The apparition of Darius keeps it's strangehold, and Ibid doesn't even try to resist. And perhaps it is just the acceptance of his fate which saves the old man. The illusion disappears, and Ibid can breathe once more. He has no signs of physical damage, but the scars in his souls hurt deep.
With Raven having reduced the illusory doubles of the gnome down to one, Finarin has only two gnomes to choose from. And he chooses correctly - the scimitar delivers it's deadly load to the real opponent. The electricity completely fries the small spellcaster. Smoke rises from her eyes and ears when she drops lifelessly to the ground.
Gunari didn't leave any time for the Kellid to answer. With closed eyes the priest stumbles forwards, letting the Lucky Drunk guide his blade. And his patron indeed is with him - a sudden unexpected move cuts open the Kellid's throat, before the man even realises to lift his dagger for his defence. The man gasps for breath a moment, like fish in dry land, and then collapses. Haafiz and Ibid notice an amulet on his neck crumbling to dust, and closing the wound.
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Haafiz looks crestfallen for a moment, having not dealt a single blow during the entire combat. He checks to see if the man is alive, and if so he reopens the wound with his nodachi. "Do not deny people their freedom."
With that, Haafiz pushes his body of the platform and rushes down to the bruised man in the chair. He ejects a wand from his wrist sheath and chants the keyword to complete the spell and heal whoever he touches.
"Easy now, you are with friends," he says to the victim of the Technic League while carefully untying his bonds, "Tell us, what happened here? Do you know where Arvellos is... or are you he?"
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"Ah that was .... quite annoying for a bit. I do hate those ... things. But it is all in the past now, come Cyrus, no time to rest on the ground. We have ... serious work to do."
Finarin moves over to Ibid, reaching down a hand he pulls him to his feet. Looking him straight in the eyes, "You know .... it wasn't real. You cannot let the terrors of the past .... rule your present." Glancing quickly at the small ninja rising from the floor.
"You have done well ... better than most. Hold your head up high. Be proud. Come ... there is much still to do."
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Cyrus is forced to disagree with the seriousness of the situation for another 6 rounds.
The Kellid was still barely alive when Haafiz studied him, so the inquisitor finishes up the work. And then he rushes to the man tied in chair. The bruised man looks up, barely managing to open his swollen eyes. "I am Arvellos. I... I thank you, who ever you are."
The Kellid had:
potion, four vials containing liquids and pastes, studded leather, dagger, mwk dagger, belt, cloak, alchemy kit, formulae book
potion of cure moderate wounds
+1 studded leather,
+1 dagger
belt of mighty constitution +2
cloak of resistance +1
The gnome had:
Potion, 3 bolts, wand, wand, MW light crossbow, sickle, bracers, books of pressed fairy wings
potion of cure moderate wounds
Screaming bolt
Wand of Grease
Wand of Identify
Bracers of armor +2
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"Thank you, my friend," the old man says as Finarin helps support his weary body as he rises to his feet. "It seemed quite real as it was happening. And, what was worse..."
The old man's breath is still ragged, and his chest heaves while struggling to catch breath. "It felt like... if things had gone a little differently... I would be dead," he explains, looking the elf in the eyes.
"...but thank you, again. You are a good friend, Lord Moonstep."
After regaining enough of his composure to remain on his feet, Ibid collects his bow from the ground, having dropped it in shear terror upon seeing a long dead friend rising to seek a long expected revenge. With an unsatisfying shake of his head, still unable to loose the foreboding feelings and fear still clutching his heart, he stumbles to retrieve his discarded magical arrow still lying on the ground as well.
Helping the others, Ibid tries his best to help identify the items scattered on the remains of their fallen foes in a futile attempt to take his mind of what just happened...
potion of cure moderate wounds.
potion of cure moderate wounds.
At last the old man finishes looking over the items of their foes, and moves to stand near the recently freed, Arvellos, but cannot bring himself to speak just yet. His mind continues to churn, endlessly thinking of the look upon Darius' face and the icy grip of his vise-like clutch. Likewise, Ibid cannot bring himself to look upon Cyrus just yet, and hoped the youth's fit of laughter had kept him from hearing the panicked ramblings at seeing Darius once more.
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Cyrus abdomen aches and his face is a deep crimson red. His body feels exhausted as his mind struggles to properly prioritize the urge to laugh and the need to breath.
He can hear the clatter and clamor around him, but the sounds are flitting and fractured. Something of names and tombstones, freedom, and a fox is all that he can remember from the wild action around him.
"I'm sorry friends." he says, shame in his eyes that he was so easily removed from the combat. "I don't know what came over me. I hope it was magical, but I still should not have let you down like that. I hope no one got hurt because of it."
Cyrus looks at Finarin as he heals Ibid, guilt clear on his face.
Did I let that happen because I was useless laying on the floor?
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Seeing the battle is finished, Raven straps his spear to his back once again, giving a quick survey of his allies, then following Haafiz back downstairs. After checking on the captive, he moves past toward the front door.
"I'm going to make sure we're secure," he says over his shoulder, carefully moving through the rest of the warehouse, checking for other pieces of security or any stashed items or bags, especially at the other entryways.
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From behind the crates Raven hears the identification of the items get listed off. He shouts from his position:
"Those bracers sound quite good, if nobody else feels strongly. Perhaps the cloak would match my new outfit as well."
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"Well, I could certainly use such a belt," offers Haafiz, reaching over for it, "I have neglected to pick up such a device myself. If no one else would like it, I will get some use out of it..."
Haafiz turns back to Arvellos, "We are Pathfinders like you, my good friend. It seems we are lucky to have gotten here when we did. Now, how about we mop up here while you fill us in on exactly why you went to ground and then how you were captured. I hope you will have no objections to coming straight back to Sharrowsmith Exports to hole up for a while."
Haafiz leaves the questions he has about A Thread of Silver for after Arvellos gets a chance to explain himself.
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Gunari is glad that Finarin takes the time to figure out all the stuff. He's pretty sure he could have figured it all out, but just seemed like it would take too much effort.
"Hey, Cyrus, if you don't have a belt already, you should use this one! Make you a lot more durable! If not you, then Finarin. None of this "
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"Thanks, Gunari, but the belt I wear makes me more agile. As if I need it, right?" the Ninja smirks.
"Besides, it looks like Haafiz already has it. And it looks good on him."
Cyrus listens closely to hear the answers to Haafiz's questions, anxious to get back to the lodge.
"eventually the technical league is going to put this all together. We need to get back so we can be part of the defense."
-Posted with Wayfinder
”Pathfinders!” Arvellos studies the gathered adventurers, recognising the Wayfinders on them. ”But, you’re not from Sharrowsmith’s lodge… Of course! Word about The Thread of Silver reached the Grand Lodge. You’ve come to take the book back to Absalom, haven’t you?”
”Uh, I didn’t go to ground or anything… I was looking for contacts from the Magaambya, who could aid me in deciphering the book’s contents. So I was on my way to meet one who agreed to meet me, and then these guys jumped on me. I spent one night tied up in a room downtown, before moving me here last night. I guess they wanted a more secluded place for … asking questions.”
Freed from the ropes that tied him to the chair, he looks eager to return to Sharrowsmith’s Exports.
Raven carefully scouts the warehouse, and he does find a trap around the northern entrance. This one is now fairly harmless, as the only thing it does is give an alarm of intruders. On the balcony he finds several maps, lists of names, and reports from an ongoing investigation. One list in particular attracts his attention.
In addition, on a shelf he finds some odd technological marvels, which he thinks are consumables. But no one knows what they could be used for.
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Raven quickly tucks the equipment into his bag, careful to pad them properly, as they might be useful later.
"Fellow Pathfinders, I believe we should make haste back to the lodge. Our friend Aya is listed here as a possible associate, I would hate to leave her undefended for long if they know of her. Also, Sal Durivan, if that name rings a bell at all."
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"Ah yes, I seem to already have a belt ... one that I have grown quite attached to. Haafiz my friend, may you put this belt to ... good use. I am ready to depart. And looking forward to finding ... the little book that has caused so much blood to be spilled. One hopes it is not ... in vain."
Finarin helps the others gather all the materials that they can, and is ready to proceed with the others back to the lodge.
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Cyrus clears his throat as the assault operation is mopped up and the pathfinders exit the warehouse. "I am amazed at your connection to the arcane, Lord Moonstep." Cyrus muses as they travel back to the lodge. Then he whispers, "How did that gnome make me laugh so hard? And what did I miss?" Cyrus tries to keep the embarrassment out of his voice, but he had been friends with the elf for far to long for Finarin to not notice.
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"Do we recognize any of the other names on that list, aside from Arvellos Rand and Aya Allahe?" the old man asks as they walk toward Sharrowsmith's Exports, just loud enough so only his companions can hear. "Micky Threetoes, Sal Durivan or his alias, Malcolm Vandium?"
"I thought we had heard the name, Micky threetoes, somewhere before and mentioned as being a snake. He was supposed to be some sort of Andoren exile with a history of aiding slave traders..."
"Nah, didn't tell them nothing, I'm trained to keep my mouth shut. I'd be long dead before they got anything out of me. So thanks for not letting that happen."
Then, overhearing Ibid's question, Arvellos snaps alert. "Sal Durivan!? Hells, that's the chap who sold me the book in Eleder! Poor guy had no idea of the book's worth... Now that I think of it, he said he was on his way to Nantambu. I wonder if he ever made it, or if these blokes got to him."
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"Perhaps we should ask around about him. Not before we get back to the lodge, but it might not be a bad idea all the same. Though I don't think this problem goes away for anyone until we cut the cord. Next time we get a league agent in our grasp, we should ask how far down the rabbit hole this investigation goes. Or... Maybe what I meant to say was how far up the chain. Aya, Sharrowsmith's exports, everyone on this list is in danger until whoever knows about it from the league is eliminated."
Cyrus continues to look around him, suddenly paranoid about an ambush.
"I'll do a quick circuit around us, make sure there isn't anyone watching."
With that, Cyrus ducks into the shadows, running a wide circle around the group, checking alleys and rooftops in front of their intended path to check for curious eyes.
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"It is good that you did not reveal anything," Haafiz notes, "But I would not have blamed you if you had. Mind you, giving torturers what they want does not always assure your survival. Let us get back to Sharrowsmith Exports."
Without further delay, Haafiz makes a bee-line for the Pathfinder's Lodge in Nantambu .
No peeking...
Return to the lodge is full of paranoia. Cyrus and Raven see shadows moving in every street corner, and feel that everyone is watching them. Of course, the bruised form of Arvellos Rand does draw some attention. But no one attacks them, and whether anyone was following them remains a mystery.
Aya Allahe welcomes the group back at Sharrowsmith's Exports, and lets them in to the secret lodge. In the safety of the lodge lounge, Arvellos chooses the most comfortable sofa, and collapses there.
"I am glad you found him," Aya says, tending Arvellos' wounds. "Did you learn anything of the men who caught him? Were they of the Technic League?"
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"Not much. They were indeed of the Technic League," Haafiz tries to recall any details of significance, "It seems they have more allies who may be after the book. I am not sure how much longer our rumors will fool them - they may already be aware that Arvellos is a Pathfinder and trace him back here. Is there anything else we can do to help with the Lodge's defenses?"
If nothing is suggested, Haafiz joins Cyrus on his rounds.
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"Just as Haafiz said. We also know that they suspect you to be tied to the society, and plan to investigate you because of that. We do not know how many people know that information yet. The man and gnome interrogating Arvellos did not survive our rescue assault. What were their names Arvellos?" Cyrus regards the tired, beaten man as he relaxes.
"This list here," he says, pointing to the list that Ibid holds, "details their investigation as it stands. It turns out we got to them relatively early on. While they won't know the book is here, they will come calling anyways to extract more information from you, which we will be sure to stop."
"I may not be of much more use in here, and so I will stand guard with your men outside, and circle this place for the time being. They will inevitably attack at some point. How long we must wait will depend on how well we spread our rumors, I suspect."
Cyrus waits to make sure there is indeed nothing else he can contribute, and then makes his way out into the oppressive heat.
"Thanks for joining me Haafiz. It will be good to have a second set of eyes. I can sometimes get... distracted." Cyrus says mimicking Finarin's speech style unknowingly.
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"I think we were so focused on finding Arvello, and then rescuing him, my lady... " the old man begins, but looks abashed at recalling what happened. "That the rescue mission quickly turned into a fight for our lives. The struggle ended without us being able to question the Technic League agents, but as Haafiz and Cyrus have mentioned, we were able to learn some of their plan all the same."
"As you know now," he adds in a serious tone. "They have your name and will eventually end up here. I severely dislike the idea of simply waiting here for them to attack, but I don't know that there is anyway for us to again bring the fight to them. Or even lose them from your trail now that they have your name."
"Not unless we can fool them, and convince them that you have nothing to do with our organization."
"But no matter what, my lady," Ibid finishes his monologue. "We will do everything in our power to protect you."
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"I agree with Gunari. I feel bad that this Sal Durivan may have gotten swept up in all of this," Haafiz notes, "But our first duty is to the Lodge. We do not even know if he is in town, let alone if he has been captured. If we fend off the Technic lead - or if the gods are very kind and they do not attack - then we can look for him and make sure he is safe."
Haafiz wanders the perimeter, making sure Cyrus does not get distracted. He elbows his fellow Keleshite in the ribs playfully when he notices the younger man looking at an ebon-skinned woman with a particularly cat-like gait.
"You speak true, friends. If my name is on their list, I suppose it is only a matter of time until they get here. Thanks the gods you are here, at least." Aya's voice sounds heavy, and the aasimar looks a bit less radiant than normal. Still, she gives a supporting smile for the assembled Pathfinders.
"I feel a little bad for Sal, who knows what could've happened to him. But he doesn't know much about me, and nothing about the Pathfinders Society. So I suppose you're right, defending the lodge is our priority" Arvellos Rand lounges on the sofa, sipping a drink and yawning heavily. The long days in the Leagues captivity start to take their toll.
Outside, a beautiful sunset paints the Grand Bazaar into warm and soft orange. Haafiz and Cyrus feel compelled to sit down for a moment and just enjoy the moment - even if the young ninja's attention more drawn to the giggling local girls. But the Bazaar is busy as ever, it could be that there's even more people now that worst heat of the day has passed.
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"Aya, I would like to try to find out about Sal. I'd like nothing more to go out and find them, but I don't want to be away from the lodge. If only there was a way that we could communicate quickly so that whomever was outside the lodge could make their way back, we could send a couple of people out to try and find him.
"Or, perhaps, you would know where he might be, and we could send runners to tell him to come to the lodge, where we could protect him?"
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"I feel torn, much like you, Gunari, but my allegience is to this lodge, and to Aya. We are here to retrieve the book. Once this lodge is safe, then we know we will be able to bring the book back to Absalom safely. If there was a way we could find him and get him here, I would be for it, but not if it compromises the protection of this place."
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"Yes, Gunari, that has been gnawing at me also," Haafiz nods, "Perhaps we should at least spend a little time looking for Sal. After all, the golems are here and can probably hold them off - and I do not thing Nantambu is such a big place. Cyrus can stay here (maybe with someone else) and also aid Aya and Arvellos in holding any assailants off. I am pretty sure I saw some signal whistles in the supply room. Those could be used to get us to come back."
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Cyrus does his best to ignore the conversation going on behind him. He has convinced himself that protecting the lodge is the best use of his time, even if garrison duty can be kind of boring. As he scans the room, he catches eyes briefly with Aya.
Am I being stubborn just because I want to be around her? Is protecting the lodge just a convenient excuse? I don't think twice about cutting down my enemies, but letting an innocent man die while I had a chance to do something about it... What would Darius say?
Cyrus huffs without a word, and moves to run another quick patrol around the building.
"He's a chap with a... hmm.. certain qualities, which I would describe as Sczarni." Arvellos thinks for a moment how to describe Sal Durivan, and trying to find a polite way of expressing it. "I don't think there's too many of them in the city, especially ones selling books. If he's here I'd try the seedier parts of town."
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"Sczarni? Well, then, why are we waiting here? We have to go find him.., sound like my kind of guy! Seedier parts of town? My kind of place. What we are we waiting for?"
"Cyrus, why don't you stay back and guard the place here... send a runner if something happens... assuming that you can. Hold them off until we get back! No, I am sure you are far to young to go to these sort of places" Gunari winks at Ibid, certain that the older man would approve.
The group (sans Cyrus) makes there way to the seedier parts of town. He starts trying to determine where he would hide out in this area, asking cautious questions.
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The old man looks from Gunari to Cyrus, clearly happy to have a chance to keep the reckless youth from danger, but also showing signs of an ironic undercurrent of concern at having Cyrus no longer in his line of sight. "If you stay behind, Cyrus," Ibid says to the youth. "Just watch yourself and be careful. You're a killer, but don't try to take on an army by yourself."
"If things go wrong," he continues. "Send for us, and do what you can. But then get yourself, Aya, and the book out and to safety."
Ibid collects his bow, and slings the weapon over his shoulder and then straps various quivers to his back. Within a moment he is composed and ready to go, weapons and ammunition at the ready. "If we are going for this Sal, then lets make it fast. If we don't find him quickly, then we abandon the search and return."
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"I think I would rather have Cyrus along," Haafiz ponders aloud, "He is excellent at finding things and the sort of activities we are likely to find at a Sczarni camp. I can run very fast if the need arises and I am sure I could make it back to mount the first part of a defense of the lodge if needed. Would that Amaranti were here and could leave that magnificent serpent Kaisharga behind as a guard."
"Go with your friends, young one. We'll send someone after you if we see any trouble arising." Aya's voice is soft, and her hand on Cyrus shoulder feels very warm. This gesture almost makes the young ninja wish to stay at the lodge even more. But being eager to please her, Cyrus follows the others into Nantambu night.
The sun has set, and the oppressive heat is gone. But humid air stays warm even in the night, making this the best time to wander around the city. People are now much more active than during the day, and streets are filled with people. There now seems to be drinking establishments on every street, and every corner, packed with people. A ripple of conversation fills the air, as people of different ethnicities sit and drink and talk. It would wonderful just to stroll around the city, exposing oneself in the exotic smells and sounds. But unfortunately, the Pathfinders are racing against the clock.
'It takes one to find one,' Gunari thinks as he leads the group around Nantambu in search of Sal Durivan. The benefit of being priest of the Lucky Drunk is that offering a "round for everyone" is free of charge (even if the tavern owners frown upon such activity). Eventually, one loosened tongue remembers he had seen a man matching the description peddling books from a rickety cart in southern part of the city. And moving southwards in their search, they come across a man who is pretty sure he saw the book-peddler entering a bar called Copper Buffalo this morning. Finally, a solid lead.
It is the prime time for drinking joints, but the Copper Buffalo's windows are shuttered and the sign on the door reads "closed for business." However, some faint noises can be heard from inside. Shouting and shattering glass, muffled by the closed door. Suspecting foul play, Haafiz kick the door in, ready to rush in. Inside opens a view of a bar devoid of customers, as the two heavy-framed mwangi pressing a skinny varisian against the wall are obviously not here for pleasure. Nearby sits a man, his feet on a table, watching the scene and sipping his beer. This one has a dark skin as well, but shining like onyx, making him look a bit inhuman. Hearing the door being smashed in, he turns his head towards the adventurers. "Well, well, well... Either you are very thirsty and can't read. Or you're just really nosy bastards. Perhaps the Pathfinders our friend Sal just sold his book to? No matter... Vimes, Nobbs, deal with the intruders!" The two mwangi release Sal, and turn to face the Pathfinders. These men wear breastplates with some mercenary company insignia, and wield their guisarmes with remarkable skill.
The man is an oread.
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"Well, we seem to have found our ....destination. Nice work Gunari. I cannot wait to ... not have a drink here."
Before heading in, Finarin casts Ablative barrier
Kicking down the door and charging in, Finarin moves into the room. Seeing he men rough up Sal and move towards them.
Recognizing the man, he turns to his companions, "I believe our host is of the race or stone people, called ... oreads."
Finarin immediately casts Stone Call.
A cylinder of stones and rocks shower the men, making ping sounds as they bounce off their breastplates. The rocks and peddles now lay strew across the bar floor. Finarin glances at Haafiz a smile upon his face.
Drawing his scimitar, he magically imbues it with his arcane energy
"You men choose wrongly. Care to join a ... winning side?"
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"Good eye, Lord Moonstep," the old man says, rushing into the room after the elf, his eyes falling upon the oread. At his feet the gathering piles of stones make moving extremely difficult, and Ibid cannot help but be grateful that he was clear of the raining storm of rocks. His feet slide to a stop drawing his longbow, piling the stones in a heap as his feet securely find the floor beneath carpeting of stone.
He raises his bow and looses an arrow at the oread across the room.