. The huge man's eyes look half-crazed with rage, but his fury seems to pass. Suddenly he seems drained. Despite his fatigue he starts shaking hands and smacking backs. "Come on in, this round's on the house. And the next round! And the next! I wouldn't have the house if wasn't for you fine folks! Odo Bristleback's the name, the town belongs to me. Come, come." He carefully stows the glowing sword in its scabbard, then leads the party into the walls of the town.
Aurora plants the end of her quarterstaff into the dirt as the kobolds turn to flee, leaning heavily upon the sturdy piece of wood as she watches Odo Bristleback and his militia storm forth. At his formal introduction she nods and responds with a simple but polite, "Aurora Fallowarc," before removing her staff from the ground and reslinging the leather strap over a shoulder.
"I'll get everyone patched up when we get into town proper," she adds to her own group, casting a look over the various injuries they had sustained during the fighting.
Amid the chaos of the shifting battle, Tragershen makes a moment to cast a cantrip and check the ogre for items of particularly high value.
Casting detect magic on the ogre and any kobolds immediately nearby. While he's not going to do a thorough search now, he'll certainly snatch anything he sees that is particularly... glittery.
Odo leads them through the tattered remains of the kobold attack, occasionally pausing to crush a wounded kobold’s skull with his boot. Fat, tall, and broad, his face is fascinatingly ugly, with sunken eyes and a wide mouth that seems like it can barely close over ill-arranged teeth. His gaze would be piercing if he could keep it focused on one object at a time. Instead it sears the scene with intense glances that seem to bely his easy manner. He pauses to look at a potato field that has been thoroughly trampled and mutters, “Damn good thing that ship showed up when it did, and not just because it was full of heroes. What a mess. We’ll clean it up tomorrow.” The shadow soon passes from his visage, and as he walks he talks, jovially introducing everyone to the various personages of the town. While it’s difficult to catch names , you gather that he runs the inn and is the landlord of the village. The buxom woman beside him with a longbow slung on her back and an axe in her hands is his daughter. The harsh-looking woman is a bounty hunter. The man with the huge brown beard is the blacksmith. The man in robes is the village merchant—he looks particularly beat up, and like he was probably the frailest member of the defense force to begin with. Then there’s the dour, scarred captain of the town guard and his four soldiers.
And that’s it. These ten sallied out against the hundred kobolds in order to save their saviors. The risk they ran sinks in when you enter through the gate: several women (and a few noncombatant men) rush forward to embrace their spouses, lovers, and friends. The only child among them all, about twelve years old, hugs the merchant, who ruffles the lad’s hair. The palpable relief in the air indicates how frightened they had been.
Everyone eyes Bites Ears nervously, but when the boy points at it and yells “Wolf!” Bristleback calls out, “Yeah, kid! A wolf in the Ferry! And all of us owing a wolf a debt of gratitude. I never thought I’d see the day. Mind your manners and fetch him a raw steak from the kitchen. And turn out rooms for our guests!” He turns to the folks and booms loudly, “Back to the inn with all of you! We’ve got a couple hogsheads of ale to drain. Two hogsheads are a butt, ya know!” He laughs and bumps his head against his daughter’s.
The joke seems related to the inn itself: a sign decorated with heraldic boars declares the structure “The Boar’s Board: Last Anywhere”
Elma Bourse and her mercenaries enter the town from the ship now that the danger has passed, and Captain Lamb’s rowdy sailors swarm to the party. Fortunately, the Boar’s Board has an enormous main hall—perhaps a little dark, with only a few windows high up to allow light into the structure that appears to be made similarly to the walls: huge stones without mortar or cracks arranged below, timber framing precariously attached to it above.
Aurora gathers the wounded around and offers a few prayers . Everyone is healed, and now the party really begins—piles of roast venison and partridges pour gradually up from the kitchen along with mashed potatoes, giant bowls of nuts, and lots of forest herbs arranged into salads. The ale is ready even more quickly, and is distributed with alacrity and efficiency. It is very, very good. Anyone with knowledge of herbs will realize that the various recipes contain possibly dozens of herbs between them.
Everyone is talking! Captain Lamb’s sailors sing pirate yarns and get ridiculous, but glares from Bristleback keep them from getting overly frisky with the two young and pretty bartenders. He does the same for the party as necessary, proving himself a gracious host by keeping the salty seadogs from ruining everyone’s fun while making sure that they have a good time themselves.
His daughter, the third young woman, he does not need to protect—she gaily flirts with everyone, doling out blown kisses and slaps as necessary. The party is not excluded, and she seems especially interested in getting to know more about the burly men—Joden and Hakram find themselves provided with the choicest viands and seemingly bottomless tankards.
In a corner, Elma Bourse haggles with the local merchant over a pile of old artifacts.
The Bristleback maiden jumps onto a table and thanks everyone-- "We Bristlebacks have held this town for generations! In my father's time we've fended off incursions of ogres! Of goblins! Of cultists! And today, we defeated the kobolds! Here's a song for all of you fine folks! Be merry, for tomorrow we may die, or worse!"
"The host, he says that all is well
And the fire-wood glow is bright;
The food has a warm and tempting smell,--
But on the window licks the night.
Pile on the logs... Give me your hands,
Friends! No,-- it is not fright...
But hold me... somewhere I heard demands...
And on the window licks the night."
Tragershen moves amongst the crowd, taking in ambience of Bristleback's establishment. It wasn't the polished spires of marble like back in Kyonin, but that was fine with him. It seemed warm and homey, and that would suit him fine.
He makes his way up to the bar, trying to get anyone's attention. "We need a room to drop our gear. And ourselves, when the celebration's done!"
When he gets a key to a room, he heads up, drops off his pack, and takes a closer look at the potion he got from the ogre.
He then rejoins the celebration downstairs. One by one, he approaches his friends, letting them know about the room he has, and that they can stash their gear there so they don't need to keep track of it during the party. He tells Chases Moonlight "Bites Ears can go to the room if the crowd is a bit much for his senses."
And then, wine. Several glasses as he wanders the room, toasting with others, and listening for stories, news and rumors that might help them with their delves to Rappan Athuk.
Aurora keeps a polite mien and dignified manner throughout all the various introductions, and even through her first drink. By the second, she's a bit friendlier. And by the end of the third, the stories she's sharing would doubtlessly be fascinating if she could stay on topic and finish one instead of segueing into a ramble about something else brought to mind by the story or a bit of explanation.
For her own sake, hopefully no one gives her a fourth.
She applauds the Bristleback Maiden's song and lifts her stein in a toast to the bold young woman.
Tragershen's request for a room results in his being shown upstairs--everyone can follow and dump your stuff/feed your wolf and make him feel at home, etc. The good folk of Zelkor's Ferry insist that you pay for nothing tonight, so don't worry about that.
Tragershen is less sure about the potion. Definitely magic, but how magic, and what magic--it's unclear.
As he circulates in the party, he asks if there's a place to buy basic magic supplies. He's pointed to the corner, where Rasmus Pye, the local merchant, is currently haggling with Elma Bourse. As he approaches, he hears, for the first time, a local speaking of Rappan Athuk. Pye exclaims, “Bourse, you’re trying to cheat me! This stuff’s good, good stuff, fresh out of Rappan Athuk itself. We had some adventurers through who came up with it—I bought it, as usual, and now you want me to sell it to you for a loss! Ridiculous.”
The table has a few baubles—rings, amulets, daggers. Some appear to be quite fine. But Tragershen’s gaze is naturally drawn to the long blade that Odo Bristleback had wielded in the battle with the kobolds. “I paid good money for good magic, and you’re not getting it for 500 GP. This is a an ancient blade, the real deal! From the lost army beneath the dungeon of graves! Hardly a scratch on it. Five hundred gold, pshaw. If that’s all you’ll offer, you’re nuts.”
Bourse leans forward, obviously enjoying herself. “That’s all you get until you prove it does something. Glowing purple is all well and good, but I need fire, I need acid, I need ice if I’m going to give you more. This isn’t Riddleport, and I took risks getting here. That’s just how it works, Rasmus! Plus you let Bristleback swing it around. I bet he damaged it somehow. It's still grimy. I’ll give you 500 GP, a box of tools from town and some miscellaneous spell components. Total value, 600 GP, and that’s all you get.”
The big Shoanti woman manages to look somehow both proud and uncomfortable at the same time. The wolf is surprisingly unperturbed by the activity, staying comfortably at her side through it all. When the others are shown rooms, Chases Moonlight leaves nothing behind, not even a wolf.
She does accept food for herself and for Bites Ears, though she seems uncertain at the social protocol about the situation. She accepts these things quietly and with hesitance.
The wolf, despite his size, is a surprisingly tidy eater and is quickly asleep beneath the table.
Chases Moonlight is quietly observant, not speaking at all unless she is directly addressed. When anyone comments on her bravery or the battle, she gives them a quizzical look. "It is the correct."
Brand revels in the accolades and pleasantries showered upon him by the joyous townsfolk. The first mug of ale is gone before he can take a breath, though the second one lasts considerably longer. He likewise dives into a big bowl of the hearty, local cuisine, preferring it to the simple fare they'd "enjoyed" shipboard.
As a few of them haggle over the magical blade, Brand wanders closer, a drumstick of some game bird in his hand. "The lost army... from the Dungeon o' Graves? Ye wouldn't be talkin' 'bout Rappan athuk, now, would ye?"
The locals seem inordinately worried about the wolf at first, but Bites Ears' calm demeanor and the festive atmosphere makes everyone disregard him soon enough.
Rasmus Pye's head snaps around, and then drifts down a bit--he smiles effusively. "See, here's a fellow who understands! A blade from the epic conflict between the evil armies of Tsar and the army of light that followed 'em into Rappan Athuk is worth a pretty penny! And this one's no mere curio--magic has kept it clean and sharp as it was when it was first enchanted so long ago. Eight hundred gold for that's none too much! Some fine lord will pay you two thousand for it! Maybe more, for the story! Come on then, Bourse!" Pye pleads.
Elma leans back casually and says, "You might be overestimating antique market, Pye. I hear that the potato fields were pretty torn up. Tell you what, I'll thrown in a few barrels of grain and dried beef. Total value, six hundred and fifty."
When Tragershen overhears Brand talking about Rappan Athuk, he too closes in on the discussion. Noticing the blade that Odo wielded, he takes a closer look. "May I?" he asks, reaching for the blade. He looks it over. Not for the craftsmanship, but for markings that may lend credence to the claims of its lineage.
If allowed, he'll cast detect magic on it. Also, he'll look for any signs of its value or background.
Spellcraft
Appraise
Knowledge (history)
Tragershen had skipped fencing lessons in favor of long distance running all those years ago , so he looks a little awkward drawing the blade from its sheath. The purple glow floods the table.
He sees that Pye the backwoods merchant is dealing honestly with Bourse. The blade belonged to a lieutenant-level officer of the army of Tsar. It has probably shed much blood over the years in the service of evil, but there’s little chance of its being powerful enough for that to harm its future users. The blade has a basic enchantment on it, although a little old fashioned: enough to keep the sword sharp, nimble, and impervious to shocks that would shatter a lesser weapon. It's somewhere between a scimitar and a longsword in design.
You know that comparable blades go for 2000 GP in Riddleport, new-forged. This one would probably draw about that, more if a collector could be found, less if sold to a practical warrior trained in more modern hilts and pommels. Bourse is driving a hard bargain, but she does have an expedition to pay for…
Joden appears at home in the tavern. The party had never known Joden to be as heavy a drinker as the typical notion one had of dwarves, but he was still robust enough to drink the average human under the table. He's a bit quiet early on and seems to sip his first tankard slowly while smiling and nodding to those offering their appreciation and thanks, but the party knows he's biding his time while he gets a sense of the room and memorizes the layout. When the innkeeper's daughter appears and begins making eyes at Hakram, Joden seems to relax a bit more as the atmosphere feels familiar. He is soon sharing stories of his home fighting against the undead in the deep tunnels below while dealing with orcs and kobolds in the rocky mountains above. For his part he seems oblivious to the young woman's flirtation as he automatically dismisses such attention from a human let alone...what's the girl's name again? By Torag, three drinks in, and he's already forgotten.
"I'm Sawen, honey! Named for my birthday, the holiday of the dead. What great tales you tell! She smiles at the dwarf, her blooming health and enthusiasm making up for the fact that she takes after her father... or rather, they would, if Joden were paying any attention to her. She continues,
I hope you like it here in Zelkor's Ferry, I'm always hoping that interesting people will stay a while, maybe even settle here. Most travelers just blow on through and down underground, and so few ever visit the Ferry again... but I understand it's not much to look at!" She slaps a frothy glass of mead down in front of Joden. "You'll see it has its charms though. This one's my specialty. Whole-hive metheglin, and I brewed it in the best old tradition. That'll feed your tired muscles and maybe it'll make this place look a little nicer." When Joden doesn't respond to her flirtations, she looks a little disappointed, but not upset or anything.
She calls to the crowd, "Companions! All of you who aren't asleep already, this is the last call for this particular feast, let's all hit the hay soon, alright? I'll see you in the morning!"
It is a pity we don't have the money...
Tragershen sets the blade back down. "It is indeed a fine blade, and the markings are consistent with a rich history. Alas, it is well beyond my means at the moment."
Tragershen will point out to the others the bargaining going on, in case they have a desire to jump in.
The willowy elf takes a moment to gauge his condition, and realizes he's probably had more wine than he should. He takes one last look around the great room at the festivities before he retires upstairs. As usual, he makes use of his bag as a pillow and gets some rest.
Tragershen will point out to the others the bargaining going on, in case they have a desire to jump in.
Aurora is fairly deep in her cup, but she does pay a bit of attention to Tragershen as he attempts to draw the group's attention to the blade. She hums lowly and then glances to the rest of the party to see if any of them have shown any interest in it.
When Tragershen stops by the table where he and Hakram are sitting to point out the sword, Joden leans forward.
"Is the piece any good? I can't tell from here, but you had a good look, aye?"
"Indeed. The quality seems good, and it bears an enchantment as well. In a metropolis, you'd likely pay three times as much for the same. Even if I were to try and fashion that enchantment with raw materials, it would cost more."
As Tragershen leads his dwarven friend over to the dickering table, they see the fine weapon--both of them are old enough that they've probably seen better in the elven courts or the dwarven halls. But not often.
Joden sizes up the merchant. “What are you asking for this bit of metal?”
"This madwoman just made a final offer of 650 GP. Beat that and it's yours. How does 750 sound?"
Pye grins in excitement as Bourse looks suddenly nervous.
A few pints in now and thoroughly amused at the bidding war for the sword, Brand leans over toward the negotiations. "Oy, Joden, ye gonn' get yerself a right proper blade, or ye just futzin' round a bit?"
“725 and throw in a couple pouches of caltrops, and you’ll have yourself a deal,” Joden states with a taciturn tone.
Rasmus Pye chortles gleefully, "Sold, to the hero who risked his life to save the town! May you wield it well! Caltrops are on the house."
Elma Bourse looks furious. "Damn you, Pye! I came all the way from Riddleport to buy your trash, you can't sell the only good piece to some random interloper! I borrowed money to get here, and if I go back emptyhanded..." she swallows, nervously. Whirling on Joden and his friends, she demands, "What are you even here for, dwarf?! What in the name of the gods brought you all to this forsaken hole, anyway?!"
Aurora senses that her calling to speak up is now. She looks from her empty cup to Elma Bourse and says, in a slurred voice, "We're here for the Dungeon of Graves, of course! We have read the signs in the moon, and so it is our sacred calling." She lifts the cup in a toast, attempts to sip from it, and then dejectedly sets it down upon the table when she remembers it is empty.
"And we will be off shortly to brave the Dungeon of Graves. Perhaps before you set out again, we'll have goods for you to take back."
The elf's face is drawn, fatigued. He makes sure that Joden has the funds he needs before he looks to retire for the evening.
Elma's desperation softens somewhat at Tragershen's suggestion. "I am indeed extremely interested in artifacts from... Rappan Athuk. If you bring back things to sell, I will pay a fair price and gather items you request from Riddleport. I will tell you all I know... in the morning, though."
As the party heads to bed, tipsy, elated, exhausted, and carrying a lovely new weapon, Sawen and the workers of the inn tidy things up. Soon they too go to bed, and in the morning, Elma Bourse meets you to tell you some important stuff. Over a breakfast of venison hash, eggs, fried potatoes, and salted beef, she explains what she knows. Occasionally, someone else will pop by and toss in a word or two, and soon the party is swimming in legends, rumors, and, occasionally, history.
Gimme your rolls, folks!
And all parties receive:
The Legend of Rappan Athuk!
Many hundreds of years ago, the forces of good allied to destroy
the main Temple of Orcus in the ancient city of Tsar. With their
temple in ruins, the surviving high priests of this accursed demongod
fled the city with an army of enemies on their trail—an army
of heroic fighters, clerics and paladins—led by Zelkor, a powerful
wizard. The exact fate of these evil priests was then unknown, for
not only did the remnants of the followers of Orcus disappear from
all human reckoning, but so did the army of light that followed after
them disappear as well. Some said that in the eternal scales the loss
of so many good men was a fair price to pay to rid the world of so
much evil.
The evil cult, however, had not been destroyed. The surviving
priests and their followers instead settled on a hill near the Forest
of Hope, a sylvan woodland near the Coast Road. There they found
a vast underground complex of caverns and mazes, carving out a
volcanic intrusion beneath the hill. There, the priests of Orcus found
the perfect lair to continue their vile rituals. For many years, they
carried on in secret, hidden from the light and from the knowledge
of men.
Many years later, their underground delving completed, the evil
priests erected a hideous mausoleum and a sunken graveyard atop
the hill. It is believed that these graves are in fact the final resting
place of the pursuing army of heroes that had been destroyed to a
man. Soon after the mausoleum was erected the peaceful creatures
of the wood began to disappear. Though many rangers and
druids investigated these happenings, the cause of the creatures’
disappearance was not immediately determined. Some years later a
powerful group of adventurers, led by Bofred, a high priest of Thyr,
investigated the evil happenings and found the sunken graveyard
leading to a labyrinthine complex. Bofred and his companions
found great hordes of evil creatures in the complex. Though some
of his companions returned from their expedition, telling tales of
fantastic treasure and ferocious monsters, Bofred was never seen
again—lost in the catacombs beneath the cursed mausoleum.
For the last one hundred years, ranks of adventurers have ventured
to the newfound dungeon. Many fell prey to bandits and monsters
in the surrounding wilderness. Rumors suggest that of those who
survived to reach the mausoleum and sunken graveyard, most were
slain by guardians of green stone or perished on the very first level.
Those rare few who return from deeper treks speak of horrible
undead and creatures that cannot be slain. All who have explored
Rappan Athuk offer this one universal piece of advice: “Don’t go
down the Well.”
DC 13 Intelligence check
DC 13 Intelligence check
DC 20 Intelligence check
Although nursing a fierce headache with sips of water and a small plateful of eggs and hash, Aurora is quite an apt listener to the tales of Rappan Athuk flying around.
Elma Bourse adds, "I've heard that prayers to Hecate can sometimes be used to defeat guardians sacred to her."
Odo Bristleback, yawning, scratching himself, and smiling through deep dark rings under his eyes as he swills a morning ale, says "There's another way down besides the graveyard. They say the demon's cave two days to the west connects to the main dungeon, which is itself a day or two to the east of here, towards the sea. Must be a long tunnel."
Sawen chimes in as she munches her own breakfast while waiting tables; and as charming as she is in many ways, she's a noisy, messy eater... "The forest can be as dangerous as the depths. Don't drop your guard out there. The wolf queen, kobolds, bandits, bears... nom nom nom... and now and then, poor refugees and outlaws looking for a place to hide from the duke or the count, depending. Try to help the poor folk if you see them, ok?"
"Master Bristleback, during the engagement I used a potion that I'd like to replace. It was a priestly potion of protection. Is there anyone in town that might offer such a thing?"
Assuming rumors are shared...
"Where shall we begin? Do we go straight to the graveyard? Should we track the kobolds back to their lair while the trail is fresh? Master Bristleback's suggestion that there is another entrance is intriguing. Perhaps it is a more discreet way to gain access?"
Rummaging a little in his pack, he says "On a more practical side, I have enough dried fruit and oatcakes to last perhaps ten days. Should I pick up more in town before we set out? How long do we think we will be out at a time?"
As he is in his pack, he says "Ah, I found this last night on the ogre we slayed." He shows a small potion vial to the others. "The effects of it elude me, however."
"At least ten days' worth would be a safe amount to have. If we wish to buy in on the legends of there being a 'Demon's Cave' as a back entrance and utilize it, we'd likely want to push that amount up to fifteen days to be safe."
She hums and leans in towards the vial Tragershen is showing off. "The kobolds are... of rather crushed morale at the moment, I think. I do not think they will bring us closer to the secrets of Rappan Athuk, and I so imagine this 'Wolf Maiden' they spoke of will be displeased with their failures."
Bristleback hears the request for a potion and sighs. "Ulman Dark, our resident... healer? He used to sell potions now and then. These days his screws have worked a little loose, so his prices have gone up while his quality has gone down. Still, he's the only man in the village that can take a dead friend and make them walk again, even if I doubt you'd find the draught you need at his place. There's the odd monastery down the coast road, their priests would have what you seek, but it's farther than the Dungeon of Graves... As far as food for the road's concerened, the Boar's Board owes you that, at least, for saving the town! Allow us to replenish your haversacks."
"That is most generous!" Tragershen says to Odo. He makes sure that any fresh food he is given is toward the top of his pack, and preserved food is toward the bottom.
When told about Ulman, Tragershen considers a moment. "Perhaps Elma can bring me a replacement when I have secured more wealth. It was only meant to help defend me in a desperate situation, and being surrounded by scores of kobolds certainly qualified. It wasn't the only trick I had up my sleeve."
"If everyone is ready, shall we leave in an hour?"
Brand stumbles downstairs VERY late in the morning, looking like death, but... worse. His hair disheveled, with large bags under his eyes, he looks like he spent half the night partying, and the other half suffering. Somehow, he sits down with the others at the table, and hoarsely whispers. "Whats for breakfast?"
Once a mountainous plate of food has been devoured, he smiles, runs his hands through his hair, and chuckles. "Well, a bit to much fun last night, if ye ask me. But, a full belly 'ill always set ye right! So, what words an' whispers ye been hearing? We off to wealth an' glory?"