"Om, could you please wait until we're out of the rain if you have to pull those out? I promise I won't summon Abraxus on the way back to Saltmarsh. Could you look at them there?"
Looking at the chest and listening attentively, Stig's eyebrows wiggle and he makes a kind of smiling frown that indicates he's impressed.
"OOOOOoooo!"
He hasn't the foggiest idea what they're talking about, of course.
"Well, neighbor, looks to me like you've already been through enough today - and you hardly seem a frothing fiend fanatic for me to be worrying about. If you were evil, I suspect you would have been a bit more helpful to those raiders than to us."
Becton remains at ease, more curious than concerned over a sculpture's choice of subjects.He adds with some reassurance, "I'll trust our assistance here is enough to ask you who might this noble would be...any further concerns we'll address with him, alright?"
He is nervous, which makes sense. He doesn't seem to be lying.
"Domagel Mac-. He's commissioned the sculptures."
Know: local 10
He doesn't mess with anybody much; hes somewhat eccentric, a youngish fighter.
His mother's half elven; a Duchess or something; they moved to Saltmarsh for some reason unmentioned, about 15 years ago. He's about 25.
He isn't very personable; not untoward or rude, just keeps to his own.
He rides the countryside a lot.
Looking at the chest and listening attentively, Stig's eyebrows wiggle and he makes a kind of smiling frown that indicates he's impressed.
"OOOOOoooo!"
He hasn't the foggiest idea what they're talking about, of course.
It's nice but somewhat irritating, to see a human working stoneworks.
It's good stuff, though. Dwarf good......aaaaargh!!!
"Domagel Mac, eh? I know him... What in the infinite layers of the Abyss would he want with this? This is really nice work as well. How much did he pay you for this?" Altai looks over his soggy companions. "This could potentially be important. I say we return to Saltmarsh with this. What do you think?"
"I'm starting work on larger statuary work soon; fees are ongoing,...
I'll be working on these subject pieces for months. He has a room set aside for studio work."
Mardel: "wow. You're smarter than Mordenkainen?"Mordenkainen's intellect is flawed, the true path of arcane power is in burning one's foes to cinder, not in making a puppy out of force. Yes, I am smarter than he and my name shall be spoken in awe for as long as men live on this plane of existance.
You wouldn't happen to have a piece of lemon cake and a tall glass of meade, would you?
"I don't know about force dogs, or any of that.
I do know that Mordenkainen doesn't have to proclaim his intellect to the pillars of the Oerth. It's palpable.
And he has the best wine collection in Greyhawk. I did some statuary work for a solarium....Sueloise zigurrat gnomon,...that sort of thing."
I'm sure that to someone of your, Pardon me for saying it so frankly, limited intellect, he would seem quite intelligent. It really isn't your fault, probably some bad breeding somewhere in your lineage, but I don't really blame you for falling for someone 'pulling one over' on you. Sad really, cousins mating with cousins can often have such a.......*trails off as Riese proceeds to walk over to some of the other party members to grace them with his presence....*
"Riese," he states, "you don't know what a gnomon is. Do you."
The party turns to escort the small group of recently freed prisoners to Saltmarsh; the farmboy Cliff goes north with the halfelf.
"I'll catch up to you two in a day or two." he bids his sisters.
Harvak pauses.
"Guys, I can't sit around that house waiting for the ship. I sleep under the stars, man.
I have to go to Dreadwood anyway. See to some sticky crops about ready. Sticky crops,..."
He heads off with those two.
"I'll see you guys after a while."
The road to Saltmarsh is a muddy trudge, but at least the rain lets up after a bit.
The sculptor seems to be talking to Pharsia a lot, about nothing in particular. She seems to be perking up from her previous funk. The farmgirls do too, and the old man seems to have a bit of a skip in his step.
You reach the front gate; it's about 6:00 p.m. There's 3-4 guards milling about there; they know you by now so don't hassle you.
One of the guards, Clive, an older fellow who's more use as an eyewitness than a swordhand anymore, pipes up:
"You're back quickly, you....seven....where's Harvak? Everything allright?"
Just a rambling synopsis of the trudge back to town; anybody want to ask questions or interrupt at any time feel free...
"Harvak's fine. No need to worry about anything." Altai waves goodbye to the farmgirls and the aged reeve, before turning to the rest of the party.
Oh, the farmboy and the halfelf ranger chick left; the farmgirls and the old reeve went to Saltmarsh.
And the price of tea in China is....f%%& if I know.
Oh, they parted company in Saltmarsh,...nevermind. (brainlock--doik!)
The reeve trods off down the road, as do the two girls; they look kinda lost.
Becton eyes their uncertainty, and hopes to reassure them.
"Young misses, if you are uncertain of where to go while you wait your brother's return...we can try to make accomodations for you at the temple; perhaps some other safe haven."
The younger sister looks to the older one, who nods in agreement,
"Yes. Thankyou, father..." she bites her lip wondering if she used the right appellation. Shivers a little in the damp evening air.
The mist is coming on soon. Harbringer dewdrops crystallizing on glass windows, and chilling the mail shirts of those armored.
"It's alright, young misses, just call me Becton. Not much one for formality...let's get you something to eat and some shelter, eh?"
He does so with a reassuring grin, and broad wave towards the Saltmarsh streets.
"Seems Pelor's Highlady will be seeing us sooner than she thought," he adds with chuckle to Altai and the others.
"That would be nice, Becton."
The sculptor shrugs under the weight of his parcel. He's wipes sweat and rain from his bandage.
"Well, I thank you good gentle...folk one and all, for saving my hide, and a safe comportment to this sleepy little burg. What a charming place. Wow. I love the little stone pictli's on the rooftops."
He puts the box down; pulls out a parchment and a coal pencil from the massive scroll tube and begins sketching there in the street.
"Let's take them to the Boat," grins Altai. "Good food, good drink, good companionship. Good place."
The sculptor is sketching the pictli's, catching their unique folkart nuances; he's juddered out (HAHA! I said juddered!!!) 3 of the tiny stone gargoyles in as many minutes.
He sketches a little while, then stops:
"Well, I don't have to do it all in one night. I love it here! I can tell, allready. I can feel a change of pace from the madding pace and throngs of Greyhawk. How many folk live here? Anybody know?"
He allows himself to be led to the temple amicably. He's chatty now.
You're shown in; the doorperson goes to announce you all to the high priestess. He returns shortly.
"She is at her table, good sirs," says D'omago, an affable and portly young priest. All nods and smiles this one.
"Should you like to join her? I can show you to a changing room; you can all borrow a friar's robes, get out of all those wet togs, and girding mail."
Stig glues his ass to his stool at the Boat.
The lizard hisses a greeting at Stiggy; makes a saltatory whipcrack with his tail. The two farmgirls let out little mewling starts; cringe behind the stout Stigwold.
Kailee sees this.
"Sticktongue! Mind your manners, you rude babboon! Stiggy! Who are these wee ones?"
She turns all motherlike to the poor lasses at Stig's exploooneashon of events; sees they're fed, bathed, and off to bed.
"What're you having to tip back, stalwart?" she inquires of her sometime regular.
"Brek oot the Blue Frog if ye doorn't mind, Kailee, thank ye."
She does as you request.
A big, hard man sidles up to Stig at the bar.
"I'm Karos. Teamster. Right. Heardja talkin' bout giants in orcbloods. You kill't em. Right. Yeh, they're been gleaning that Old coast road here abouts for a while. Little inland too.
It's different. Right.
Don't they usual stick to and around Dreadwood, or Hool, those types.
Best I know, if I've been hauling this or that down Old coast road all these years."
I am, but I won't act like it....Riese is just sipping a drink and reading in the corner, keeping an eye out for the dwarf. He is starting to like this place, it is cool to go 'slumming'.....
People come in and out, in and out all the evening. A portly merchant in fine navy blue silks from far west; his fingers crowded with rings, and his entourage of six sit around a table near Riese. They converse in whispered bursts, in an unfamiliar tongue.
Three rhenee bravoes enter; they too cloister to themselves in the back, drinking warmed wine.
A buxom barmaid tries chatting up Riese a few times. He's a strapping lad after all, and gold jingles in his pocket. *sigh* she plays at swooning for naught.
Two seasalts come bruskly into the establishment. Everybody pauses and looks; there's an excited fervor to their movements. They pause as if suddenly embarrassed, as eyes are to them.
"All that's holy, Kailee! Oh, sweet whiskey, please, good girl! By th' bottle.
They both start filling shots; imbibing; clinkily filling, imbibing, give up the inefficient snifters, start hitting the whiskey, passing, hitting passing; trading nervous murmurs. "Give up the life of the sea..."
"Aye, or tis the death to you and me."
"Ala ka zam--I'm a farmer!"
"Truer never said, By Pelee."
Mardel: "wow. You're smarter than Mordenkainen?"Mordenkainen's intellect is flawed, the true path of arcane power is in burning one's foes to cinder, not in making a puppy out of force. Yes, I am smarter than he and my name shall be spoken in awe for as long as men live on this plane of existance.
You wouldn't happen to have a piece of lemon cake and a tall glass of meade, would you?
"I don't know about force dogs, or any of that.
I do know that Mordenkainen doesn't have to proclaim his intellect to the pillars of the Oerth. It's palpable.
And he has the best wine collection in Greyhawk. I did some statuary work for a solarium....Sueloise zigurrat gnomon,...that sort of thing."I'm sure that to someone of your, Pardon me for saying it so frankly, limited intellect, he would seem quite intelligent. It really isn't your fault, probably some bad breeding somewhere in your lineage, but I don't really blame you for falling for someone 'pulling one over' on you. Sad really, cousins mating with cousins can often have such a.......*trails off as Riese proceeds to walk over to some of the other party members to grace them with his presence....*
“Wow Riese, you’re smarter than Mordenkainen. Wow man, that’s impressive – no, I’m serious, I heard that guy was really smart … wow. Say,” straight faced, “we should find him, and you two can have like a battle of wits – to the death! Your fire magic versus his force puppies. You’d kick ass!”
He glances at the wizard to see if he’s getting reaction, and wonders why the man is smiling serenely and looking at something ahead on the road. Beldan follows his gaze. “Hey … is that sculptor guy chatting up my girl?!” – he hurries off.
Later, at the Boat, Beldan promises to spend gold to hire Pharsia a nice room with a warm bed and a fireplace for the evening … and then a horse or pony for the ride back to the Manor.
He then sets about getting rather drunk.
"Who Mordenkainen? Him dumber than Iron Rabbit S%#&?"
"No f&+#ing way he's smarter than Mordenkainen. Nobody's smarter than than the archmage of Greyhawk." Altai looks (rather drunkenly) up from his numerous cups at the Lizard's Boat. "Mordenkainen's the originator of a great number of spells, as well as how we think of magic these days. The man's a freakin' genius. I, um... I am... I... let's go talk to the high priestess... She'll know what to do."
“Wow Riese, you’re smarter than Mordenkainen. Wow man, that’s impressive – no, I’m serious, I heard that guy was really smart … wow. Say,” straight faced, “we should find him, and you two can have like a battle of wits – to the death! Your fire magic versus his force puppies. You’d kick ass!”He glances at the wizard to see if he’s getting reaction, and wonders why the man is smiling serenely and looking at something ahead on the road. Beldan follows his gaze. “Hey … is that sculptor guy chatting up my girl?!” – he hurries off.
Beldan, please try to keep up and think about what you are hearing. I never said my arcane might was greater than his. I am merely smarter than him and, given a like amount of time and research, my powers WILL far exceed his simply due to me being of finer genetic makeup and a better natural affinity for the arcane mysteries. Also I am no murderer, so to kill him just to prove some childish 'mine is bigger than yours' competition is not something I would be looking to accomplish. Really, you seemed like a much more intelligent person, although I am constantly amazed by how much people seem to fall when under scrutiny. I suppose I need to expect less of people who are lesser in...... *trails off*
In a loud drunken voice: "Mordenkainen, gah! A' fowk in the Flaeness knows Tenser tae be th' greatest ay th' wizards. Right boy?"
"Rie!"
being an incoherent drunk; it kinda reflects my current RL state of mind... We'll chat a bit with Her Holiness beore deciding what to do next.[/ooc]
that's cool; we can just retcon that bit; she was busy so she'll see you all in the morning.
Mardel shows up at the boat after a few hours; dropping his samples off at the mansion where he's working;
"I obtained a small bag of gold from my principals, good fellows, and everybody seems to know you all in this town and that you haunt the Lizard's Boat more often than not.
Ergo, I've brought this" he clanks a bag of money on the counter, "you all saved my miserable life, so the least I can do is get you all drunk for a month."
He gets a bottle of wine, and some food.
The two salts now have a bottle of whiskey each;
"aye, ne'er again for the sea for me!!! Ne'er again!"
In a loud drunken voice: "Mordenkainen, gah! A' fowk in the Flaeness knows Tenser tae be th' greatest ay th' wizards. Right boy?"
The Sculptor:
"Oh, no. You're still on about that?Tenser? He wears stripes with plaids. He barely knows how to dress himself in the morning.
Riese, (he pronounces it Reese like Witherspoon, or peanutbutter cups)
if you're smarter than Mordy, how many spells do you have? Mordy's sword?...Mordy's Mansion....Mordy's Lubrication..."
wow it's an internet geekfight in-game!!!
Why would one such as myself learn his spells? Also, dear thick menial laborer, please pay attention... I already stated that I am not as powerful as him yet, but that with my obviously superior intellect and a like amount of time and study as what he has gotten, that I shall far surpass any achievements which are his to note. Now please, do not further lower my opinion of your obviously stunted intellect and try to either focus upon the words I speak to actually grasp their meaning or just 'mosey along' as your type is wont to do.
I shall not try to engage in intelligent rapport with one so ill equipped to respond as you any further.
Good day, carver.
"I am now the smartest person you all know! As if there was ever a doubt to THAT claim. If only you knew how blessed you are to know......" *trails off.
"I know exactly what you said. I was born with the power of memory of instant recall.
You said that you are the smartest person we all know. Intellect being such an ethereal, unquantifiable entity, (metagamingly ironic aint he) you further went on to try and wheedle around about your initial statement.Now, you are trying to hurl personal insults ad hominem, which I won't respond to, since your position is logically indefensible, and so I'd probably have a better chance at an actual rational debate with a troll under a bridge. I am hardly a carver. That's like calling a purple worm fishbait."
edit--I was trying to remember the word(s) "ad hominem" from 4e argle bargles...
After watching the exchange between Riese and Martek for a while, Altai decides that he might just as well go to bed. "Where are you staying, Martek? We'll go talk to the high priestess tomorrow morning."
"It's Mardel. (dungeonmaster's laughing; the sculptor's a little snitty...) IDK; I'll prolly go back to teh duchess' manse, if I don't pass out here."
One of the whiskeydrinking salts, now bolstered with liquid courage, ambles up to Altai.
"Begging yore pairdon sorr,..." he looks around; "I hear you're a wizard,....d'ye have any magickry as will clean away th' drownin look from a poor salt? I'm worried o' my demise on the matter..."
"Sorry 'bout that, Mardel. Passing out here's not a bad option, actually. I do that all the time. Hell, I'll get you a room here. See you tomorrow. Before I wander off, what is in the tube?"
"Um, the drowning look? I'm a little confused here - is it a curse of some sort?"
"Willy Walleye,...he...we caught him accidental like in our nets this day...
He puit th' drownin' look on us, and with his woodoo wand made wee Poloy jump in the drink to his watree dooim!
He told Poloy "dive!" and is just what he did!
An he looks at us and says 'Willy Walleye puits the drownin look on you with his baleful winker!!!' and jumps in the drink with poor Poloy.
Ah, th drownin look,....some's got th' hangin look, and that's how their fate will play.
Drownin look, no, you can't bathe even, ever again. Drownin's how you'll go!"
He's kinda f!~%ed up and babbling at this point.
"D'ye have a countermeasure, ginta drownin look?"
Having made his polite entreaties for an audience at the temple - with an audience expected tomorrow, Becton's probably the last to make it back to the Lizard Boat. Paranoia has set in a little - after the run in with the still missing Anderhoff brother - so he does a preliminary scan outside before heading in.
Spot (1d20+4=16) "Watch commander would be proud," he chuckles thinking of his days on the Geoff border.
"Thanks for looking after the young ladies, Stig - drink on me, eh?"
The cold has started to sink in, so he asks for a few shots of brandy and something to eat to get him settled. He listens off-handed to Riese and Mardel's discussion, but is curious as to what the sailors are jawin' about with Altai.
"Hie, Pater Pelorius...Becton; uh...forgive a drink,,...
(he's scared that the priest is here to pummel him and drag him home for being a lush)
Willy Walleye, we cart him in our nets. I thin we killt him draggin him in the nets loik, but that dinna stop him off of pewtin that woodoo on us! He pewta th' drownin' look on us, Farther.
We cannot fish! We'll met our doom in th' drink for sure! He said as much. He woodooed pore Polloy into th' drink, he did!"
"He were loike a man, were Willy Walleye. Except he had a head moreso like unto a fish, with fins for ears, and a mouth loik a seabass. And that's (gasp) what he said his name were, and then he pointed his dead fishy left eye at my heart, and said as plain as day, 'I put th' drownin' look to yer fer killin' Willy Walleye in your net!' We drug him to death, and didn't know it! Oh, we're doomed!"
The knowledge check comes up blank.
Oh, and walleye was this kinda fish my grandfather used to catch up in Minnesota, along with pike and muskellunge.