You have been stationed at the Grand Lodge in Absalom, awaiting assignment for a mission of utmost importance. Things finally seemed in motion when Venture-Captain Drandle Dreng sent out a summons for available agents. Specialized in the history of Absalom, Dreng is known for putting off-duty agents to work on sundry tasks when he finds them resting within the city’s limits.
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A dark Keleshite beauty strides proudly into the room, following behind her is a young white tiger. She stops and observes what she presumes to be her new team for this next chore. She smiles when she spots the Ifriti and extends her hand regally in greeting. Her composure slips a moment as the playful young tiger buts his head against her posterior causing her to stumble a step forward. "Oh! You must excuse dear Thirsty, he is little more than a cub and still learning his manners." She lays a hand upon his head and he sits obediently, but yawns widely to express his boredom.
Being among so many non-human Pathfinders seemed to set her at ease and she lowered the hood of her cloak, revealing ears that come to points with slight lynx-like tufts. "It is good to meet you as well. I am Selima, and this naughty boy is Thirsty. I had heard rumors of an influx of genie-kin to the Society, I am pleased to see it must be true. Let's hope whatever errand they have for this time will keep us out of the sewers." She chuckles lightly, waving a hand before her nose to illustrate how unpleasant she had found the smell. Thirsty sneezes his agreement.
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Luurg looks around at all the people streaming in and especially at the one with the tiger. "OO nice puss puss. I'm Luurg." He says, drawing out the uuuurg longer than you'd think was necessary. "What's wrong with sewers? Lots of neat things down there... and that smell, its not me I swear." He points at Thirsty, obviously laying blame on the unsuspecting pet.
"I don't think I've seen so many non human peoples together at once since that last goblin fireworks barbque party!"
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When the time approaches noon, your group set forth from the Grand Lodge. It is a cold and dreary day, with a constant drizzle of rain that refuses to go away, but shows no sign of turning into a downpour to just get it over with. There aren't many people out and about, but the party nonetheless draws stares as you make your way to the meeting point, which is expected for a party of 2 ifrits, a tiefling, and a tiger to boot.
Coming to the meeting place—an odd choice of venue, as it is a street corner far from the Grand Lodge—a lone beggar garbed in baggy robes approaches. The only figure visible in the constant drizzle, the beggar sticks out his hands for currency.
“Have you any coin to spare, fine folk?”
The question hangs in the air for only a scant moment before the figure pulls back his hood to reveal the wizened face of Venture-Captain Drandle Dreng. He gives a crooked smile, soaked head to toe from his unprotected time in the rain. His clothes smell faintly of cabbage.
“Sorry about that,” he says with a wink. “I always like to play a little joke on agents when I stumble across them during my jaunts into town. My, my, what an eclectic group. Now, why did I summon you fine folk here again…?” Dreng shakes his head from side to side, as though trying to knock water out of his ears, despite the constant downpour.
“Ah yes, the Wounded Wisp! I’m undercover now and can’t stray far from the site I’m watching, but I need someone to retrieve a package for me from that fine establishment. It’s among Absalom’s most storied taverns, you see, and one that holds a special place of privilege in the Society’s lore as the place where the organization began. Well, I could drone on and on about it, but standing out in the rain is doing none of us any favors.” As if anticipating agreement, the bedraggled venture captain produces a small slip of folded paper from one of his many stitched pockets. Dreng quickly shows a glimpse of the page’s contents: a map detailing the location of the Wounded Wisp bar.
“The bartender is a woman by the name of Heryn Gale, a fine lady who came to own the Wisp after the passing of her father from—oh, bah, it’s really getting too cold for me to give a proper history lesson! If you could just go to the Wisp, and tell Heryn you’re there to pick up my parcel, it would be most appreciated. I’ll be around here for several more hours at least.”
He then reaches out to pet Thirsty.
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The hefty half-orc walks along with the group through the wind and the rain, looking perfectly content and at home in the conditions. Rivulets of water run down his bald head and drip off the end of his bulbous nose, occasionally being intercepted by a fat green tongue that slides out between his plump lips. His ample gut is in a constant battle with his skin tight studded leather, and appears to be on the winning side. A pair of bandoleers crisscross his torso, lending a much needed hand with controlling the beer keg that appears to be hiding beneath his armor. A stained spear clutched in one meaty fist makes a fine walking stick while a bone handled dagger is tucked beneath one of the bandoleers. Of all the curiosities that surround the man, the one that holds your gaze the longest is numerous strings of fruit hanging off him here and there.
"Leave one bar to find a second! This is my kinda job! Great day for a walk huh? Nothing like feeling the mud squish 'tween yer toes and the taste of rain right off the nose!" He then takes a hearty snort as he realizes he made a clever rhyme.
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(note through the rogue talent 'esoteric scholar', this unlocks 2 levels of knowledge even though untrained)
Raevin, soft spoken and androgynous in the extreme, "Something tells me this isn't going to be as easy as it seems... these things never are." The aasimar adds, "This place has a long history of relations with the Society, very loose, just a lot of patronage and discounts for members, that sort of thing. It should be fascinating to visit there."
... and I wouldn't exactly call it a pleasant day for a walk... I'm drenched and miserable. It will be nice to get there and get inside and out of this constant downpour."
Raevin, dressed all in blue and black leather, long blond hair dripping and stringy in the rain, does indeed look pretty wet and unhappy. A black poncho protects 3 quivers, two on the back and one at the belt, so arrows are dry-ish, but everything else is soaked.
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"That doesn't sound like much of a challenge," Says a disturbing figure in leather lamellar armor and carrying a staff with a deadpan voice. Tall and athletically-built, if rather lanky, his face is long and exotically beautiful, but also somehow off-putting. His long hair is as white and diaphanous as a ghost, and one feels compelled to look away from his black-on-grey, cephalopod-like eyes, especially on those occasions he directs them at you.
"Of course, sometimes fights break out...."
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Luurg can't help but throw long, almost staring glances at Ekanta. After numerous he finally speaks his mind "Why you so pale? You look sick, are you sick? Do you not get much sun? Not eat enough fruits and meats?" He says offering up a piece of fruit from his belt. "You need more muscles... you must not eat enough meat. Do you hunt? Luurg is definitely distracted by Ekanta's appearance but appears sincere and concerned.
I try to tell people how good it is to eat good and get sun and fresh air... no one ever listens to the fat guy though.
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"Tsk... Why does the society never have any assignments for us on nice days?" Selima wraps her cloak tighter around herself huffing irritably and longing for the warm sunshine of her homeland.
"I am afraid I am not much of a Historian, Master Dreng. Is there anything you think we should know before we pick up your item? Should we inspect it's contents to make sure they are safe? Do you suspect anyone will have intentions to intercept this parcel? And if it should take us more time than expected, where should we call upon you?"
An amused smile quirks her lips as Luurg gives health tips to the tall, pale fighter. Well, we should not want for entertainment, at least.
Thirsty stoically endures the rain and Dreng's patting. He yawns wide, showing an impressive mouthful of sharp teeth.
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"Of course, sometimes fights break out...."
Dreng looks pretend-shocked, and exclaimed, "What? Pathfinders in barroom brawls? How shocking!", with a broad grin on his face, as rain water continues to dribble down his thoroughly soaked hair.
"I am afraid I am not much of a Historian, Master Dreng. Is there anything you think we should know before we pick up your item? Should we inspect it's contents to make sure they are safe? Do you suspect anyone will have intentions to intercept this parcel? And if it should take us more time than expected, where should we call upon you?"
"Good questions, pretty lady. Definitely good questions. My, my, you are certainly thinking like a Pathfinder. Oh um... oh yes, make sure the ... um ... contents are intact. Definitely. It is after all very precious. Precious indeed. But oh no, I don't expect any one to interfere with this ... um ... mission. I would be still here for several hours, but if not, you can always ask around the Grand Lodge. Someone should know where I am."
Appearing flustered, Dreng continues, "Much as our half-orc friend finds this dreary rain comforting, it certainly isn't doing much for my nerves. Shoo shoo, you best be going. And I be back on my business." He waves his hands to shoo you away as he says that.
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Catching the suspicious mood of her companions, Selima arches a shapely eyebrow at the V.C. and raises a finger to wag playfully under his nose for his naughty roguish games.
"Now, now, Master Dreng. You wouldn't be playing a little prank on us, would you? A little trial and tribulation, perhaps? Bait a little trap, flush a little prey, something along these lines? It is a rather interesting team to run such a simple fetch and carry errand. You can tell us, we won't be put out. Besides, it could only help us to achieve your goal if we fully understand it's scope. Don't you think?"
Even drenched and sinking into ever worsening mood, Selima manages to be ingratiating as she bats her thick dark lashes at the Venture Captain.
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Wagging his finger at Ajax and Selima, Dreng exclaims, "Humph! Pathfinders nowadays, absolutely no respect for their elders! I've said what I have to say. Be good initiates and go pick up my package now. The rain is doing no one any favors, least of all me." With another humph he turns and walks away.
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Luurg looks back and forth amongst the group as they question Dreng. Once Dreng walks off he whispers "Don't you guys know its not good to talk like that to bossman? Now he gonna send mean orcs to club us in our sleep. Bossmen never tell us everything, if they did they wouldn't be very good bossmen." Then Luurg just stands there in the rain making squishy noises with his toes in the mud and drinking raindrops off his nose waiting for the group to make a decision.
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With little other options, the party proceeds on to the Wounded Wisp. All of you have heard of the building at some point, even in your early career as a Pathfinder. It is located in the Foreign Quarter district of Absalom, close to the grounds of the Grand Lodge, and you have no difficulty finding the establishment with the map Dreng provided.
Built from dark, discolored wood, the exterior of the Wounded Wisp is the image of an iconic dive bar. Stained and barred windows obscure direct vision into the establishment, though ruddy yellow light bleeds from a window in the front hall. The only distinguishing feature on the Wisp’s exterior is a thick wooden sign hanging from above the bar’s entrance. A brass ring fitted onto the sign anchors a lantern—referred to by the staff as “the wisp”— that hangs there during the evening hours, though it is obviously unlit now.
You enter via a long wooden hallway, heading north into the building itself. The walls are covered in numerous decorations and trophies left by successful Pathfinders who’ve donated minor paraphernalia to the bar. Immediately in front of you is a large closet contains various coat racks and shelves for patrons to place any equipment they don’t want to lug with them. A pimply teenage boy works here, stunned into wide-eye silence as he stares at an aasamir, a tiefling, 2 ifrits and a tiger walking in. It takes him sometime to gather his wits and you manage to stow any gear you do not wish to lug around while in the tavern.
The smell of smoke and spilled ale assails the senses as you enter the main hall. Walls of dark-stained wood make up the sides of the Wounded Wisp, while well-used wooden tables are spread throughout the space. A raised area in the back of the establishment houses several additional tables and eating areas for groups seeking more than just a good drink. An austere bar supported by kegs instead of wooden panels commands the northern end of the room. A stained-glass cabinet stands behind the bar, its dark panes cracked in several spots, yet not so opaque as to conceal the several dozen types of hard liquor within. The noon-meal crowd has obviously started to gather, and you hear various snippets of conversations in the air.
"Have you heard? This Sir Reinhart of Kenabres, a Mendevian crusader who just arrived from the north, plans on attempting the Test of the Starstone today! Looks like the Shrine would need another alcove soon! Bwahahaha!"
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"Have I told you the tale of the fabled Yasmin bint Faroud, favoured of the Ten? She sacrificed her life distracting Zythrustianax, draconic scourge of the Society, so dozens of junior agents could survive. Her act of benevolence is the epitome of cooperation within the Society."
You see a middle-aged woman standing behind the bar, slightly frazzled, but with a commanding presence nonetheless. She coordinates her various wait staff as a conductor manages an orchestra, whilst preparing the drinks for the customers. She spots your group entering and although halts briefly taking in the quite unusual party, firmly exclaims, "Welcome, travellers to the Wounded Wisp. You have the look of new Pathfinders, I see. Come, come, take a seat and rest your feet! First round on the house for new initiates!"
Just then, a female halfling who had been regaling a group of young adventurers with tales of past Pathfinders dashes forward and gives Selima a huge hug. Before she can react, the halfling hops over and similarly gives Thirsty a hug. "Hi, Selima! Hi, Thirsty! How have the two of you been since we returned from the caves?" Selima immediately recognises her as Janira Garvix, her mentor who led her on her Confirmation.
As you look around, most of the patrons glances briefly your way at the curious sight of your party, but shortly return to their business. A pair of half-orcs, male and female, sitting at the back of the main hall catch your attention, only because their boisterous laughter overwhelms everything else in the tavern. They appear to be playing the traditional half-orc game of drinking each other under the table, and it looks like they have only just started.
A bespectacled man with thinning hair dressed in scholarly robes, sitting at the corner on the raised platform, is staring wide-eyed at your eclectic party. When you look back, he realises he has been staring and looks back down at the large tome opened in front of him, embarassed. From time to time, though, he sneaks glances back up, especially at Feuerseele, Warden Jax, Ekanta Hanoi and Raevin.
A middle-aged Keleshite man in blue robes and head wrappings sits near the bar. A holy symbol of the goddess Sarenrae hangs about his neck. He clearly spots Warden Jax's symbol of Iomedae hanging about his, and gestures towards the empty seats about him. He welcomes you magnanimously. "I see you're a holy servant of the gods yourself. A new Pathfinder? You're welcomed to join me. You and your companions, if they so desire. If you don't mind entertaining an aging Pathfinder past his prime, let us talk about gods and their teachings, Pathfinders and their history, and dangers we face on the road."
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Luurg follows whoever is leading the group to the Wounded Wisp, content to move at their pace and enjoying the weather. It is quite obvious that he enjoys being outside in the fresh air, although the city itself seems to make him uncomfortable.
Upon arriving at the bar he'll take his time heading into the inn, enjoying the overall look of the building "Fancy place!" He says under his breath as they head inside. Walking down the hallway his eyes light up at all the paraphernalia lining the walls "This stuff for anyone to have?" He says pointing to the decorations on the walls to the boy guarding the closet. As he waits for his response Luurg removes his loaded backpack and hands it to the kid, as well as his spear. "Be nice to my stuff ok? Oh and eat this, it help your face bumps go away, get you more ladies!" He says in all seriousness, and pulls off an irregular shaped emerald colored fruit from his waist and sticks it on the end of his spear.
After his encounter with the boy Luurg will make his way into the bar and take in the sights before ordering. "Did you say free beer for new Pathfinders? I'll have two! Big ones! Nice place you have here, very clean." He says with his eyes fixed on the kegs of ale holding up the bar.
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""Did you say free beer for new Pathfinders? I'll have two! Big ones! Nice place you have here, very clean." He says with his eyes fixed on the kegs of ale holding up the bar.
The bartender raises her eyebrow. "Two, you say?" Snatching a quick glance at the two half-orcs at the back of the bar, she smiles knowingly and continues, "Sure! Two beers coming right up. For my favourite Pathfinders! Oh, and those kegs are empty by the way. The beeer is back here. Anything for the rest of you?" She turns around and quickly draws two pint flagons of beer, and places them in front of Luurg in one continuous, well-practiced move. "A good day to you, master orc. I am Heryn Gale, owner of this joint. So what brings you and your ... uh ... most interesting compatriats to the iconic Wounded Wisp today?"
"Many thanks. Yes, I am a Temple Warden for the Inheritor, this is my first foray as a Pathfinder. We may speak on such things. And you follow the Dawnflower?" Jax takes a seat to speak with the man.
"Yes, I do indeed. The Dawnflower, the Everlight, the Healing Flame. Many are her titles, but to Aram bin Kaleel, her humble servant, she shall always be the cleansing fire of evil and redeemer of the lost. Your fiery looks seems most fitting for her worship, but then again it is what's within that matters to our gods. Might I have the pleasure to have your name?" He pauses briefly for Jax to introduce himself, and continues, "It is always good to meet new members of the Society. I remember when I was new agent some twenty years ago. The Dawnflower had deigned to send me to undermine a group of devil worshippers from Cheliax for my Confirmation. It tested not just my resolve to fight against evil, but the greater test was my patience to offer the hand of forgiveness. It was where I learnt that a Pathfinder should stand on his own two feet, but be able to lean on a fellow agent when needed. If not for my companions, I would surely have fallen. But those are times long past. Some of them have fallen themselves, most in the battle for Jormundun. I still ask my goddess whether the gaining the Sky Citadel was worth the lives of Pathfinders fallen along the wayside."
Aram shakes himself out of his solemn mood. "But enough about me. I'm sure you have heard of this Sir Reinhart's attempt of the Test of Starstone. Some have dismissed this as simple hubris - that to seek divinehood is beyond the ken of mortal men. Yet, your Lady of Valor has proven that mortals can ascend to divinity. What do you think of his attempt?"
"Mind if I sit down, Sir. I noticed that you are looking at me. That is fine. Rarely an ifrit can be seen in this quarters. My name is Feuerseele!"
"Aye, well we do make a rather standout group of misfits, don't we?.. To be honest, if I saw us all walk into a tavern together, I'd probably stare too."
"Aye, indeed," the man exclaims as he looks up again from his tome, taking off his spectacles as he does so. "Oh! I do not mean that you are misfits! Oh no. I meant that you do indeed stand out. Hmm, but then again, but by its definition, 'misfits' are that which do not typically fit together and two ifrits, an assamir and a tiefling certainly would fit that bill. Ifrits are by nature fiercely independent and one could hardly expect a celestial and an infernal to share common goals. But that is indeed the wonder of the Pathfinder Society - to bring such disparate individuals together." The scholar rambles on, seemingly unaware of the possible offence his words might cause.
"But where are my manners. I go by the name of Yargos Gill, and a historian is my occupation, specialising in military history. In recent years, however, I have found my work drawn towards the Pathfinders, ever since I sought their help to stop a zombie invasion of Absalom. Such an interesting organisation. Even now, I am compiling my notes on the Fifth Mendevian Crusade and the Society's involvement in it. So, what have brought you to join the Society?"
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Selima's mood improves immediately upon the sight of several familiar faces. She reassures the young man checking items at the door. "Don't fret, Thirsty is very well behaved as long as he stays by my side. But it's no good to try and stable him, he gets up to mischief if he is bored and the horses are apt to die of fright." She says, chuckling indulgently like a mother gushing over a spoiled child.
"Janira!" She cries as she recognizes the story-teller's voice and turns to greet her. She returns the hug with genuine affection and even Thirsty gives her hand a lick after snuffling her hair to be sure it is her. "It's good to see you looking so well! Staying away from Minotaurs lately, I hope."
She orders a Qadiran Cider for herself to warm up with and a bowl of clean water and whatever they have in fresh raw meat for Thirsty. She surreptitiously casts prestidigitation over her chair before she has a seat and chats pleasantly with Janira for a bit.
But soon she rises and drifts to Feuerseele's and Raevin's side as Thirsty finishes his meal. "Why, Master Gill! You do remember me, don't you? I know we did not have long to talk, but I wouldn't expect a man to soon forget being tossed off a cliff into the sea and those who hauled him back up. I'm glad to see that you are much recovered from the ordeal." She smiles and extends her hand in greeting.
Before they procure the parcel, she looks around and tries to get a feel for the room and whether anyone present seems overly interested in their group or perhaps Heryn Gale, the proprietress.
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""Yes, I am Jax. Yes, she has proven it possible, but it is still rare to be worthy of divinity. Myself, I have joined to learn more than I could standing watch in a temple."
Aram nods his head in agreement. "That is indeed true, Master Jax. The Shrine of the Failed is full of the names of those who thought themselves worthy, but, alas, have proven otherwise. Well, enough of this Sir Reinhart. Yes, there is time for action, and I am glad you have been thus called. Should you ever require special gear, do visit my humble shop of curios in the Coins district. Just ask around for Kaleel's Curiosities."
Ekanta sits at the bar. "Water. With jackfruit essence." He says after a moment's pause.
Heryn appears briefly taken aback. "Fruit of the jack? I'm afraid I am unfamiliar it. Would water with a squeeze of lemon do?" Heryn says all these while preparing the tankard of Qadiran cider for Selima, and a bowl of water for Thirsty, sending a wait staff to the kitchen to fetch the rawest slice of beef they have.
Janira pulls Selima to sit down together with the group of novice Pathfinders she was with earlier, and begins reminiscing on the Confirmation trials that they have gone through. She becomes so animated recounting the final battle to them, interspersing the tale with motivating lessons and morals, that she doesn't notice when Selima drifts over to another table.
Yargos hurriedly stands to shake Selima's hand in greetings. "Of course, dear Selima. My eyesight might be failing, but my memory is still keen. I could never thank you and your friends enough for saving my life. And oh yes, nothing like Heryn's finest cider to restore one's constitution, he replies with a warm smile, gesturing towards the large tankard in front of him. "But I have not seen you here at the Wounded Wisp before. Your first visit? This is certainly a place of history, and with special significance for the Society."
Looking around the room, Selima does not notice any one particularly paying attention to the group or to Heryn. Heryn is entertaining Luurg and Ekanta at the bar while simultaneously commanding her wait staff, and the Keleshite man is intensely in conversation with Jax. The other patrons are intent on their meals and their conversations, except for the two half-orcs at the back who are intent on drinking each other under the table, with much roaring laughter along the way.
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"A pleasure to meet you Yargos. I am called Raevin. I joined the Society for learning and adventure and to be part of something larger than myself in my quest for these things. After my last outing for the Society almost ended with the deaths of all the participants, I have spent several months turning down Society missions and simply living and enjoying life... but I find myself short of funds again and needing the 'work'. I'm hoping my next mission, such as it might be, will not be a repeat of the last. I was the last Pathfinder standing and had to arrange a rescue for my friends... that was not a fun experience." Raevin finishes speaking and blushes slightly... "I didn't mean to talk your ear off... I just, well, haven't really told anyone about these events since I had to file my report. It just all... came out."
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Luurg's eyes go wide and concerned when Heryn tells him of the unused kegs holding up the bar. "What did they do to deserve that punishment? Never to hold tasty beer again!" He gratefully accepts the two pints of ale and gives the empty kegs one last look of sorrow.
"A good day to you, master orc. I am Heryn Gale, owner of this joint. So what brings you and your ... uh ... most interesting compatriats to the iconic Wounded Wisp today?"
After a long frothy pull and accompanying belch Luurg responds "Ooo that's nice. Belly approves. Bossman Dreng asked us to come over and see the place, says its a good place for Pathfinders to visit. He said you had something of his for us to get too. Do you still have it?" He then finishes the first pint and makes some space for the second with another belch.
"Water. With jackfruit essence."
Luurg's ears perk up at the mention of fruit.
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"You are correct, we are independant, but me, for one, choose independent and on my own, to see more from the world!"
Yargos grins at the enthusiasm of the ifrit. "Oh yes, certainly. Just remember to send up your reports to the lodge!"
"I just, well, haven't really told anyone about these events since I had to file my report. It just all... came out."
"There, there," Yargos shows surprisingly sensitivity as he pats Raevin on the shoulder comfortingly. "It is better to let it out. Yes, the life of a Pathfinder is a dangerous one, but from a historian, no other organisation has done so much to uncover the unknowns of the world. For that, I thank you and your comrades, the ones with us and those who have fallen. I know it would not mean much, but a visit to the Wall of Names at the Grand Lodge might be comforting at such times."
"Bossman Dreng asked us to come over and see the place, says its a good place for Pathfinders to visit. He said you had something of his for us to get too. Do you still have it?"
"Oh, why didn't you say so sooner?" Heryn exclaims. Addressing both Luurg and Ekanta in her crisp fashion, "Please, gather your friends. I'll bring you down to the cellar to look for it." Without explaining further, she paces over to one of her wait staff and instructs her on taking over the manning of the bar. When the party is gathered, Heryn then escorts everyone below.
The cellar appears to be a fine stonework affair, although some cracks run across the walls, which Heryn explains were from the quake of 4698. A set of wooden stairs descends from the main floor into a tightly packed storeroom. Barrels, boxes, and crates of assorted foodstuffs and drink garnishes are pushed against the walls or under the stairs. From there, a door to the south leads to a large chamber that might once have been a meeting or resting room for the staff of the Wounded Wisp, but has suffered significant damage, likely during the said quake. Several fissures split the floor, leading down to an equally damaged section of the city’s sewer system, about 10 feet deep. A plank has been installed over the main fissure, but it certainly doesn't appear as sturdy as it once might have been.
Heryn takes care to cross the board slowly. Once she reaches the other side, she explains, somewhat sheepishly, "Um, we never quite got around to repairing this. Stonework is really quite expensive, and the plank was sufficient after the quake. You know, one thing leads to another ... fifteen years later and we are still using it. I promise, though, I'll get it fixed soon! It should be fine for you - none of you are wearing heavy armor, thank goodness! Just go slow..."
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Luurg carefully peers down the fissure with concern, absentmindly rubbing his stomach as he does so. "Err.. ummm... That's not much wood there.. could we umm.. add some more? I can help, I've made many bridges like this over swampy stuff before. It may be enough for you but I'm at least 2 of you, heh." He says with a slightly uncomfortable chuckle.
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Luurg stumbles a bit over a rock and merely shifts his belly to change his momentum away from the fissure, there was a definite sloshing sound to be heard. "Owie my toe! Where was I, guess I should watch where I'm going." And he goes back to trying to reinforce the plank like nothing happened and watches Ekanta dance across. "Maybe being skinny has some good stuff for it."
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Selima doesn't like the look of the weathered plank at all. "Thank goodness Thirsty is not yet fully grown else I think he would have to leap it. Here, let me see what I can do." She gently raps on the wooden beam, looking for the spot where the plank is most weakened. Then she takes out a scroll, casts a quick cantrip and reads the magic. The words disappear from the paper and her hands emanate a soft golden glow as she touches the wood. A creak sounds as the broken down fibers begin re-knitting themselves, strengthening the wood at it's core.
"There now, it should hold for a while yet. Come, Thirsty, my love." She crosses first and then beckons the Tiger to follow.
Thirsty chuffs in reply and dutifully follows his mistress' command. Putting one agile paw behind another as he crosses it easily.