Geoffrey's Finest (Inactive)

Game Master CampinCarl9127

Nope, nothing obvious. :)

Bjorkus laughs and then snorts at the big man’s jibe. ”And you’re a tiny bit prettier than the whores they’ve been givin’ me”, he answers.

”Not so local, but I’m glad to see I’m not the only bull ‘round here that looks like he can handle himself. The name’s Ares”, he offers in introduction along with a meaty paw for a handshake.

Night before as he get's back
When Lindale finds out that their rooms have been tosses, if none of the others have done anything he will go to Jaware and ask if he knows of anyone that had come asking after them. When I returned here briefly before going to the Circle the rooms were fine yea? So it happened sometime while I was at the circle?
Sense Motive(hiding something from me Jaware??): 1d20 + 10 ⇒ (17) + 10 = 27

The big day
Lindale will look his finest for the Arena, having seen what some of the other richer slavers wear and putting a drow style to these desert outfits. Too fancy?

Before the games start he takes Ninnec and asks him about all the other slavers, who is more important than whom, most slaves, least slaves, who kills their slaves too often, etc. He also asks the best way to go about meeting or introducing himself to them. If appropriate he will suggest Toramin to accompany him as his personal slave for the day. "Come meet the competition." He doesn't watch Targ or Acera closely at all but instead those around him.

Toramin will come with you, but he is playing hired bodyguard and not slave. But it's always good to have muscle.

~Slave Pits~

The big man laughs hard, quickly followed by the others. "Name's Roran. I'm the head slave, so to speak. Best fighter of all of Targ's slaves."

~Previous Night~

Yes, it was fine the last time you were here.

It takes a moment to get Jaware's attention through the crowd, but upon being asked he shakes his head. "Is there something I should be concerned about?" He seems to be being honest.

~Stands~

Lindale, I don't have all of the slavers listed, but if one in specific is ever brought up just remind me of you talking to Ninnec and I'll assume you have at least general knowledge of them.

Lindale finds himself talking to a fat human with balding, greasy hair by the name of Haevish. He introduces himself as one of Targ's coin-masters (he has three). He gives a pompous chuckle. "Oh yes they are, my favorite bit of entertainment. But I'm afraid just betting on this Ares fellow won't be an option." He gives a knowing smile.

yep bodyguard, I forgot :P
"Haha, perhaps you have one of your own in there then? It would make things more interesting I think if there was more variation though. Perhaps two on two, throw in some wild animals, a group of smaller slaves up against the best. What do you think"

Bjorkus snorts and nods as if he’s impressed.

”Bein’ owned by Targ’s gotta have its perks. He get you that?” the bull rumbles with a nod at the man’s dwarven weapon. ”I was hopin’ to find a good whip but the pickin’s were slim.”

It seems funny to me that whips are exotic.

~Stands~

"Ah, now you're thinking along the right lines. You will not be disappointed by the matches today."

~Slave Pits~

He raises the exotic weapon. "No, but I told the smith I'd snap his neck if he didn't get his hands on one." He laughs.

Busy day gents, sorry.

Bjorkus rumbles with laughter and glances back at the man in charge of equipment. ”I can see why Targ likes you so much. I’m gunna see if he can scrounge up a decent whip for me. See ya in the arena. Dunno what your boss’s got planned but if it’s some kinda battle royale, I’ll be sure to leave you for last. Wouldn’t wanna spoil the show for the crowd.”

Bjorkus will return to the weapon master.

"Na, he won't do a free for all this early. What's the point of killing all of his slaves off this early? Wastes an entire good day of fighting." He grins, letting Bjorkus go back to the short weapon master.

"Whip isn't a problem, you'll be giving me back that polearm though. One weapon per slave."

Bjorkus nods and returns the polearm.

Exotics are a case by case basis. Something as common as a whip would be easy (especially in a land of slavery). Ask for a nine-branched sword and you'll probably be disappointed though.

Date night tonight. See you all very late or in the morning.

~Slave Pits~

The slavers start pushing the slaves towards the arena door, shoving and whipping them until they're pressed up against it. There are a total of thirty slaves in the group. The dull roar of the crowd can be heard piercing through the walls, then it comes through at full force and gets even louder as the door opens and the piercing sunlight momentarily blinds everybody...

~Stands~

Targ stands slowly, causing the crowd to start cheering. He raises a hand, and after a moment one of the gates of the arena raises as well. The slow creaking gate eventually reveals thirty slaves, covering their eyes and blinking in the morning sun.

~Everybody~

With the crack of some whips the slaves are ushered into the arena as the door closes behind them. At least half of the slaves look scared out of their mind, gripping their weapons white knuckled with eyes flicking about rapidly. A few slaves stick out: A massive human wielding a dwarven dorn dergar, a half-drow with a knife tucked in his belt, and a knightly looking human with a longsword and shield.

I need to add all of the figures to the map, but before the match begins Bjorkus can walk just about anywhere he wants within the arena. Heading off to work, be back at about 3.

"Stand tall. Stand ready. Stand together." The voice comes from the armed slaves down in the arena, cutting through the whimpering and sobbing but barely reaching the front rows of the stands.

Next to the knightly looking human is an armored individual with a flicking tail and horns who is the one speaking. "Those of you who cannot fight, do not fear. Stand back and ready to pull your allies out of harms way. Those of you that can, favor caution over bravery. Your more useful scoring one hit only today and staying alive then you are scoring two and dying, for your presence alone can deter the creature from certain actions. If Targ spoke honestly, we fight together against this creature. So long as we can stand together, we can come out of this alive. I, for one, will do everything I can to see as many of you survive as possible." It isn't a call to be heroes, it's a call to stand firm and fight together.

The slaves respond, grouping together. Most of the women are huddled to the middle, but some of the tougher looking ones take positions on the edges. The half-drow, knightly human, and large human all take positions on the side but all well away from each other. The knightly human leads the speaker slave to a corner with him while the large human grabs Bjorkus, dragging him to another corner.

Targ raises a hand, causing the crowd to quiet down almost immediately. He looks down at the armed slaves with a bit of an amused air as Acera sits beside him, eyes slowly scanning the audience. Targ motions the hand towards a man sitting close to him, the same person who was the spokesman the other day. The fat man stands with a smile, seeming to clear his throat then speaking in an augmented voice that booms over the entire arena. "Welcome to the first day of the finals!" The crowd gives a roar, the man enjoying it for a moment before waving them down. "The first match will be group survival! For those of you who don't know what that is, we pit a certain number of gladiators against an unknown threat. It could be another group of slaves, it could be mercenaries armed to the teeth, it could be a viscous desert monster, once it was even Targ himself, but we all know how that went!" The crowd laughs and Targ gives a smirk. "You may place your bets within these parameters: You can bet that the unknown opposition will win, or you can bet that the gladiators will win with a specified number of survivors in groups of 5. 1-5 survivors, 6-10 survivors, and so on until the 26-30 group. If you bet on the opposition and win you get double your bet back, if you bet on a certain number of survivors and win you get triple your bet back. We have men moving around the stands now to take your bets as well as slaves with trays of refreshments, completely free of charge! The first fight will start in a few minutes when the betting is done. There will be no more bets accepted after the match starts."

Bjorkus you can try to reposition or say something or whatever you want. Everybody else you can make your bets. Once I get a post from Dalton and Bjorkus I'll move things along.

The map is updated.

Dalton places a bet of 100 gold on the 6-10 survivors.

Bjorkus snorts. He’d dealt with leading green crewmates into a fight but never this many and never in conditions like this. They were going to die – most of them probably – but he could give them a fighting chance if he put some fire in their bellies. The bull maintains his position but turns his head to speak into the massed crowd of fighters.

”Today they’ve got us down here bakin’ like shit in the sun waitin’ for the end but that have to be the way we die. We can choose to fight, not just ourselves, but for each other. Today there’s not a man or woman down here that has to stand alone. Today we can show Targ and everyone else up in those stands that a bunch of slaves can stand against whatever horrors this hellish place can spit up and that you can put a man in chains, you can break his body, but you can never break his spirit.”

Bjorkus is actually good where he's at.

"The betting is now done!" A gong booms out, symbolizing the beginning of the match and making all of the people in the crowd buzz with excitement.

The slaves less so.

The gong stops echoing over the Colosseum and everybody waits in silent anticipation. The knightly human raises his shield. "Each side, watch the gates! Yell out if you see anything!" A few men grumble and nod, each side staring at their own gate. The large human gives a laugh, beginning to swing his dwarven dorn dergar around. The men raise their weapons and give a shout at Bjorkus's speech, some of them giving small smiles and staring at the gates with determined eyes.

A full minute passes.

The slaves are sweating now, and not just from the heat. They shift their feet around, regrip their weapons, wipe their brows. A few audience members begin to grumble.

Then the ground explodes upwards right in the middle of the slaves.

Screams of death and pain fill the air along with a dust cloud. The slaves just behind Bjorkus are gone, and something is blocking the sun. An ear shattering roar comes from within, drowning out the screams for just a moment. As the dust settles a massive death worm is seen in the middle, rocks and sand and blood trailing off of the 30 foot monstrosity. This huge worm's body is muscular and scaly, it's mouth a nightmare of row upon row of triangular teeth, gnashing the severed limps of nine slaves who have already been eliminated before getting a chance to fight. All of the women that were huddled to the middle for protection are gone, only the ones on the outside surviving.

Twisting quickly, the worm releases a jet of acid from it's mouth that shoots out in a 30 foot line to the bottom right corner of the slaves. Two slaves scream as their skin and bones melt, one of them jumping to the right and panicking as a bit of the acid melts through his shoulder, alive but wounded. The two slaves who died from acid dropped a longspear and a greataxe.

Init Order
Slaves
Death Worm

Muahahaha, slaves are up!

Bjorkus will delay until one of the slaves moves in and takes the AoO:

Bjorkus crouches down briefly to scoop up the dropped spear before roaring a warcy and cracking his whip for effect. ”Don’t let its size scare you! Move in and strike!” he bellows.

Inspire Courage!

The slaves are clearly terrified, but the few hardened men among them help them to find their steel. One man screams and tries to run, but only makes it two steps before the death worm reaches down and rips his entire torso off, leaving two blood legs on the ground. One other man breaks, running to the wall and crouching in terror, but the rest roar and begin stabbing at the creature. The large human laughs. "Come on you bloody cowards, give it all you got!" He swings his exotic dwarven weapon, but it glances off the creature's armor. The half-drow shoves a man back and steps forward, unleashing a pair of blows but stepping back and wincing as his fists fail to break the armor. The knightly human also makes himself some room, stepping forward and having his blow deflected. "Do not break, we must take it down! Keep on hitting it!" The horned speaker swings his own longsword. "Hold firm! Hold firm! Do not give in to panic. Stay close, fight defensively, and above all HOLD FIRM!" His longsword pierces the creature, but his blade is doused in a sizzling green acid that threatens to destroy the weapon. The quickly plunges the weapon hard into the sand, preventing any damage to the blade. More blows glance off of hardened natural armor, but two slaves manage to make their mark. One hits with a warhammer, leaving a small dent in the scales. The man with the acid-damaged shoulder makes a cut with a greatsword, but when the blade opens the creature's flesh it gets covered with an acid that sizzles and nearly completely melts through his weapon. He curses, trying to fling the acid off on the ground ineffectively.

The crowd is booing at the fleeing man, throwing food at him and shouting insults. He curls up in a ball, weeping and trying to ignore the world around him. Some of the insults float over to the main group, making the slaves glance up at the crowd with scared looks. The crowd is currently unfriendly, giving a -1 to attack rolls, combat maneuver checks, ability checks, skill checks, and save throws. This is a mind-affecting effect.

The death worm roars in pain and anger, lashing out at the longsword wielder who cut him. His bite goes deep, tearing through metal and flesh and continuing into the knightly looking human to damage him as well. Despite the terrible wounds both of the men still stand, raising longswords to continue the fight.

Bjorkus cracks his whip again for effect and roars a warcry before tucking it into his belt and gripping his spear with both hands.

”Don’t let them distract you. Focus on the beast. If it bleeds we can kill it!”

Rage, Continue Inspiration

Free Performance Check: 1d20 + 1 + 1 + 1 + 2 ⇒ (8) + 1 + 1 + 1 + 2 = 13

Spear (rage, inspire, unhappy crowd, flank): 1d20 + 11 + 1 - 1 + 2 ⇒ (13) + 11 + 1 - 1 + 2 = 26
Damage: 1d8 + 10 + 1 ⇒ (8) + 10 + 1 = 19

~Previous Night~
Rilka helps clean up their disheveled rooms, wondering who would do this and not attempt to hide their actions. She ponders how the perpetrator entered the inn. Invisibility or perhaps another guest at the inn?

~Stands~ The halfling stands in a section with other slaves with a view of Dalton and his fellow slavers in that section. When the slaves arrive in the arena, Rilka turns to one of the slaves next to her. ”Does your master own one of those?” Her attention is quickly arrested by Targus’ loud proclamations.

As the moments pass after the gong is struck and nothing seemingly happens, Rilka begins to search the sky for a winged creature. The crowd’s screams and outcry divert her attention back to the arena’s floor. She groans at the sight of the worm and her sympathy goes out to Bjorkus and all the others facing it.

Noting the dastardly acid, Dalton scanned the crowd. Seems a bit underhanded to me. Wonder if that's common here? In particular, he attempted to judge the expressions of the slavers and Targ's retinue.

~Stands~

Dalton notices some of the keener looking slavers giving little oohs at the acid, seeming to appreciate the different angle to the fight. Targ has a wide smile on as his eyes flick between the members of the battle.

The longsword wielding speaker reflexes back from the creature, holding onto his wound. He then moves and puts a hand on the knightly human's wounds, and after a moment it's plain to see they've both been magically healed. Some crowd members notice and loudly point it out, causing the audience to boo loudly and begin calling for the slave's deaths. The crowd is now hostile. The penalty has increased to 2.

With the creature's attention turned away, Bjorkus roars and drives his longspear a full foot into the creature, causing a spray of green blood to cover the weapon. In his fury Bjorkus doesn't react quick enough to protect the weapon, although it still remains intact and able to use. That longspear is currently broken.

Suddenly the weapon is torn from Bjorkus's hands from beside him, but as he turns the slave beside him thrusts a new, undamaged longspear into his hand. The man gives Bjorkus a nod, yelling a raw throated roar and thrusting at the creature with the broken longspear.

The large human swings a mighty blow, his exotic dwarven weapon whipping about and smashing into the death worm's side. The half-drow lands a fist on the creature, making an impressive dent for an unarmed strike, although not quite what the large human did. The other slaves all slash and stab and smash their various weapons at him, two of them landing small hits.

The creature roars, clearly bloodied and in bad shape, then retreats under the ground as quickly as it had come. The battlefield is suddenly no longer a chaotic mess of death, now only a dusty area filled with injured and dead men.

The crowd murmurs a little bit, unhappy with the worm retreating. Crowd is back to unfriendly.

Several people glance at Targ and the announcer to see if the match is over, but both remain quietly sitting. Targ stares down at the ground with amused eyes, flicking them across the sand.

Init Order
Slaves
Death Worm

Bjorkus stares at the Speaker in disbelief – some kind of spellcaster?

You mentioned folks showing magical talents would likely be executed on the spot. Was there any indication from folks that this healing was kosher?

The bull is snapped out of his confusion by the adjacent slave’s quick thinking, swapping his damaged spear for a fresh one. Bjorkus grunts and gives the man a nod of thanks before gripping his new weapon tightly. He stabs at the beast as it retreats back beneath the other but fails to land a meaningful blow. I assume it’s withdrawing or something.

Maintaining his inspiring presence and boiling fury, ‘Ares’ stands at the ready, waiting for the worm to surface again.

Readied Attack (rage, inspire, unhappy crowd, power attack): 1d20 + 11 + 1 - 1 - 2 ⇒ (18) + 11 + 1 - 1 - 2 = 27
Damage: 1d8 + 10 + 1 + 6 ⇒ (2) + 10 + 1 + 6 = 19

Crowd seems pretty upset, although Targ has the say for what gets punished, and he didn't do anything about it. It's also noticeable that while the crowd is surprised and enraged, the majority of the slaves currently fighting don't react to it.

A few seconds pass in silence. The large human roars in anger. "Show yourself coward!" The half-drow is slowly turning, scanning the arena. The knightly human bangs his sword on his shield, shouting out "Spread out! We don't want it to his us clustered again!" A few of the slaves nod, but most of them huddle together, seeming more comfortable with people at their side than trusting one man's strategy.

Bjorkus spreads out as well doing his best to stay close enough to strike but stay out of a potential blast radius.

When it breathed what was the range/spread like?

...Twisting quickly, the worm releases a jet of acid from it's mouth that shoots out in a 30 foot line to the bottom right corner...

Super busy day, sorry guys. I'll get updated tomorrow.

The speaker heals himself and the knightly human more, but the crowd seems to busy trying to find where the battle will continue to care. Then he turns to the slaves and says "The creature aimed for the center of the group last time! It knew to go for the middle. Likely it will do the same again. Spread out! And when it appears, walk cautiously around it and group up once more! Worry not, you are not alone. We all stand together against this abomination!"

As Bjorkus hears the voice, it echoes in the back of his minds like a foggy memory...

The speaker turns his gaze to the crowd. "You will cheer for their bravery! They stand against something that required TARG HIMSELF to defeat! They do not cower. THEY FIGHT! SHOW THEM WHAT THAT IS WORTH!" Some of the audience members continue to shake their head, but most of them seem to calm down. They look around in anticipation of the fight continuing, no longer jeering at the slaves. Crowd is indifferent.

The majority of the slaves begin to timidly spread out, although a few remain huddled with scared eyes. A few seconds pass with nothing happening...

The slaves have another round to act, as nothing seemed to happen on the death worm's initiative.

Init Order
Slaves
Death Worm

Bjorkus tightens his hold on his weapon with a death-grip and continues waiting for the beast to show itself.

He pauses long enough to address his teammates. "Do what the boy says. We've come this far. We're not givin' up now!"

Continue inspire/rage. Ready.

Readied Attack (rage, inspire, unhappy crowd, power attack): 1d20 + 11 + 1 - 1 - 2 ⇒ (20) + 11 + 1 - 1 - 2 = 29
Damage: 1d8 + 10 + 1 + 6 ⇒ (7) + 10 + 1 + 6 = 24
Confirming: 1d20 + 11 + 1 - 1 - 2 ⇒ (16) + 11 + 1 - 1 - 2 = 25
Extra Damage: 2d8 + 34 ⇒ (7, 7) + 34 = 48

His bet forgotten for the moment, Dalton scans the crowd with an approving nod. We will see how this game ends. He hoped Heff wasn't too far away.

A good twenty seconds pass while the slaves mill about, spreading out and nervously scanning the ground. Through the directions of the speaker some of them climb the gates to get off of the ground.

As Bjorkus is turning around he suddenly realizes he is in the center of the arena, isolated from everybody except the large human. He gives a grin to Bjorkus, spinning his dwarven dorn dergar in expectation. But when Bjorkus turns his head to continue looking for the beast, he feels a violent shoulder check and is sent staggering a few steps. He wheels around to see the large human jumping away from him. "Better you than me!"

And then Bjorkus realizes. He and Roran were the only two slaves next to each other. The clearest target. And now he's off balance.

The violent spray of sand comes up again, this time centered directly on Bjorkus. The slaves cover themselves under the shower of sand and rocks, looking up once the dust has cleared to see the death worm roaring in place of where the half-minotaur was just a moment ago. The slaves groan, tiredly raising their weapons to continue the fight.

But then the death worm stops flailing around, suddenly jerking as it spits up green liquid into the surrounding sand. The slaves step back warily as the crowd looks down in anticipation. After a moment, with a colossal boom and another shower of sand the death worm drops to the ground. People look to each other in confusion, but then the slave who handed Bjorkus the longspear points to the creature. "Look!"

As the entire Colosseum's attention turns to the back end of the death worm, a small outward bulge of the creature's thick skin bursts out, revealing a dissolving, green blood covered longspear. After a moment a bovine hand follows the hole out, followed by another as they slowly work the hole larger and larger. After a few seconds a completely green Bjorkus bursts out of the back of the creature, leaving a cow-sized hole in it.

The crowd goes nuts for the insane display of strength and survivability. Targ is even laughing as he joins the applause. Slavers begin pouring out of the gate along with some labor slaves to being moving the bodies away. Some of the audience members laugh as half a dozen slaves look at the corpse of the death worm, turning to the slavers with a What do you expect us to do? look.

Give me a fort save Bjorkus. You're going to have a minute down here in the arena before you're rushed off due to the confusion with disposing of the death worm, so feel free to take some liberty here. Say something to the crowd, talk to that familiar-ish figure, flip off Targ, etc.

Fort: 1d20 + 11 ⇒ (18) + 11 = 29

I assume this is versus the poison but add +4 if endurance applies to it.

Despite the hot bile and remnants of the caustic acid sizzling away at his hide, Bjorkus plants a hoof on the worm's corpse and bellows a victory roar with his arms and his spear raised high. He gestures for the other slaves to join in - this was their win too. The bull plays the crowd, striking a few flexing poses before settling down long enough to address the riotous audience.

"Don't forget what ya saw here today!" he roars to the crowd over the din. "A bunch of slaves with nothin' but sticks, some balls, and each other, can bring down the greatest beast. Even Death!"

The brawny minotaur finishes with a pointed glance in the direction of Targ and his witch.

While wiping the worm-goo from his horns, the bull moves about what survived from his 'team' offering a grunt or nod of well done to the lesser slaves, even those that contributed little. When he gets to the big man who pushed him into the way he settles on him with a cold glare - You're going to pay for that.

"I feel like you've done this kinda thing before", he says to the helmed speaker.

We are the worst spies ever.

The arena was indeed turning out to be quite a bit more entertaining than before. Though Lindale knew what was coming he did not expect them to loose the worm so soon in the day. As Bjorkus was swallowed by the work he thought that perhaps the half minotaur had met an untimely end but when he emerged victorious Lindale looked over to Haevish with a slight grin. Do you doubt me now?

You're fine Bjorkus. Hahaha Toramin that cracked me up.

The crowd gives a great deal of cheering for the slaves' victory. They're clearly impressed at the majority of the men standing their ground and Bjorkus's display of brutality at the end.

The slaves begin to recover from the battle, the wounded sitting and letting the pain wash over them as the adrenaline fades away. They help each other limp to the sides of the Colosseum, although the one living man who had fled during the battle is just looking around in shock. The large human meets Bjorkus's cold glare with a laugh.

When Bjorkus goes to the helmed speaker, he finds the man already starting at him. After a moment he mutters "No...it can't be...Bjorkus?" He reaches up to take off his helmet...

Gabriels blond curls fall free of the helm. It takes a moment to pull it off his horns, as one of the bent metal parts caught, but as he does his multi-colored eyes would shimmer in the light of the sun beating down upon them. He speaks softly, lest any over here and peg Bjorkus as a target as well. At this point, anyone could be in danger for associating with him for the magic he used, though as of yet none of the slavers had come after him. "How can it be? Surely your luck has fared better then mine and yet here you are before my eyes!"

Despite the whisper, there was a faint hint of excitement to his tone. The large bull had always been an odd one to Gabriel, as he could not really understand how someone like a pirate, or so the rumors seemed to go, could turn out to be such a noble man. That last display of strength seemed to have left Gabriel in awe of the man as well. His eyes were wide and curious. He could not help wondering just how far his former companion had come. It also made his own progress seem lessened by comparison. To even survive the maw of the beast! "It is a surprise, a wonder really, to see you alive and well. But I cannot count it as good fortune can I? For you are here fighting for your life as the rest of us..."

For the first time in many weeks, Gabriel suddenly felt something inside him other then cold determination. Hope was a part of him, a part of how he saw the world. Without it, it would seem so very bleak, especially from where he stood. But here was a small hope, the hope that his friends were well at least, dashed. What had become of them after the fall of the corrupt king? His eyes look up to the bull, pleading with the large man for answers.

Bjorkus stares in disbelief. Gabriel? How the Hell? Had Heff sent him? No, the paladin had been just as confused as he was. They knew who he was - that's why they let his use of magic slide. Was the rest of their covers blown too?

There were too many variables for the minotaur's simple mind to piece together on its own right now. Snapping himself out of his recognition, the bull settles for a clap on the tiefling's shoulder and mutters under his breath. "Talk later."

'Ares' quickly returns to playing the crowd.

It's the boy! What is he doing here? How f**!ed are we? Is this why Hef wanted Bjorkus to fight today? Seems unlikely.

Toramin's fists unconsciously tighten in surprise.

After a minute the slavers decide to leave the death worm where it lies for the time being, directing their attention to rounding up the victorious slaves. The victors are ushered back out of the harsh desert sun and into a large room where their weapons are returned (with plenty of armed guards glaring the entire time). The injured are brought to one corner where half a dozen masked men are sitting. Bjorkus is also brought over to get the dangerous body fluids of the death worm off him. The injured slaves are low in number, but mostly because the death worm didn't leave small hits. Gabriel, Bjorkus, the knightly human, and the half-elf that handed Bjorkus the longspear are the only ones there. You have a few minutes with the healer where all damage is healed, but the 2 con damage to Gabriel is not. After that you have a few minutes to yourselves, although something will be happening rather soon.

~Stands~

As the rest of the party digests the gory ending and the appearance of Gabriel, a calm, purring voice comes from behind them. "Shame, lost your bet." Sitting in the row behind the party is Yix, casually nibbling his way through a bowl of peppers. "Next one is going to be good. More interesting in my opinion, if not as flashy."

"Left your bells at home?"

The dwarf extends a hand to shake.

~Stands~

"Cat jokes. Very original." Nonetheless he gives a slight chuckle, extending a furry hand to Toramin. "I can't imagine how hard it would be to sneak around with bells on. It would be a good challenge though." He turns to the others. "Ah the drow that has become a regular, good to see you again Aeris. Such an odd name for a dark elf. And the little halfling, how have you been?"

"Cat jokes, short jokes, we all have our burdens to bear."

Well that's an interesting turn of events. The paladin is a slave, or pretending to be... I wonder who owns him.

"What brings you to visit us so openly Yix?" he doesn't turn around but keeps watching the crowd. "Others have been named for odder things I imagine. Tell me, would you know who owns the tiefling slave that just fought?"

Gabriel frowns at the half-breeds words, but gives a brief tilt of his head to indicate that he would wait. When they were healing, he sat once more near his friend Edward, and when the healer was done he briefly inspected his friends wounds. His own seemed to have healed, but he still felt a little weak, and instead of closing perfectly as healing magic often did he was left with a very nasty scar along his chest where the creature had struck him. However, Edward hadn't been healed nearly as well by Gabriels magic as he himself had. Odd. Gabriel practiced healing others all the time, rarely using his own for fear of getting caught. Why would it work on him more? Another question to ask his teacher, Geoffrey, should he ever escape this wasted land. "Are you alright Edward? You took a hit worse then I did."

~Stands~

"So far you've been good for business, and generally make for a good chat. Let's just say you're some of my better customers." He smiles, leaning back and taking a bit of a red pepper. "Hmm, I suppose you'd be referring to the one who was healing, yes? He's not anybody I know, and I know everybody in this town. He must be one of Targ's. I wonder how that little incident is going to fare for him."

Bjorkus answers the masked healer with a grunt of gratitude.

Is the big human around or did he get dragged away? Which of the NPCs is Edward?

~Slave Pits~

One of the masked men frowns as he pokes at Gabriel's bare chest. "We do not have the power to heal this at the time. I doubt we would get the approved resources either, but I'm sure this will heal with some good rest. I wish they would tell us ahead of time what we would need to be dealing with." He gives a sigh, moving onto the half-elf.

Edward flexes his side, smiling. "Yes, apparently the poison did not catch well with me. Thank you master." He gives a polite bow of his head to the masked men, who appears a little surprised at the formal thanks despite being unable to see his facial expression. The human than turns to Bjorkus, offering a hand. "Greetings, I am Sir Edward of Baerift. That was quite a display out there."

"I was glad for the help", the bull answers with nod. "I've killed a sandworm before but never somethin' like that. Targ's a real sod. How's he gunna top a beast like that?"

"Perhaps he will be killed. Perhaps being Targ's grants him special concessions. There seem a few that stand out from the rest. Where do your bets lie?"