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These items have a strong divination aura and closely examining them reveals the name of whichever demon purposefully left it behind. Whatever this was doing on the Isle of Dread, Gado can only guess at.
TERRONATHORAXIUS
Gado is shocked as the name inscribes itself in his mind.
"Terronath..." the wizard begins to mumble, unaware of what he is doing, until the lucerne hammer's backswing smashes the air from his lungs at just the right time.
Still, Gado is unable to get the name out of his mind.
After Wandering the streets of the city of monuments for what to her seemed far to long, she hears a loud shriek, and rushes in to see what happened. "I hope no one is hurt, Sebastian. It would be a true tragedy if someone were to have dies today. Treasure of the eye? By Nerhys, that sounds interesting. I wonder who this Captain Barbarossa might be?"
The stoat doesn't answer, but she seems unaware as she wanders in by the guard, not paying attention to his requests for the gate price.
"Oh, so interesting this place is. What is that, Sebastian?
Why, is that the symbol of Aroden, the last Azlanti? I heard rumors that he walked again."
"Oh, but where are my manners,"[/b] he says suddenly, giving Ciarán his full attention with his kind, blue eyes, "Lord Pellius Krinst, at your service. If you don't mind my saying, you look a little out of place at an exhibition like this. I'd wager a man like you would rather spend his five silver much more... wisely... than on a chance to ogle gewgaws and the like. Perhaps it is adventure that you crave, or some of this wealth for your own?"
Ciaran bristles slightly. "I am no thief, Lord Krinst. Everything I've ever had, I've earned for myself with sweat or blood or both. These gewgaws are pretty enough, but I'd kiss Asmodeus' ruby headed rod before I'd steal them.
"My name is Ciaran. I am from Mendev originally," one hand clenches compulsively. "From Sarkorian stock. I have been trained since 14 in a range of weapons, both civilian and military. I am familiar with mail and the lighter armours, and with shields. I fought in the Goblinblood Wars at the age of 15, and claimed a score and a half of scalps, and I've been soldier, mercenary and bodyguard for a dozen lords and conflicts since. I know when to keep my mouth shut, and when wits are a better weapon than blades. No just man has ever had cause to dismiss me before the job is done. If by life or death I can serve, I will serve until the job is done.
"I have come here seeking employment. With Captain Barbarosa, or with you, if my lord has need of my service."
Ciaran plants his feet firmly on the marble floor and his hands on the handles of the blades sheathed at his hips, and stares down at the older man proudly.
The blow shocks Gado, and for a split second he wonders if the weapon might tear through his spine. Sprawling on the floor, he stares up at the blinking lights that pepper his vision.
Inside his mind, the name echos, Terronathoraxius... Terronathoraxius... and in his daze, it suddenly clicks what speaking the name out loud would do. The din of the crowd noise slowly creeps back into his consciousness, and his mind makes the connection of the consequences of that action.
"Its terrible and awful! You must take it out of here at once! Where do I find the captain in charge of this place, he must be told!"
Gado scrambles to his feet, using the pant leg and coat of the bearded, gold-toothed man for support to pull himself up off the floor.
He turns to face the oily haired man swinging the hammer about. "I didn't believe I would ever thank someone for hitting me with a weapon, but thank you! You've saved us all from a terrible fate that I nearly stumbled into... I fear the next sap who stares into that stone won't be so lucky... Get it out of here, cover it up!"
Gado flails his arms frantically as he looks around the crowd for somebody familiar, too lost in his worry to realize he has no idea what Captain Barbarosa looks like.
"You're a day late actually... but then again, so's this expedition... and I wasn't exactly reachable yesterday. Answer me this, and you're in: Which of Aroden's guises would you wear, if you were required to pick just one?"
Bazsil's jaw tightens as something occurs to him from the man's response. Baz smirks knowingly at the realization.
Oh Good Grim, I'm not too late. The position is still open.
"I would not choose just one. For a man such as myself, I am never limited to just one," Baz smirks unctuously. "I have made the trip to Westcrown to see carvings along the canal of the Canaroden myself, good Capt'n Barbarosa."
Baz puts his arms out, reenacting each of the statues in turn.
"I would be your beggar, even as you see me now," Bazsil puts his hands together as if pleading for alms.
"Should you need a thief, I would skulk," Baz pantomimes quiet walking with large, overstated steps.
"I am already a skilled fisherman and that 'guise' would keep me fed should that be needed," Baz says in a moment of sobriety and honesty.
"Would you need a hunter, I would hunt. With this hammer I have trained much," Baz offers a few swings of his hammer to either side of the Captain.
"Shepherd? My eyes are like the kingfishers, and no wolves would find your flock," Baz holds his hammer as if it were a shepherd's crook.
"Farmer? I am strong and work long hours, should it be needed," and with a gesture, Baz's shepherd's crook (nee hammer) becomes a hoe to till the land.
"Are we going to war? Then the soldier that I am ready for duty!" Baz shouts and offers a sharp salute, his hammer in as erect a posture as his own.
"Would you give me your goods and have me sell them? Aye, I am a fine merchant," Baz jingles his own coinpurse to show his wealth.
Bazsil crestfalls for 3 pantomimes. "But I will to lie to you, I am no tailor, nor craftsman, nor artist...except with my weapons," Baz again cuts through the air with his lucerne hammer.
"But I am a scholar, that is for sure. I know Aroden and the study of man," Bazsil bows his head, having proven his point.
Sumaru drew another arrow even before her first had hit home, but the bird sank into the floor before she could loose it. Sumaru walked up to the hole in the floor, ears tingling with readiness, but by the time she was there the doors of the trap door head already been closed.
"My apologies, great winged one," the guide muttered. "That you remain caged. I will try harder next time." Then, satisfied that the danger had passed, she replaced her bow and her arrow into her quiver.
Between the bloodspray on the floor and the exhibits overturned in the crowd's mad rush, the exhibition hall was quickly becoming a shambles. Across the room she saw a guard take down a looter before he could steal a large gemstone -- exactly the kind of opportunistic greed she expected from Avistani.
In the back of the hall preserved animal remains were displayed. Heads and skins and bones barbarically tacked up and propped open, or stuffed with sawdust in a bizarre semblance of life. Sumaru walked over to that corner and gaped at the travesty that had been made of the mighty beasts.
There was a shaggy grey pelt she had never seen before, and near that a thighbone as big around as her head. And then a glass case with assorted snake skins, ranging in color from dull green to bright blue. Sumaru shook her head at these in disbelief.
Sumaru's head snapped up as she heard someone address "Capt'n Barbarosa". A short distance away a large man with oily black hair explained to the captain that though he was a lowly thief and farmer, he aspired to be a merchant, despite being unable to craft goods of any kind. She bared her teeth in annoyance at the sort of men she was throwing in with, and walked towards the captain, hoping he would see the expression as a smile.
The crisp air of the tropopause flits through the fine hair of Barley as he is glad for the fringe of his particular breed of highland yak. Behind him, his best friend is yammering on about something called 'Magnimar', but Barley doesn't care. He just likes to see the world with his best friend.
"Mooo...." he bellows at the gargantuan bird flying them through the sky at the bequest of that nice old man with the wonderful nuts in his pocket.
He turns his head and sees the pair coming towards Barley. His best friend hands the man some shiny gold things before the yak feels the dwarf hop onto the leather thing strapped to his back.
"Moo..." Barley says warmly before a giant yank pulls him off the back of the bird.
"Yeehaw!" the dwarf yells as he and Barley begin to plummet towards the ground.
The dwarf's braided beard and hair flail in the wind as the pair looks to crash into a field far below them, but the stout man has a trick up his sleeve. He pulls the bit of silk rope attached to the big pack on the back of Barley.
A giant canvas of every color erupts from the pack and catches the pair, sending them gliding towards a large city in front of them.
Why, is that the symbol of Aroden, the last Azlanti? I heard rumors that he walked again."
Aeslin recalls that calamity struck one Lord-Mayor of Magnimar when he ordered the building of monuments within Magnimar by reaping building materials from the Irespan - the Thassilonian bridge that stretches some 400ft from the Seacleft. Among other buildings, he built the Arvensoar, Magnimar's tallest building and home of its military. When it was completed, calamity struck Magnimar in the form of the marauding, spidery shriezyx who came from beneath the irespan. Cailyn and Romre Vanderale, the Twin Wizards defeated the shriezyx, but ever since, quarrying stone from the Irespan has been illegal.
---
Aroden has indeed recently been reborn, and joined the Pathfinder Society to 'better discover himself'. Apparently, though he knows for sure that he is indeed Aroden, he has gaps in his memory and must discover more about himself - just like any mortal must do.
Despite being intertwined with Aroden's fate, Magnimar primarily worships the goodly Empyreal Lords, primarily due to the appearance of the famous Angel of Arvensoar (who was seen by their founder, Alcaydian Indros as a sign that he should indeed settle in Magnimar under these ruins of ancient Thassilon).
---
"I am no thief, Lord Krinst..."
"My dear boy, we have a misunderstanding on our hands," begins Lord Krinst, holding his hands up disarmingly, "I did not mean to insinuate such a thing. I thought perhaps you would like similar items of value, also from the Isle. It seems as though you've a mind to travel there in any case! I'm sure I could use a strong man like you, but Captain Barbarosa will no doubt make you a better offer. He's at the back of the Hall, if I don't miss my guess. A pleasure to meet you, Ciarán from Mendev."
"... I fear the next sap who stares into that stone won't be so lucky... Get it out of here, cover it up!" ...
"Oh my," Lord Krinst regards the situation nearby, "I'd best sort this out. Fare the well, Ciarán from Mendev."
Lord Pellius Krinst approaches a nearby guard, says something to him and the guard immediately rushes forwards and stands watch over the display cabinet. Moments later, Krinst appears with a curator and has the case unlocked. He drapes his own cloak over the item and the curator carries it carefully away.
The confused and frazzled Gado, looks around for Captain Barbarosa but all he sees is the calm face of Lord Krinst.
"Well, thank you for saving us all," begins Lord Krinst, "My name is Lord Pellius Krinst. I could sure use a smart and wolrdly man like yourself, but Captain Barbarosa will no doubt make you a better offer. He's at the back of the Hall, if I don't miss my guess. A pleasure to meet you, mister...?"
Sumaru walks slowly past a stuffed saber-toothed tiger. Its jaws and teeth are far larger than any she has seen or heard of in the Inner Sea.
The teeth are, in fact, too large to be very practical. That beast must have a very hard time eating, at least as far as she can tell.
She looks closer at a strange, rat-like creature also. The position it is in would be very difficult for a taxidermist to manage... in fact, its eyes do not glisten like glass: they are real eyes. The creature is either being held in suspended animation, or something else very odd is going on here.
---
At the back of the hall, Captain Barbarosa runs a hand through his beard as he contemplates Bazsil's answer. He grins broadly, showing his teeth both new and old. "So, you reject my question and then proceed to tell me you aren't up to the task of fulfilling your own revised question? Ha! Balls and modesty. I like it. Well, you're hired then. Welcome aboard."
As Sumaru stares at Barbarosa and the man he is talking to, she is approached by an elderly noble. "Lord Pellius Krinst, at your service," he says warmly, "That's a keen eye for nature you have there. I could sure use a woman with a love for the natural world like yourself, but Captain Barbarosa will no doubt make you a better offer. He's at the back of the Hall, if I don't miss my guess. A pleasure to meet you, miss...?"
Meanwhile, farther afield, a favorable wind carries Elon Steelkeg and his best friend Barley the Yak ever closer to the city's streets. They are able to observe much from their lofty position. The spire that is the relatively recently erected Arvensoar can best seen from this angle. The floating dwarf notes that the Arvensoar seems to be made from the same materials that the incredibly ancient Irespan - the remains of an ancient Thasillonian bridge that seems to reach out for distant lands. How that could possibly be the case, Elon can only guess at.
"So, you reject my question and then proceed to tell me you aren't up to the task of fulfilling your own revised question?"
Bazsil initially response with shock, a sour-graped sneer coming up on his face.
This Captain is an idiot! I did not say I was *all* of them...just more than one! This lummoxed brained foo---
"Ha! Balls and modesty. I like it. Well, you're hired then. Welcome aboard."
...what!? I'm still hired!?!
Baz's sneer turns into an oily smile, he reaches out to offer Captain Barbosa a forearm handshake.
"You'll be glad to have me," Baz coos back, pleased to have purpose and adventure in the offing. "I assume you are busy," Bas gives a polite smile to the 'smiling' woman who interrupted them. "I shall pursue the exhibits to acquaint myself with what we can expect. Excuse me."
Baz brushes past Sumaru with a cocky and very self-satisfied smile.
Me? Save everyone? heh. I guess I did. Gado smiles with satisfaction at the unexpected compliment.
"Ahh. Gado. Gado Falko. A pleasure to meet you as well sir." He says, straightening his robes and smoothing the wrinkles with his hands before extending one in a customary greeting.
uhh... did he just say Barbarosa would make me an offer? Oh man... I guess that means I did it... didn't I? Gado looks behind him, giving a half-hearted smile and thumbs up to the meathead he spoke with earlier.
"Ah, yes. Excellent." Gado does his best to hide his stammering and trepidation. "I will make my way back there and introduce myself. That is exactly what I was hoping for. When I came here. To sign up with Captain Barbarosa. Yes. A pleasure to meet you good sir, I suppose I should head back there. Wouldn't want the next expedition to go bad because someone accidentally releases an imprisoned demon from the abyssal plane. Ha!" He laughs, covering his nervousness with awkward laughter. A few more bows and one last handshake, and Gado nervously walks towards where the captain stands.
Ciaran grunts, somewhat mollified, and, when Krinst fled to deal with the mirror, made his way to the back of the Hall. He couldn't help but wonder what Krinst's role was in this - he didn't sound like he was associated with Barbarosa, but he was clearly plying some kind of line here.
Ciaran arrives at the back of the Hall just in time to see a man who must be Barbarosa congratulating an insipid little oik on being hired. He brushes past with a smile like an overly pampered cat, and Ciaran briefly entertains the thought of tripping him as he oozes past. No need to be too argumentative.
Ciaran approaches Barbarosa perpendicular to Sumaru's line of approach, and patiently waits his turn to make his pitch to the Captain. So much theatricality is exuded by Barbarosa, a tiny smile edges from one corner of Ciaran's mouth.
"I can't sing. I can't dance. I can handle a sword a little..."
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From amidst the shifting crowd the halfling watches eagerly as the elderly man in the naval uniform converses with a man sporting decadent, dark curls. As a congratulations is offered up to the stranger, Wrigley watches as a veritable line appears to be developing on approach to the captain. Order awkwardly forming amidst the chaos of the crowd.
Close by, he can seem what appears to be a sad man, perhaps overcompensating and blustering with a tough show of clout. As Wrigley looks on, he can see each of the others patiently waiting for their turns to speak to the uniformed man, complete with gold teeth glinting randomly throughout his words.
These appear to all be strapping and well prepared individuals. Perhaps, he thinks to himself, starting to pluck at the strings of his lute with a bit more vigor. They could use a little confidence. Wrigley positions himself close enough that the wafting sound of stringed music will carry through the gathering crowd, intermingling with each of their conversations with the captain, and lacing their tones with purpose and courage. As his nimble fingers pluck at the string ever faster, his head involuntarily looks down at the floor as his mind is lost in concentration, and he hopes he will remain visibly unnoticed while his music underscores the scene.
With a beautiful soundtrack playing in the background, the future members of Barbarosa's second expedition to the Isle of Dread meet and greet the captain. He is friendly and enthusiastic, glad to be having these respective paragons of their profession along. However, the man is anxious to begin his speech and does not allow too many questions, saying instead, "An excellent train of thought, and one that must be followed at a later time, I'm afraid! Soon, yes, but not now. Stick around, this should be... spectacular!"
Baszil, having secured his position, begins now to enjoy the exhibit. He takes his time to peruse the offering, ignoring much of the gold and jewelry and focusing on the stuff that intrigues him: items of human lore.
He is taken by the weaponry, ignoring the spear he previously noted and looks at a particularly archaic longsword. The long, long hilt was of particular note. The carved hilt depicts two men climbing a palm tree (on either side of the blade) to tap some palm wine (center on the hilt) for a well-deserved drink at the end of the day. Baszil notes a gourd hanging from the branches towards the top of the tree and another one standing at the base of the tree.
Bazsil surmises that the gourd that is hanging at the top would have been placed there for some time and it would be collecting the wine from the tree drop by drop. The men then climb up, remove the full gourd and replace it with an empty one to tap more wine. Drinking palm wine at the end of a hard day’s work is a very typical scene, he guesses.
But why would they carve that into a hilt? It's too long, isn't it?
Know (Local)
The hilt is indeed too long. In fact, it seems to have been lengthened specifically to allow for this carving to be placed upon it. The sword itself is also of a technology level not consistent with the rest of the weapons found here. Steel should be beyond what these natives are able to accomplish. Bazsil looks closer, and he is no longer entirely certain that the creatures depicted are even men at all. Apes, perhaps? What he had thought was a cloak or loose clothing may even be a skin flap between the arm and leg... but, no, that's not right for any humanoid race that he's familiar with.
"Blasted thing! How d'ya get it to turn?" the dwarf yells in frustration as he tries to pilot the parachute, pulling on various cords coming from the pack attached to Barley.
"First, we gotta land and then we gotta find this Captain Barbacoa." the dwarf recalls the order of his two priorities. "But, we still gotta land!"
"Mooo..." replies Barley as he sees a giant, hulking building in front of them. He tries to get the attention of his best friend, but he seems busy with other things, so Barley just closes his eyes as the stained glass archway gets closer and closer.
Before he does so, he notices the large crowd beneath him. Moo...
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With arms spread wide, the grey-haired and vital Captain Barbarosa steps through the enormous sharp-toothed jaws and onto the platform. To most, he is but a showman. Some, though, see him as little more than a gussied up pirate. All, however are anxious to hear what he has to say. He smiles a flashy grin and bows. The audience erupts into applause.
"Friends, acquaintances, strangers and my most hated enemies - for I'm sure you have all found your way here - welcome to the Hall of Wonders' most glorious exhibit ever: the marvels of the Isle of Dread," Barbarosa gestures around himself at the exhibits, and the crowd claps raucously once more, "And would you look at the size of these jaws? They are the jaws of the mighty Megalodon! While this creature is not new to Golarion, none has ever been seen with a mouth this big. Why, were it not for our expert harpooners, the beast would have torn through our ship before we ever made landfall."
All eyes turn to the massive jaws and the large, triangular teeth within. And this is when it all falls apart.
Shattered glass rains down upon the crowd. People shove each other aside in an effort to clear it. A strange, unkempt dwarf and a form of hairy bovine - is that a yak? - explode through the stained glass ceiling attached to some kind of loose, thin fabric by a series of thin ropes. All eyes are on the pair as they brush themselves off. Amazingly, no-one is so much as scratched by the vast amount of colorful glass that now coats the ground.
By the time the audience turns its attention back to the stage, it is too late. A man with a thick cloak, features obscured by shadow, stands behind Captain Barbarosa. The man's sword protrudes directly through the elderly captain's chest, and blood covers the platform upon which they stand. The limp body of the captain slides from the blade and falls to the floor, quite dead.
Shocked silence follows. Suddenly, the team of specialists who have yet to meet properly become aware that the cloaked figure is fleeing out a back entrance and onto the streets of Magnimar. Thus far, guards and other onlookers have been too stunned to react.
Only eight patrons of the Hall of Wonders - as well as a yak, a raven and a weasel - have the wits to give chase. They form a subconscious bond in this time of crisis. Adrenaline pumps through their veins as they run madly after the killer of their future expedition leader. After a mad dash through the streets to where the Capitol District borders the Bridgeward, they see the cloaked figure enter a warehouse and slam the door behind himself. Quickly sizing up the building, the eight pursuers note that the main door is the only obvious way in and all the windows are boarded up.
Shit! I suppose the bodyguard position is off the table...
Gado looks on in horror at the murder commited in front of him. He doesn't even register that he didn't really want to go on the trip to begin with. His mind is already in the mode of being hired, and avoiding the inevitable torture at the hands of the mistress. And if the cloaked assassin is going to prevent him from getting hired, then he will at least have something to say about it.
Adrenaline courses through the academic's veins as he runs through the streets, causing an uncomfortable mix of excitement and terror as he runs along with the 7 others. Koney caws from high in the sky, imparting empathic messages and helping to guide the group as they chase the cloaked figure. As the group slows down to inspect the door and weigh their options, Gado waves a strip of leather in the air, and a shimmering field appears around him for an instant before vanishing.
With a flutter of wings, the jet black raven lands on Gado's head with an ungraceful thud. Annoyed, Gado brushes his feathers smooth quickly while simultaneously casting message on the bird.
"Oes yna ffordd arall i mewn?" Gado says before assisting the bird in a lift-off from its perch on his head.
Koney lets out a screech as he lifts off into the air again, circling the building from a comfortable height above it, whispering his thoughts, both relevant and non-relevant as he circles.
Bazsil yells as he fights through the throng, trying to pursue the assassin. Finally, he resorts to a few simple flips and jumps, along with using his hammer as a cowcatch to move people out of the way so he might pursue.
Acrobatics
Acrobatics
He doesn't consider anyone else to be with him, as he gets to the doorway first. His anger lends him speed to run and energy to burn. He slams his shoulder into the door...
Str check
...and grunts with annoyance. He reaches into his backpack and draws out his trusty crowbar, he puts that between door and frame and heaves...
Str check (crowbar).
Koney swoops over the warehouse circling high above, searching for an alternative way in. Seconds later, a whisper comes back in reply.
"Ceir ffenestr do, ond mae'n fudr iawn ac ni allaf weld i mewn. Gallech wneud yr hyn a wnaeth y creadur barfog fer gyda'i fuwch a neidio drwyddo," everyone hears a softly spoken, strange sentence in a raven's cawing voice.
Bazsil tries very hard to bust open the door frame with his crowbar, but it is of exceptionally sturdy construction. Suspiciously sturdy construction. Perhaps just one more person aiding him might do the trick...
... or someone could always check to see if the door was locked behind the assailant.
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A short ways behind the group clustered outside the warehouse the halfling comes to an ungraceful stop, his feet thudding heavily against the street as if he cannot maintain control of legs through the exhaustion. Wrigley doubles over, his hands planted firmly on his knees, while his lungs cough and sputter ragged breaths of air. Craning his neck up, he can see the group of strangers gathered around the door and the disrepair of the derelict, boarded up windows. His eyes next take in the action of the man with beautiful, decadent locks, prying at the door.
Without thinking twice, Wrigley knows there is trouble afoot and prepares for battle by tugging at the device strapped to his back, hauling it around in one quick motion, and clutching the lute firmly in hand.
The Kellish woman looks at the mayhem, and then turns to the weasel in her handbag. "Would you look at all of this, Sebastian? Such turmoil. Oh, I why that man would kill that other man?"
"Squeek, squeek, SQUEEK?"
"Truly spoken, Sebastian. There might be others hiding around here. Would you mind giving me some help, my friend?" She starts speaking in an arcane voice, symbols first swirling around here eyes, then fading.
"Oh, look at that big burley man try to bash his way through the door! Maybe he needs a little help?" She moves close, seemingly unaware of the chaos around here.
"Young man, could you use a hand?"
Twelve hours lashed by a thunderstorm so I can inhale Gozreh's words.
Sumaru lopes through the city after the cloaked figure. She has not his speed, but a wise hunter outlasts, rather than outruns her prey.
Three days of meditation without sleep or food to interpret their meaning.
Others run with her...the curly-haired man farthest ahead, a winded halfling farthest behind. She assumes these are the ones she was to guide on Barbosa's behalf.
Four weeks onboard ship to travel to this miserable continent.
She wonders who they are, and why they are here. Are they heretics like Barbosa, meddling in affairs best left alone?
One day of wandering these accursed city streets in search of the Barbosa.
Treasure hunters? Scholars? Innocents? Slavers? Who did Barbosa draw to him?
All for a plummeting yak to shower me with rainbow glass so that I take my eyes off of him for three seconds...and it's all for nothing.
Whatever we were...now we are his avengers. Sumaru grimaces at the irony, as she arrives at the warehouse where the assassin hides. While one burly man tries to break open the door with a crowbar, a bird reports to the jewel-thief. Sumaru cocks her head and listens, then studies the warehouse.
Ignoring Gado completely, Sumaru turns to the raven.
"Mae'n debyg y gallwn i ddringo, ychydig iawn o un, gan ennill ffafriol yn well oddi uchod. Ydych chi'n siŵr na all ddianc rhyw ffordd arall?"
Ciaran arrives, hot on Aeslin's heels and ruing both his hangover and weeks of poor living. He can feel the alcohol sweating out him, and the urge to cough like a claw around his throat. Angrily, he thrusts both aside.
No weakness...
Seeing Bazsil wrestling with a crowbar at the door, Ciaran politely but firmly moves Aeslin aside, and lends his weight to the bar.
"I think that was our employer, Barley!" the dwarf squawks out as he sees the body slump to the floor. He hops up and dusts off his tunic as the yak stands on his own.
The man flees the scene as Elon leaps onto the back of his trusted yakvisor and spurs him into motion. "After him, Barley!"
The yak sees his best friend point to some man in black clothes running around and Barley decides to follow him.
"Mooo...." the yak hollers as they give chase, deciding it is fun to random run after people. The yak stops suddenly when he sees the man go into a large building and close a door.
He looks around, his shaggy fur blowing in the breeze, and see several others that had followed the man too.
"Moo...?"
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"Out of the way, I'll break down the door!" the dwarf yells to everyone as he gets ready to barge into it after dismounting from Barley. His glance catches the beauty of Aeslin mid-charge however.
Stopping immediately, he turns to the woman, trying to adopt a suave manner. "Hey, name's Elon. Where're you from, Varisia?" he says with a wink.
"Varisia?" she sputters. "This land of barbarians and thieves? You must truly be confused, dwarf, for I am from a civilized land... with civilized weather. Where dwarves and yaks do not fall from the skies. I shall forgive you, as I know you come from deep mines and have most likely only rarely seen the sun in the sky or breathed in clear, fresh air... And I do not mean this stifling humid air they have up here! My word, it curls the hair!"
From deep within the lady's handbag, a low grumbling can be heard. A slight musky aroma seeps out, and two black, needy eyes peer out, as Aeslin's constant companion and teacher, Sebastian, stares out,mr easy to leap at the dwarf who has invaded his companion's space so rudely.
Not dissuaded, Elon shrugs. "I dig it." he says with a wink.
Barley sees the woman's discomfort as he trundles over and lifts his best friend up by the scruff of his tunic, dragging him away from the poor woman.
As Barley takes the dwarf away, Elon puts his thumb to his ear and extends his pinky as he mouths. Send me sometime.
The yak roughly drops him next to the other guys who are actually doing something as Elon dusts himself off. "So it seems we have a situation here. Had one of these back in the Mwangi. Have we tried knocking?" he asks the group.
Elon suggests knocking just as Ciarán lends his strength to the crowbar. With a screech and a crack of boards the door is flung wide open. Both Ciarán and Bazsil are surprised to note that the plain-looking wooden double-doors were reinforced with steel.
The specialists see a rather sparsely loaded warehouse. Despite the grime, light manages to stream in from the sky-light above, giving the group a good view of the building's contents. The crates and barrels here are kept in more of a haphazard fashion than one would expect. A table behind a hastily erected barricade of sacks and crates seems to have a day-old meal still sitting upon it. The rear of the warehouse is rife with piled barrels, crates and just detritus. Above this mess is a raised platform and a two-windowed office. Stairs to the left of the warehouse lead up to the platform.
As Bazsil and Ciarán blast through the door, they see the man cloaked in shadows and drenched in blood making for the stairs up to the next level. From the shadows behind a series of barrels and other goods, a cowled crossbowman fires off a bolt that thuds into frame of the entryway and thrums loudly. He curses and ducks back behind the barrel, reloading. A woman in a daring cut of light armor - armor that looks more like a teenage fantasy than actual protection - wielding twin curved blades makes to advance from the other side of the room. In the center of the room, an axe-wielding dwarven maniac laughs and begins to twirl his blade. From the back, just underneath the platform, a small lizard-like figure - a kobold perhaps? - can be seen mewling and whistling the words to a spell.
"My friends," says the cloaked figure in a deep resonant voice as he puts his first foot on the stairs, "These are my pursuers. See that they don't make it up to my office. I am not to be disturbed."
Unwilling to let the murderer escape, Ciaran charges across the room to the cowled man, unslinging his sword as he goes. Spattered with the blood of Barbarosa, and judging by his companions, he does not seem to be a pleasant man.
Ciaran feels the familiar anger and frustration come upon him, heightened by weeks of self-disgust and failure at the bottom of a bottle.
Sumaru looks wistfully at the wall in front of her. She'd still rather grab higher ground than walk into an enemy's prepared hunting ground. But she didn't want to watch them slaughter these others.
The growl started deep in Sumaru's throat until it turned into a roar of anger. Then she pounced forward, drawing her longspear as she went.
Standard action: Cast Wrath
Move action: Move and draw weapon
Ciarán moves with uncanny speed for one so armored, and he puts his all into his attack on the shadowy figure, frothing at the mouth ever so slightly as he does so. Unfortunately, however, his attack goes wide of the nimble man and his greatsword strikes the... surprisingly pristine and well-polished stairwell.
Meanwhile, Sumaru the quiet and alert tribal woman, says her first words since arriving. They are not in a language any understand, but she gives the assembled crew little time to contemplate them as she frowns and steps forwards with her spear at the ready.
Aeslin moves in, saying, "Yes, Sebastian, we cannot let him leave!" She mutters some words, in what could only be described as weasel, fingering a small bar of iron, and then releases the magical force at the cloaked figure.
"How was that, Sebastian? Did I do the spell right this time?"
"SQUEAK!"
Aeslin chants an arcane chant and suddenly the figure on the stairs stops in his tracks. The ambushers look around uncertainly, trying to figure out what to do.
Gado's heart leaps in his throat at the sight of the ambush waiting for them, his palms suddenly sweaty. This was far beyond what he was used to. The only ambush he had ever been a part of is when the master of tomes in the library was waiting for him near the exit to ask where a long overdue book was.
Well, except for when bear face found him and brought him to the mistress...
Shaking the thoughts from his head, Gado does the first thing that comes to mind. Hold the bad guys still so they can't get to him. With a few arcane words, he spits a giant phlem ball into the room, which magically coeleces into an even bigger, morphing ball of sticky, viscous fluid. It lands on the floor between the kobold looking creature and the attractive, if poorly dressed for combat woman and explodes into a mist of sticky, thin strands.
Now I just need to learn how to set those webs on fire! he thinks, almost excited and forgetting about the danger of the situation.
Koney cocks his head sideways as the familiar language pours out of the mouth of the exotic woman standing beside his master.
After the briefest pause, he hops from Gado's shoulder over to hers, ever so gracefully, in stark contrast to the way he usually lands on Gado's head.
"Dim ond y ffenestr ar ei ben ! 'N annhymerus' gwirio eto!"
With a caw and a flutter of black feathered wings, the raven takes off again, to make sure there are no unboarded windows or doors he can see on the perimeter.
Gado shoots a dirty look at his raven before whispering through the spell to the quickly departing bird, "Beth sy'n rhaid i mi ei wneud i fynd â chi i wrando i mi bod yn dda ?"