Jerrid takes one of the silvered blades and twists it left and right to watch the glint along the edges. He grins at the thought of sticking it in the thigh of a nasty vampire.
As for his words, well Jerrid looks at Sam instead of the once-officer, "I'll take the night watch and you can take the day tomorrow. If the guards take a sudden break or are relieved then one of those Palm agents is responsible inside the jail. People here trust so much but these Vorgya types use it against everyone, just like Shandril."
As a scout he weighs up the choices after that trying to decide. Decide how he would proceed.
"Here's hoping that I am wrong. I will get a few hours sleep and then go into lookout position."
Damien shakes his head, drawing the gnome's attention, "Boy's in agreement. We have other concerns at the moment. I can only imagine the holy types are also gunning to get this bloody bowl sooner rather than later too. We're on the path to Eralion's come the morning."
The half-elf sighs, "Look, I don't like it either but this is our best chance to move while the Golden Palm mobilize a response. Best we can do is implore Shandril to be overly vigilant, doubt it'll take much with that one. It's a bad situation but that's how it needs to be. This is exactly why we should have slit her damn throat."
Sam seems to be looking at some supplies he bought in town.
Four smoke sticks, two tar bombs, and four flasks of acid.
Sam adds:
"Shandril messed up, but no need to get too drastic with her. That would get us in trouble. And she still is in good with Freya, so not a good idea. Maybe she will watch the next crucible better. And Jerrid did warn her in both deed and word. But some just have to find out the hard way."
Sam definitely will be snooping around the mage's room and inviting Lannet along. He is interested to see if he may need a smokestick, as he is eager to see how they work.
Sam holds up his silver sword.
"Next time we have an evil black-hearted conniver, I think I will perform the execution myself. Letting the prisoner plot against us may lead to problems for us later."
He takes a few practiced swipes with his silver sword.
"Or maybe I go over and sweet talk the prisoner and offer to pass a message for her. That would let us know what she is up to."
Sam begins to write an ambiguous summons from a higher power on a piece of paper. He makes it an imperious command for information and disguises himself as a young boy to pass the note.
The note quite simply implies: 'Better tell me you know something, or you rot in jail.'
Feriblan's room is unoccupied and mostly in the same state it would have been upon renting it. The bed is even made still. There are some ashes and burnt parchment in the waste basket.
Lannet looks out the window.
"Aooww... he has a better view than me!"
The deep gnome pays for the room in Glarian's and trudges upstairs for a few hours. He quickly falls into a deep sleep until midnight. Then he heads out to the jail and carefully approaches to find a good hedge hidey hole.
As conversation winds down, Damien orders another pint and settles in, for once content to leave the nighttime prowling to the others. Later he secures a room, squaring away his equipment, glad to finally be free of his armor for a short time at least.
On a whim, he heads back downstairs and inquires with Glarian about a rarely afforded luxury, "With all the road behind us, I can't help but feel a little too dusty for such a fine establishment as yours. You wouldn't have somewhere one could take a decent bath, would you?"
Sam slips into the jail to deliver his note to the prisoner. He patiently waits for a response.
Once reuniting with the others in the Inn , Kevezyat reveals the ceremonial blade Shandril entrusted to her in the pursuit of the Chalice.
"A great boon she has made, I think she tries to atone for her mistakes in safeguarding the Chalice." she says quietly.
Taking up one of the offered shortswords, she tests its grip and chops it through the air a couple of times. "A servicable blade, Damien. Its presense at my hip will be a comfort."
After arrangements to leave in the morning, Kevezyat takes her leave of her companions and retires to her room.
There she relieves herself of the acoutrements of battle and kneels in the corner and prays for the continued safety of the friends and the success of thier foray to the keep.
After that she sleeps the dreamless sleep of the righteous until the first rays of dawns creep over the horizon.
"What do you know, the little runt's good for something after all. I can take the water myself, if you just get it nice and hot. Oh, and some whiskey if you've got any?"
Once the bath is prepared, Damien settles in slowly, feeling at least content, if not relaxed. Might well be the last moment of quiet you ever get soldier, might as well enjoy it...
Vhillish uses his innate magicks to tidy up his tunic, making it fit for parade on the morrow. Before retiring he applies some spit and polish to his arbalest and goes through his ritual of burpees and military calisthenics before finally turning in for the night.
Sam just hands over the note, a dipped quill, and waits for a response.
San just acts scared and shakes his head no.
Jerrid sits patiently watching and waiting. He counts the guards, assesses their descriptions and appearance while he has little to do. Then he starts to time the pattern of watches, mentally performed calculations and the list of the fifty most useful ingredients and their properties as a means of measuring the time passing.
Sam takes the note to Janna, and shows it to her.
"It appears all other agents are dead. I am taking this to Shandril. She may be ready to learn how to take advice this time. As a servant of Freya, I must follow the hierarchy, even it has a history of total incompetence."
Sam knocks on Shandril's door and bows his head solemnly.
"I have discovered two useful facts. The prisoner does in fact serve a master that intimidates and even scares her. Most other agents are now dead, and their power is depleted in the area. You would cause great harm if you allow her to escape or communicate with her benefactor. I recommend judging her and dispensing final justice."
Sam explains his ruse and presents the evidence of the prisoner's treachery in her own handwriting.
"My friends have little reason to have confidence in you, given what appears to be extreme negligence on your part. But I want to keep you informed and give you another opportunity to thwart evil. We all have our gifts, and I continue to use my unique skill for Freya. I urge you to greater caution and avoid the mistake of ethnocentrism, which is assuming all others in the world behave as you would."
Jerrid slips back out of his hole and returns for breakfast. He eats some owlbear sausage with his fingers, flicking out the odd piece of skin or fat with a nail and wiping it on the side of the plate.
fatigued and still suffering from the stirges and ettercap poison and imprisonment, he goes back up to his room and falls asleep.
"Someone needs to wake me later. I have to sleep and then go to the market."
Leoven wakes early as usual with him and waits for his companions to see what course they decided to take.
Damien too makes his way downstairs in the early morning, the night's rest seeming to have done the former Lieutenant a world of good. His clothes look freshly pressed, if still slightly tattered, and all trace of his limp seems gone.
Sliding into a chair, he looks over the spread enthusiastically, "Mouth watering as always Glarian."
He holds out a hand as Jerrid moves to get up, talking around a mouthful of sausage, "Unless you're planning to fit a power nap into the next half hour. I'd hold off on that. Look, we all have to go with our gut sometimes, but you don't get to cry to anyone else when you don't get any sleep."
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Janna spent much of the evening in her room, going over notes, and maps, and letters. anything she had trying to figure this little mystery out about Feriblan.
she pens a note to a colleague,
Hey there Lilia,
Things been a little crazy. but do you remember Feriblan the mad?, especially his creepy assistance Vortigern? he's that boy with the woerd eyes, and that even creepier raven named Talon. anyway, ran into Vortagern just outside of Fairhill. he is still creepy, but also very evil. he tried to actually kill me.
anyway, it seems someone is using Feriblan's name here in fairhill. can't say for sure but there are way to many coincidences coming together. Some religious items were stolen, and some sort of symbol of Orcus was left behind.
Well anyway I am off to explore the old keep of Eralion the staff maker. rumors around here say he's a vampire. I don't believe that.
anyway, gotta go. got two military types tagging along, sometime I let them think they are in charge.[/b]
[i]May the magic always be on your side, Janna
Activating her magical device the note whisks off into magic space
The next morning, Janna makes her way to breakfast.
Sorry for hiding away last night, I had some research to do. in any event, I have started to put together some theories about this Feriblan. Actually, I know him, well actually, my teacher knew him, I just tagged along. anyway, his apprentice was our old friend Vorttie. and based on what we found out it wouldn't surprise me in the least that he killed Feriblan and is using his identity to avoid detection. this seems to go along with the fact that it was an Imp that desecrated the Shrine of Freya, and we all know Talon, the raven, was in fact an imp. and ole Vorti-jerk's familiar.
Damien rips into an apple fritter, "That sounds like the prick alright. So now there are two wizards chasing us? And the new one is more powerful? This job's getting better all the time."
He waves an owlbear sausage in Janna's direction, "I'd wager they took the crucible to draw us out. Seeing as we're still holding onto the amulet, he's left standing around holding himself. The tower's undoubtedly their trap by now. Gonna make this interesting, no doubt."
"Be even smarter to pay Sam and Jerrid's old witch a visit on the way. This staff could be just the thing to help us suss out whatever they've cooked up for us..."
Lannet walks out of the kitchen carrying another tray of sausages. He is wearing an apron.
"You won't find food like this in Crimmor, that's for sure. This sausage meat is from an owl-bear. It's a cross between two animals. Won't be anymore of this until Herl the Huntsman catches another." Seeing Janna, he puffs up his chest. "If he takes too long, I may start hunting them for Glarian myself."
"Fine."
Jerrid ignores the rest of the conversation he is sure will come, and goes to the market looking for magical supplies.
When he finds the traders selling arcane and special materials, he sets about buying any useful scrolls, sticks, rods and potions that appeal.
In the brightening dawn, Kevezyat is found acquainting herself with her new sword, moving through a series of of patterns, back and forth across the Inn's courtyard.
Finally satisfied, she joins the others at breakfast.
She nods at Damien's assessment, "It is likely that they know we're coming and are prepared. Visiting the witch may be the key to surviving ."
Damien stifles a burp with a satisfied expression, "Right then. We'd best get a move on if if we've got to go witch hunting first. Everyone grab your gear meet back here in a quarter hour."
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Sam realizes good food will be hard to find. He grabs all the sausages he can carry and runs out to make the deadline.
He left a generous sum to cover the costs of his sausages with a note.
"Sausages make heroes brave."
Returning to the common room with his armor on and gear packed, he bids Glarian farewell, settling his tab with her in the process.
Leaning against one of the tables, near the main door, he waits for the others. Catching Sam and Jerrid's eye when they return, "So you two. Looks like you've been promoted to navigators. We know where the keep is. What did the old lady in Crimmor tell you about finding our witch? That much is on you."
Vhillish' moustaches visibly twitch as Sam and Lannet purloin the sausages and he shoots the two a jaundiced glare:
Little blighters! Suppose its for the greater good whot!?
A glare which eases as Sam makes ample recompense...
The veteran shakes his head and preps his gear - new and familiar, ahead of the coming march to the keep.
"Your inn is a fine place, don't insult me with a refusal. Maybe I can have a bottle of half decent wine and some cheese for a witch I am planning to sweet talk? Nothing too fancy in case negotiations turn aggressive."
Jerrid has gone but later on he will answer Damien. He thinks for a moment then shakes his head. "Not much to navigate with. The apothecary said,
"I have heard stories that there is a witch who lives in a cave near Eralion's Keep. They say she was blind and the staff maker crafted her a staff which gave her arcane sight. Find her cave, and bring me that staff."
The deep gnome has an old list of spells from his master. Spells he should acquire if he can. Ones that will help him scout and sneak with the best of them. he studies the tall thin man with the wedge of a nose and narrow eyes then broaches the subject.
"Master alchemist trader by the name of Saturnar, I am happy to make your acquaintance. I understand that you sell scrolls and potions you have made on your travels and would like to purchase some of the following - if you have them. They are small magicks, spells of shielding, colored fans spraying, healing, identifying magic, protecting against the evils of men and monsters alike, obscuring veils of mistclouds, making people move faster in advance and retreat and finally to make a person invisible or even open a locked door more easily."
Jerrid then pulls out the heavy pouch and waits to see what the man has. His clawed fingers close around the list tight now that the chance to gain power is within his grasp.
Damien shrugs, "Figures. Well I suppose we start by heading "near the keep" then. We know where the path to the keep is, lets get moving. Stay alert once we leave the main road, no guarantee Vortigern won't try something before the keep itself."
Leoven is ready to go.
Damien frowns as he waits for the others to return, "What we really need is a guide, if we're being honest with ourselves. Or at least someone to give us a little more information..."
"Lannet. You mentioned there's a ranger around these parts who operates in Eralion's wood? Point us to his house. I'd say we owe the man a visit."
Once everyone is assembled, he heads to Herl the ranger's house.
Damien stops at the edge of the garden, leaning comfortably on his hammer, "And who's the lucky lady?"