"I too thank you for your hospitality. I should be able to use those scrolls. I'm very pleased that so many of you survived the storm. It gives me hope for other communities. Do you believe it was because you are underground?"
Garidan listens intently to the discussion between Malthazir, Gruskorb, and the two dwarves, periodically making a short note in his journal of something he finds interesting or important enough to spend some ink on. When Gruskorb makes his off-hand comment about "our scribe," a curious expression flickers across Garidan's face, even as his sister's voice rings with laughter inside his head. All unknowingly, the hobgoblin has just struck true with the label that Garidan wore for much of his childhood, courtesy of his taunting peers. His sister, however, considered the label one to be proud of, once she was old to understand what it meant, and never let the bullies make it the insult they wanted it to be.
Shaking off his brief lapse into memories of the world as it once was, Garidan takes a momemt to ensure that he hasn't missed anything of significance in the conversation before offering his own opinion on the group's course. "I believe it for the best that we aid the dwarves in driving off the goblins and securing their supplies. First and foremost, the population of the city was quite large, and a sufficient quantity of undead stacked against the gates into this place will eventually bring them down by sheer weight of numbers, even without external guidance."
Garidan raises a finger from his right hand as he enumerates his first point, then raises a second to join it. "Next, every undead that falls to liquid fire in the plaza outside is one less that can throw itself against the defenses of the Tower. It also cuts down on the resources available to Archeabus and his followers when they inevitably arrive here to begin directing those corpses in a more intelligent fashion. Third," Garidan continues calmly, lifting another finger to join the first two. "Having to fight on two fronts, against undead before and goblins behind, will quickly sap the dwarves, and the refugees they protect, of limited resources. Not least of which is healthy, rested bodies to occupy the defenses."
Garidan wraps his explanation up with a final finger raised. "Lastly, should the goblins prevail, there is no doubt that they will likely continue where the dwarves left off in mowing down those walking corpses outside, since Archeabus and his horde are friends to no one living. But I very much doubt they will be inclined to allow us passage through on our return. Which means we will have to have waste precious time either attempting to sneak or fight through these halls, which they will have better knowledge of, or divert around to some other pass, which brings its own problems."
"Fair enough." Gruskorb was not interested in being fair, but he wanted to move past the insightful cleric's observstion of his topical intent. "We'll take out those goblins." He just hoped there weren't more twists to the secondary mission that had presented itself.
"Right then, meet me back on the Dragon Road in three hours time for a briefing. Get some rest, get some food, and say a prayer to whomever you worship." Katadante rises from the cot and gives the party a bow. "Until tonight."
He begins to lumber away when he stops suddenly and turns to look at Elannaris. His gaze is penetrating and the young elf recoils from his stare "I'm sorry, young miss. You remind me of a gnome I once knew... just the way you hold yourself... and the way you fidget with your hands... I... no,nevermind..." He bows even lower to Elannaris and departs.
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After their hosts leave, Garidan spends some time filling pages in the journal, making a record of events thus far. He's not certain who will ever read it, but it gives him a measure of satisfaction to do so nonetheless.
Barely a full day has passed since the first of these entries was made, and yet quite a bit has happened, and I can barely keep it all straight in my mind.
I suppose the best place to start is our leaving the Tower. With the main bridges over the now-dry lake slowly filling with undead, it was decided that our best course was to take the underbridge used to bring supplies into the Tower. It proved to be a wise choice, as the entire journey across the span was made to the unnerving accompaniment of a vast undead horde traversing the span above us. Such was the press of animate bodies that a number were periodically pushed over the bridge's rails, to plummet to the exposed lakebed far below. I think that combination of sight and sounds will linger in my nightmares for a good long while. And even then, it is preferable to some of the other things my sleeping mind will conjure up.
Interesting side note: I can see in the dark! Somehow, I possess the same sort of vision granted to many races that habitually dwell in areas with no plentiful light sources. 'Ruza and I theorize that it has something to do with her soul having been housed, however briefly, in my body. This granted me a measure of her knowledge and skills, so some her physical gifts doesn't seem terribly farfetched. The range at which I can see isn't all that far, but it's a lot better than not being able to see at all. And considering what lurks in what is left of the world, not being able to see might be a mercy, but it is also certainly a death sentence.
Back to the matter at hand, however. We successfully crossed the length of the underbridge, to arrive at a locked guardpost. Unfortunately, the post was occupied. I say unfortunately, because the former guards were slain, leaving their corpses behind to rise and begin trying to batter their way out of the post. They were doing a fair job of it too, when our party arrived and gave them something new to focus on. Continuing onward required that we dispose of these unfortunates and--somehow--trigger the gate mechanism from outside to gain access. Luckily, Malthazir and Niyut proved quite adept at using some minor, but effective, magics to eventually send the guards on to their final rest.
Unluckily, something about our actions drew the attention of the undead on the span above, and a sizable number mustered the coordination required to climb down to our level and threaten us. Truk'tosh, Gruskorb, and myself--with Elannaris acting as our reserve--managed to hold a defensive line long enough to give Malthazir and Niyut the time they needed. And my sister absolutely demands that I at least mention how magnificent Truk'tosh was in battle. I will grant that much, he sent a number of those undead horrors off to their final rest with but a single swing of his weapon for each. And that is the extent of what I will write on the subject, because it may come to pass that he reads this some day, and I'll not have him giving me odd looks because he thinks I'm pining for him. Bad enough the looks he'll give me if he ever learns my thoughts about Niyut.
Why in the names of all the powers did I even write that?
No matter, no matter. Back to recounting the rest of our first day out and about. I'm not sure who did so, but Niyut and Malthazir cleared the undead guards and got the gate open, after which the rest of us quickly scampered through to safety. And good timing on their part, because those undead had gotten quite numerous, as more and more of them apparently decided to join in the fun on our level. Leaving them to grind themselves futilely to paste against the gate, we did a quick search of the guardhouse for anything of use, then made our way into the city itself.
The city still retained vague hints of its former beauty and charm, which made the current devastation all the more tragic, at least to my mind. I don't know what the others think of it, as they haven't volunteered their thoughts and I haven't asked. We are strangers, thrown together purely by chance and necessity, and the sort of trust and companionship that produces such conversations simply doesn't exist among us, for now.
The maps at my disposal proved quite handy, as it let us successfully traverse the ruins while avoiding encounters with the undead who roamed in their midst. Unfortunately, we were unable to stop off at any of the places I'd hoped to loot for supplies, but we didn't come away completely empty-handed. While pausing to check the directions, we stumbled across a small livery, which had the good fortune to contain a couple of live animals within! Less fortunate, it also had one of those zombies, which was making a rather pointless meal of a third draft beast. While seeing the zombie off, we ran into a more serious threat. In the stories I read, they are called 'Shadow Rats' and they are incredibly dangerous. I make note of them here, so that anyone reading this knows of the threat they pose, as well as possible means to fight them successfully.
First, these rodents travel in a swarm made up of hundreds of individual members, making most standard weapons woefully ineffective. Second, they are a form of undead, with a number of lethal abilities that put them well above a mere zombie or even a skeleton as threats. Foremost, their very touch can sap the strength out of the bodies of their victims, making a successful defense very troublesome. Further, they possess the ability to make themselves intangible, allowing them to easily bypass walls and doors, and even in this state, making contact with the swarm causes that strength loss. While corporeal, their rotting bodies are infested with a foul sort of disease, transmitted via their fangs and claws, that causes those afflicted to suffer a loss of coordination and fortitude, making them easy prey for the swarm and its horrid taints.
Finally, they have the most unwholesome ability to slip away from sight in any handy patch of darkness, of which there are now all too many available. Only the brightest light can reveal them, and with the current lack of sunlight for the foreseeable future, that leave magic illumination alone to deny them their concealment.
The only successful means of fighting off these Shadow Rats is to use smashing or crushing weapons while they are tangible, or alchemist's concoctions such as acid or liquid fire. Among more esoteric tools, holy water is equally effective, as are spells with effects akin to the previously mentioned alchemical compounds. Finally, the only weapons that can touch them while incorporeal are those bolstered with magic, though many spells can also reach them in this state.
Though Gruskorb, Truk'tosh, and I were all subjected to the strength-sapping touch of these abominations, and Gruskorb exposed to their disease in the bargain, we survived and prevailed. This allowed us to lay claim to the two living draft animals left in the stable, an ox and a horse. Truk'tosh proved quite helpful in calming the poor beasts, though I can't help but feel they are grateful to be among living people once more, for even with his skills, they have proven unusually agreeable and tractable.
Side note: I attempted a prayer for aid to Calwein during the battle with the Shadow Rats. While he did, to my everlasting surprise, deign to answer me directly, he refused his aid on the grounds that I had yet to prove myself worthy. 'Ruza was quite put out by this, but I understand my patron's point. Though there is a part of me that thinks he could have chosen a slightly better time to turn me down, like when I wasn't about to be eaten...
After a night--pardon the inexact term, but it is the only one that comes to mind--of rest and recovery, we resumed our journey to the Eastgate, where we were stunned to find a dragon spitting flame. A closer inspection revealed the dragon to be some manner of defense operated by the dwarves of Eastegate, a number of which survived the catastrophe. They have been taking in what refugees manage to reach them, while holding periodic undead waves at bay. However, the world's near-destruction has not left them or their home unscathed. The direct route through Eastgate no longer exists, leaving us to travel a considerable degree off of the safety of the dwarf-warded paths. Furthermore, the dwarves find themselves under threat from goblin hordes who are perilously close to seizing the supplies the dwarves rely on to repel the undead outside.
To keep Eastgate safe and in operation under dwarven rule, we have agreed to help drive off the goblins and secure the dwarven supplies, after which we will resume our own mission.
Finishing his latest entry, Garidan packs away the journal, then begins to root through the party's accumulated supplies, pulling forth the armor and weapons taken from the undead at the Tower. Pointing to the pile of equipment, Garidan looks curiously to the others. "Do any of you want to claim anything here for yourselves? If not, I'd like to try swapping it to the dwarves for some stuff we can actually use."
"I have little use for any of the arms of armor. Goblins we can fight but those ghost rats took a lot out of us. Maybe see if the dwarves have something we can use to defend ourselves should we be attacked by more of them."
"Maybe they'd be more willing to part with some of their supplies if we gave them some of our own."
After more rest, the group is greeted by several young dwarven acolytes delivering warm beef stew, crusty bread and some fine dwarven stout ale. The nourishment strengthens your resolve and brights your spirits. Perhaps it was the hearty meal, but more likely it was the ale.
As you finish the stew, you see Klagor making his way through the makeshift infirmary talking with several injured dwarves and other refugees of the Shaping. "I hope you found the meal to your liking. I'm sure the cot wasn't." Klagor says to you with a hopeful look. Turning to Niyut, he continues, "Perhaps this will be more useful to you than it was to its scribe... he was one of the faithful that was lost in the Shaping." Klagor hands the half-orc a scroll bound by a wax seal in which is stamped a crest of a dwarven warhammer crossed by a clenched fist.
"I shall also scribe one myself with cures should your strength be drained again. It will be ready before you depart for the lower caverns. And for you," Klagor regards Malthazir. "Dtukk sends this." He pulls out a wine bottle and hands it to the elf with a wide grin. Malthazir takes the bottle and inspecting it, his eyes widen for a moment as he recognizes the label as an ancient elven wine of extraordinary value. However, scrawled across the label are dwarven runes. Malthazir sits puzzled for a moment before Truk'tosh leans over and reads the runes. Dtukk's Firebrew - Use Caution!
"Prepare yourselves, we'll leave for the briefing with Kata shortly." And the cleric departs.
Finding no objections to his intentions, Garidan carefully ropes the undesired gear together for easier hauling, then looks questioningly at Gruskorb. "Pardon if this offends, but I get the feeling that you're not unfamiliar with the art of squeezing a negotation for every last benefit possible. Want to come with me and see if we can get a good bargain on this stuff," he asks while nudging the pile at his feet with a boot.
Aware that time is short, Garidan hefts the gear he hopes to trade away onto his back in a precarious pile and carefully totters off in search of someone to bargain with, leaving Gruskorb to follow or not as he pleases. Being no fool, his first course of action is to question one of the nearby dwarves for directions. "Beg pardon for the interruption," Garidan says politely, a friendly smile lighting his face. "But I'd be grateful if you could direct me to a quartermaster, or someone else here who might be interested in doing a bit of trading."
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Two dwarves look up from their work repairing one of the supporting buttresses in the temple and study Garidan. They look at each other a moment and converse in dwarven, then turn back to the eager salesman. "Aye, lad. Head out of the temple by the main doors... over there," he says pointing at the large set of double doors you had entered hours ago. "Then head west for fifty-fivepaces; take a sharp right and go south for forty-two paces; that will take you to an intersection of six corridors. Take the northwest passage until you come to a set of stairs..."
"Wouldn't it be faster to send him by the Wheelhouse?" If he goes there, he won't have to cross the Abyssal Bridge," the other, younger dwarf asks the first.
"Don't be daft! The Western Grand Stair has been closed since the Shaping! By the look of him, he's not the most agile lad... he'll likely fall to his death if the flooring gives," the older dwarf chides his young apprentice. He shakes his head as the other dwarf sulks back. " take the northwest passage until you come to a set of stairs. You'll see a 'war' rune marked in the keystone over that set of stairs. Take... wait, you know what a 'war' rune looks like, don't you? Well, in case you don't," he scrawls a dwarven rune in the dust upon the floor. "Go down those stairs two levels and go east when you leave the stairwell. After one hundred ninety-seven paces, turn south down a low-arched corridor for another sixty-five paces, which will put you at the foot of Bridge." He stops and looks again at the younger dwarf who wisely keeps his head down and keeps working. "Cross the bridge and take the left passage... which will dead-end at the quartermaster's armory."
Garidan nods as he receives the directions, lengthy as they are. Fortunately, his memory is up to the task of keepimg them, and 'Ruza quietly notes that she has the directions firmly fixed as well. And it isn't as though he's too proud to ask for further directions if he finds himself missing a step. With a nod of thanks, Garidan sets off in the indicated direction.
As you enter the quartermaster's armory, you can see a few young dwarves hauling arms and armor about, with a couple older dwarves tabulating inventory on parchment. A particularly rotund dwarf eyes you from across the armory and storms over."Hmpff... what do we have here?" he says eyeing Garidan up and down.
Garidan flashes the dwarf a bright smile as he makes sure he's not in anyone's way before lowering his burden with a rattling clatter. "Greetings, my name is Garidan Vissir, and I'm very much hoping you are the quartermaster I'm looking for, else I'm going to have haul this stuff around a bit more," Garidan replies with a cheerful tone of voice. Assuming that this dwarf is in fact who he's been looking for, Garidan toes the roped-together load with a boat as he continues. "I'm hoping to trade this assorted battle loot for some equipment and supplies my partners and I can actually make use of."
"Well, let me see your loot, boy..." the Quartermaster grunts as he starts digging through the gear. "Breastplate is human-made and seen some wear... its been sized for a bit of a larger fella... the leather armor looks fairly new... our scouts could use it... or the women!" he continues as a ruckus of laughter breaks out amongst the smiths hard at work behind him. "The longbow is of nice quality, might be bright elf made. It will come in handy at the gate. Heavy flail... spiked chain... all in all, not bad."
"I can part with light crossbows. We have a good supply of them and bolts. How about 10 scored of bolts? I have a couple of shortbows... let me see. Where did I put them? Oh, yes... ah, forgot about you, did I..." the Quartermaster says as he pulls out an elvish shortbow. "She takes a little extra pull, but she's of fine quality. I'll give you a hundred arrows too. That's three light crossbows, two hundred bolts, an elven shortbow and one hundred arrows for your loot. Deal?"
Looking at the bone bolts, the Quartermaster smiles, "These are Drumbull's if I've ever seen one of his bolts. They are built to hold poisons..." He sniffs at the tip and frowns, "Laced with Blue Whinnis... that'll knock you out for a while, but won't kill ya. Be careful with them. You don't want to prick a finger loading a crossbow with them."
Garidan looks over the offered gear with a thoughtful expression, then hums softly. "This is all looks good," Garidan says while indicating the quartermaster's offer. "I don't supppse you can improve the deal just a bit? We've had to deal with undead quite a bit out there ourselves, including some nasty sorts called Shadow Rats." Garidan shudders visibly as he recalls his encounter with the swarm of corpse rodents before continuing.
"As a result, we've decided that a good supply of holy water is a necessity. We also need something to store it for travel, and get it applied in a fight. While the holy water itself would be something I'll need to speak with your priests about in the temple, the latter two problems might be more in your area of expertise. I'd like two or three good-sized, sturdy travel kegs, with taps, and five of those weird mace-like things called aspergillums, if you have any." Not particularly experienced with negotiation, Garidan doesn't even consider trying to hide how much he wants the stuff he's mentioned, in addition to what the quartermaster has already offered.
After a few moments of further thought, Garidan recalls something else he'd been interested in finding, and mentions it to the quartermaster. "While I'm here, I also wonder if you can perhaps direct me to someone who can supply either packs or harnesses made for bearing loads, that can be worn while in a fight, with stuff like quick release buckles and the little pouches and loops that make carrying ready supplies like quivers and flasks of holy water convenient without getting in the way."
"Battle aspergillums... nope. We prefer to get right up in them unholy creatures faces and smash'em with a warhammer. You might talk with Klangor. He may have some. But I tell ya what," the Quartermaster walks back to the barrels holding the arrows and grabs a hip quiver from the rack above. He pulls out a half-dozen thick shafted arrows from a smaller bin and comes back. "Here's some Raining Arrows and a couple bandoliers for flasks, this is the best I can do."
"Now, kegs?!? I'd guess your best bet is to try the Headless Bugbear. It's up on the Dragon Road about one quarter of a mile from the entrance to the Eastgate. You know how to get there, right? Well, you head back towards Balomar's Bridge... but don't cross it, instead look to the left as you... Wait, I have a better idea."
The Quartermaster steps out into the tunnel and hollers, "Grymdor! Glad I caught you. Are you headed to the Gate?" A young dwarf with a braided beard steps into the armory from the tunnel and nods at the Quartermaster. "Take this boy by the Bugbear. He has business with the brewmaster." Grymdor regards Garidan for a long moment, then waves his had at the swashbuckler indicating that he should follow. In silence, he leads you back to the Dragon Road and points to a sign hanging above an open door on the far side of the causeway. He turns and leaves without so much as a 'by your leave.'
Before following the guide to the tavern, Garidan quickly bundles up the newly-acquired equipment for easier carrying--taking particular care to ensure that the arrows and bolts won't get out of their containers--and gives the quartermaster a grateful nod, then hurries along to the tavern. Before he can thank his guide, the dwarf is already gone, and Garidan shakes his head with a faint smile before entering the interestingly-named establishment. A quick question asked of yet another dwarf, and Garidan is making his way through the crowd, careful to avoid ruining anyone's good time with a careless shift of his load.
"Pardon, brewmaster, but I'd like to talk about the possibility of acquiring some kegs," Garidan says over the noise of the crowd around him. Getting the brewmaster's attention, Garidan lays out his requirements of a size easily suited to transport, able to survive a fairly rough journey, with taps for quick use. And the insides must be as clean as possible, to avoid potentially spoiling the holy water they'll be hauling. As he speaks, Garidan can't hide his worry over how he's going to actually get the kegs, if they're available to begin with; he's already traded the stuff he knows the party doesn't need, and all he has left are those coins he looted back at the Tower, and the offer of hard work or service. And the latter might be beyond his ability to fulfill on his own, making it the less desirable of potential payments.
Gruskorb took a moment to orocess what Garidan was really after. "I know enough to know I don't know enough to get the best deal. Dwarves are direct. Don't beat sround the bush with them."
Sure enough, the quartermaster's armaments were also direct. The rogue had no particular desire of the wares, but he did want to begin ameliorating his knowledge deficit. "Dwarves with elven bows. Things really have changed. I imagine the fair folk have not yaken as well to the changes as your people?"
In both their first and second stops, Gruskorb paid particular attention to the materiala used to make the barrels, hafts, ropes, and other non-metal objects. His curiousity meant to discern a particular shortage of trees or fibers that would stymie supply.
Malthazir thanks the kind dwarf for his help and directions and heads with the others to the armory.
As Garidan puts a weapon in his hand Malthazir scoffs and sets it down. "I'll stick to my abilities, but thanks."
As for now, Malthazir follows along silently, seeming to be lost in thought.
So you ready to talk now?
No, but I suppose I must learn to cope with this.
Good, because you don't have a choice!
Until I research how to expel you.
Well you grumpy sack of troll dung, give me a chance to prove I can help. I've already helped you a little, remember those nudges of information?
...I can keep an open mind.
Heh, I'll make a joker out of you yet.
"Dwarves with elven bows. Things really have changed. I imagine the fair folk have not taken as well to the changes as your people?"
"Aye, I would imagine so. We are a hearty race and protected by the mountain. Perhaps those upity elves in Detroyet were protected in their towers, but the wood folk of Kashmere were surely decimated."
As short of timespan as it has been since the Shaping, the dwarves have not yet run low on supplies, but that is only a matter of time Gruskorb realizes. He does immediately notice their thrift in that nothing is waisted. Every scrap of wood or metal is repurposed for their use.
"Pardon, brewmaster, but I'd like to talk about the possibility of acquiring some kegs," Garidan says over the noise of the crowd around him.
A comely dwarven woman with a permenant scowl upon her face looks up at the young swashbuckler and his friends. "What?! You want one of my kegs? Bah... I need every last one of them to keep this crew satiated with my ale." She sizes up Malthazir with a long look checking him head to toe. "I do have an old wine keg from his kind that is almost empty. Fifteen gold crowns and it's yours. If you don't like the price then you best be on your way. I have important work here to do," she demands with her arms folded and right foot impatiently tapping the ground.
Garidan winces when he hears her price, then takes a deep breath. "I don't suppose you could drop the price to 14 crowns," Garidan asks hopefully as he stacks the 14 looted coins on the surface of the bar before turning out the pouch from which he withdrew them, showing only a used whetstone and a small firestarting kit among the remaining contents. "Because those crowns I've just placed before you are the only ones I have to my name."
Truk'tosh stays be his sister's side while the party rests but that doesn't stop him from reflecting on what the resilient dwarves had accomplished within the fortress.
And yet it's you and the others the Hazard trusted with this quest, Truk's spiritual hitchhiker echoes through his thoughts. Don't lose sight of that boy. You were chosen for a reason.
"I can sell the wine in the cask for at least 15 gold. I'm sure your elf friend or the hobgoblyn has some coin," she glares at Malthazir and Gruskorb. "Or perhaps you would part with your ioun torch in exchange for the cask, yes?" she inquires as she reaches out a hand toward the glowing stone.
"Sister, can I see the scroll the dwarves gifted you? It looks... familiar."
With a startled gasp, Garidan jerks away from the brewmaster's reaching hand, even as the stone orbiting his head jitters in midflight before darting around to rest against the back of his neck. It takes him a few calming breaths before he can speak clearly, and even so, his voice has a definite trace of fear to it. "Ah, no, no, the stone is most certainly not available, for any reason. And I'm not interested in the wine, merely the container. Why not go ahead and pour the contents for the crowd, get your coin for it, then sell the empty keg to me right after? Surely there is someone here willing to buy what little you say is left to serve."
As he speaks, Garidan reaches behind his head and takes the stone--which almost looks as though it were quivering--into his hand, where he keeps a tight grip on it throughout the rest of his appeal to the brewmaster. It seems that her attempt to secure the ioun torch as a form of payment has seriously rattled the young man, and he apparently doesn't want to risk another mistake of that sort.
You have my thanks, and the thanks of my brother, for this scroll, Klagor"
Niyut examines the scroll she is given.
"Perhaps it will sell, but we've few swine... I mean, wine drinkers in Eastgate. Come back tonight or tomorrow, I won't burn it if by chance it is empty." the Brewmaster shuttles off to fetch more ale for her patrons. She shouts to which the crowd responds with more cheers and stomping of mugs and feet.
Niyut breaks the seal, and Truk'tosh feels a shudder as the snap of the wzx fills his ears. Unrolling the scroll, both of the half-orcs' eyes are drawn to the detailed crest atop the scroll. Intricately painted in gold upon a brilliant red background is a dwarven warhammer crossed by a clenched fist. Truk'tosh feels a surge of pride as he sees the crest. He instinctively reaches out a hand to touch it, but as he does so, the pride is overcome by a sense of regret and loss.
Niyut examines the writings upon the scroll, and smiles as she recognizes the spells.
Realizing that is likely the best he's going to get for the moment, and too rattled by the thought of nearly losing his link with 'Ruza to think up another option, Garidan scoops the coins back into his pouch, resettles his load of equipment, and leaves the Headless Bugbear to return to the temple and the others. While he's unhappy over the lack of at least one good keg to bring back, Garidan considers the rest of his haul a victory. And perhaps he can still get that cask tomorrow, he reasons. Still, for the rest of the trip back to the temple, he doesn't let the ioun torch out of his hand, even though it makes hauling his load a bit awkward.
Further thought on the subject of the battle the brewmaster mentioned, which he and the others will be aiding in, give Garidan something to plan around. It's quite likely the group will be able to acquire more salvaged equipment from their fallen enemies, and that quartermaster may be up for a bit more bargaining if that is the case. Though he's not counting it a certainty--which would be incredibly foolish on his part--Garidan is cautiously optimistic that just a bit of luck in that battle and the bargaining afterward could get the group a good store of supplies to work with on their journey.
Arriving back at the temple, Garidan makes his way to the cots assigned to the group and proudly displays his acquisitions to Truk'tosh and Niyut. "I've manage to get a light crossbow for each you, and Malthazir as well, though he isn't interested at the moment," Garidan announces cheerfully as he passes Truk'tosh and Niyut each one of the aforementioned weapons, along with a case of bolts to start. "The quartermaster I bargained with, great fellow, managed to come up with a bow that I can actually use as well. It's apparently of bright elf make, just as that longbow was," he adds as he sorts out the equipment and stacks it neatly at his feet for later division between the various loads being hauled by their cart and draft animals. "He also dug up six of these odd arrows that are apparently made to deliver liquid payloads to a target, and two bandoliers to hold flasks, which we can use for flasks of holy water. When we actually get some of those, that is," Garidan concludes with a frown.
"Tried to get a cask that we could use to store a good supply of holy water in, but the person I spoke with wasn't up for any bargains at the time, so I'll have to try again later." Garidan is clearly unhappy about this last piece of news, but not for very long as he tries to remember what else it was that he wanted to inform them of. As he thinks, he gets disturbingly still, only the shallowest breathing indicating that he's still alive. This lasts for several seconds before he blinks and unexpectedly points at the bone crossbow bolts in their own case. "Almost forgot, those are apparently made specially to deliver poisons, and they're already coated with something the quartermaster called 'Blue Whinnis', which apparently a nonlethal knockout poison."
At the mention of the cast of wine Malthazir shakes his stupor away. "Well, I think we don't exactly have the resources to carry a heavy cast at the moment, but perhaps once we have a beast of burden or a wagon..."
"Quite a large equipment turnout from here. I am very glad we came."
Gruskorb has himself a heartfelt laugh at the stale crone's rejection of Garidan's weasling. "We do have one wine-pig among us, but it is the barrel like my partner says that's what we need. He is also honest in revealing we are nearly penniless, something he should not have done." Gruskorb scowls at the scribe, though his expression likely couldn't match the veteran dwarf's.
"We know of this battle with the goblins, for we are to fight in it. That's what you do when you're guests in someone's land and dont have any honor among them yet. Perhaps if we prove ourselves useful there, you could let us slide a crown on the barrel? In any event, thanks for your time."
Gruskorb waited for a response from her before heading back to the others. He did not impede Garidan as he gushed over his doings, only confirming events when necessary.
At the end of the account, he cleared his throat, then looked to Malthazir. "The brewmistress believes you to be a piglet."
Hearing Gruskorb's comment to Malthazir, Garidan cocks his head to one side with a curious expression as he tries to recall what the hobgoblin is referring to. Finally recalling the brewmaster's slip of the tongue--which in hindsight Garidan realizes was intentional on her part--he stifles a chuckle. The memory spurs him to further recall something said by Gruskorb during his attempt to finagle a lower price on that wine cask, which he decides to bring up with the hobgoblin. "You're wrong, you know," Garidan says with an intent look in Gruskorb's direction.
"You said, back at the that tavern, that I shouldn't have revealed to the brewmaster that we're penniless. But I never revealed that at all. What I actually told the brewmaster was that I had no more crowns to my name. Which was, by all the powers, absolute truth. I never said that I had no more money at all, or that you," and he points toward Malthazir and Gruskorb in turn to clarify who he is referring to. "Had no money to spend. You actually revealed that quite handily on your own."
Garidan swallows nervously before continuing, slightly intimidated by hobgoblin's expression. "I was trying, as best I could, to get that cask without actually costing us anything of ours, in coin, goods, or sweat, as those crowns were looted from that bugbear back at the Tower, and thereof of no real loss to us if spent to our benefit."
Puzzled by the unfounded sadness, Truk reflects on the broken seal.
No soon had the sales team returned to the Temple, Klagor approaches. "It is time... gather what you need for battle and follow me," he says solemnly and stands waiting for you to gather before him.
Hearing Klagor's words in place the reply Garidan was expecting from Gruskorb, he blinks in surprise. Apparently that little excursion in search of equipment and suppllies had taken longer than he expected. With a sigh of disappointment over the injustice he's about to inflict on what looks to be a fine meal, Garidan chugs the cooled stew in a few gulps, chases it with several ragged chunks of bread that see only a minimum of chewing first, then drains off the ale in one long uninterrupted swallow that leaves him gasping for air afterward. Following a few sharp thumps to his upper chest to get everything settled properly, Garidan then strips two pouches and their contents off of the belt around his waist and carefully piles them on his cot, with his canteen joining as well. A few moments are spent attaching a quiver full of arrows to his belt, then stringing and meticulously checking the shortbow before it is slung over his right shoulder. Garidan takes a few more moments to practice rapidly unslinging and readying the bow for action before nodding to himself in satisfaction.
He then takes his place with the others before the waiting cleric, a faint blush staining his cheeks as Garidan realizes he unknowningly demonstrated a habit from his childhood--and one that his mother tried hard to teach him out of--by bolting his meal like a starving dog. 'Ruza's laughter doesn't help him in the least, and Garidan avoids making eye contact with anyone as he announces his readiness in a quiet voice. "I'm ready."
Truk'tosh nods in agreement. "I'm ready as well."
When the group is ready, Klagor leads them back to the Dragon Road and to a meeting hall on the far side. Thirty dwarven warriors clad in armor have assembled. Each has the same dragon emblem engraved upon their helms, but each bears a different crest upon their breastplate. Within each crest, a gem is set; either a ruby, a sapphire or an emerald. Four other dwarves clad in leather armor can be seen grouped together near the entrance to the hall. At the far side, you see Katadante talking with three of the warriors. He looks up, when Klagor enters the hall with the group in tow, and waves to the priest of Jolnar.
"ALRIGHT, LISTEN UP!" he shouts as the roar of the assembled warrios dies down. "For those of you who haven't been sent to the frontlines yet, the goblins have infiltrated the Eastgate from the North-Central Passage, and they have set up barracades just inside entrance. We know they have taken the Hall of Mourning and have likley entered the Crypt, but we don't believe they have breached the Alchemist's Guildhall. The route from Brimbor's Tower has collapsed, so our only option is to storm the North-Central Passage entrance." A look of anticipation can be seen amongst the dwarves with the mention of the battle ahead.
"Any questions? No. Good."
"The Diamond Guard has the goblins currently pinned down at the entrance. When the signal is given, the Ruby and Emerald Guards will storm the entrance from the West. You will be able to approach to within one hundred feet under partial concealment from the debris of the cave-in before you are exposed. Once inside, the Ruby Guard will go right to the Hall of Mourning, and the Enerald Guard will go left toward the Alchemist's Guild. You are to secure these locations as fast as possible.
As they are going through the entrance, the Sapphire Guard will come from the south with ladders to take the upper balcony. Your job is to clear the upstairs and link up with Ruby and Emerald. Each Guard will have their scout on site."
"Finally, the um... Outsider's will enter and follow the Ruby Guard. Once the goblins in the Hall of Mourning are engaged, the five of you," Katadante points to you and for the first time you notice that Elannaris is not with you, "will enter the crypt and secure it. Grymdor will be your scout."
"The goblins don't honor the ancient ways! No quarter will be asked for nor is to be given. Understood?"
A lone warrior steps forward, "Sir... what's the signal?"
Katadante smiles, "Master Dtukk has a surprise for these goblins! You'll know it when you see it. Now, form up and move out. We attack inside the hour!"
As the dwarven assault groups muster and discuss their specfic duties, Garidan approaches Katadante. "Pardon, Commander Ironhelm, but I have some questions before we get started. First, I understand that dwarves are, quite understandably, unhappy with the idea of tomb robbers and are given to putting together ugly traps to deal with such folk. Will we," and here, Garidan waves to the others of the party. "Have to worry about that? My next question is, what is your view on looting the fallen foes after the battle? We have needs, and precious little in the way of resources to cover them, so--as frankly mercenary as this sounds--divesting those enemies of their goods and gear is a considerable boost for us."
Garidan then looks around meeting hall for several moments with a curious expression before turning back to Katadante. "And lastly, have you seen our remaining companion, Elannaris? She's not hurt or lost somewhere in Eastgate, is she?" Realizing, with his sister's prompting to remind him, that he hasn't seen Elannaris since before he left the temple on his shopping trip, Garidan is visibly worried to find she isn't present.
"Aye, I saw her with Klagor a couple hours back. They were headed towards down the Dragon Road. But I dunna know where she is now. As for the Crypt, it's a sacred place for sure. But, I wouldn't be nervous of any tomb robbers, we dwarves would no sooner bury a fine weapon with our brethren, then with all the riches in the world. No, you'll find no treasure there, nor will you find any traps. However, the spirits of our ancestors lie there, and that we canna have disturbed."
He looks up at the young human with a smirk, "The goblins, on the other hand... to the victors goes the spoils! That's the saying, ain't it?" The dwarf slaps Garidan on the back with a hearty laugh.
Garidan frowns a bit upon hearing of Elannaris' absence, but it's her choice of activities to make, and he doubts a cleric of Jolnar would have anything nefarious in mind. After taking Katadante's friendly thump on his back, Garidan rocks forward on his feet, his slight frame only just able to stay upright, but he still manages a smile and a nod. "Indeed it is, and my question about your honored dead was in no way meant to suggest an interest in what they may or may not have interred with their remains. More a matter of checking before learning the hard way, you understand?"
Before turning to rejoin the group, however, Garidan stops and asks another, highly pertinent question that has just occured to him. "Uh, Commander? In light of the unholy things going on already with regards to rising corpses, is there any chance that your crypt might have things beyond goblins and their ilk lurking within it? Has anyone checked in there between the disaster and goblins' arrival? Because if not, then it might be wise to issue some holy water before sending ourselves and your Ruby Guard inside."
"From what Klagor and the other priests have been able to discover, the undead consuming the city is purely a result of a mortal's soul being sucked out by the rift while the body remains here on Malta... I suppose the same could happen if the body was sucked into the rift but the soul remained here... although I have no idea what that would do... these questions are probably more in Klagor's wheelhouse."
Truk'tosh frowns and shares a glance with his sister. With the armies of dead arrayed against them, wasting lives struggling with goblins seemed like a fool's errand but it was too late to change course now.
"I understand. We're prepared to secure the crypts", the big orc says laconically.