"So it's water ad soap for everything and everyone, just to be sure?" Tiferet chimes in. "I believe I've suffered worse" she quips. The prospect of a bath seems actually quite tempting; especially considering it might be quite some time before another chance materializes.
"Thank you, all of you. I promise we won't let this debt go unpaid" she says. "Speaking of which, I still owe you three vials of that marvellous liquid fire of yours. We found more in the lodge, but it appears there's a troll guarding the portal; and fire works better than gold when it comes to fighting one, I've heard."
She's interrupted by a sudden growling from her stomach; another reminder that they're still yet to have breakfast.
Inire nods. "I'll eat after I've finished getting rid of all of this." she says, motioning to herself. "Is there someplace a little more private..?"
Menander, who has been silent through most of the procedure, speaks up. "You can use the back room if you need some privacy," she says. "Feel free to take what time you need."
The alchemist tenses up at the word troll. "Keep them," she says quickly. "T...trolls are dangerous. You'll need everything you can get to kill it."
Inire starts to head for the back room, but pauses when the normally quick-to-respond alchemist suddenly develops a bit of pause of her own... but she continues onwards towards the back room after all to get cleaned up.
With his companions cured of their illness, Eirikr heads out of the inn into town to gather supplies. The sheriff had said that he didn't know if anyone had cold iron--which didn't mean that nobody did, Eirikr knew that he wouldn't've told the sheriff about any special metals he had so maybe the townsfolk thought that way too. The first place to look would be the blacksmith or armory, whatever the town had--they'd know better than the sheriff would.
The town smithy is in fact almost directly across the street from the Stoat. Eirikr can already here the sound of metal being worked as he get close. As the door swings open, he can see a burly man with dark brown hair tied back working a set of bellows while a younger woman hammers a cherry red piece of steel. "Ah, good morning!" the man calls over the ring of the hammer. "You must be one a' the folks staying at the Stoat. My name's Isker. What brings you to my smithy?"
"That they are" Tiferet answers. "Or at least I've heard. Never met one in the flesh, actually." Seeing the hesitation in the usually composed elf, she's reluctant to press the issue any further. She politely excuses herself before joining Inire for her morning ablutions.
"Isker. I'm Eirikr. And you're right, I am. I'm looking for weapons. Iron weapons. But not iron--cold iron, wrought iron, iron forged without heat--the kind that hurts the creatures in the woods, the kind out of stories--you know, fairies," babbles Eirikr. "And I can pay for it, if you have any. Or if you know anybody who does."
The smith says nothing for a moment. "Xan, take that blade to cool and then take a break."
The girl looks up from her work and nods. "Yes father." She picks up the still red hot blade with a pair of tongs and dips it into a barrel of water, filling the air with a loud hiss. The fires in the forge die back a bit as Isker lets the bellows cool and his daughter steps out of the forge.
"Cold iron's not all the common around here, but I have a small amount of it on hand. Do you have any specific kind of weapons in mind? I have a few things forged already, arrows actually, but the rest of the material would need to be worked into shape."
"Something simple. Don't need much. Do you have enough for a spear? And some sling bullets, maybe," says Eirikr. "How much would that cost? I can pay you. Probably."
"I think I have enough to make a spear head, but it would take time. I wouldn't have it until tomorrow. Sling bullets on the other hand, I do have. Maybe twenty or so. Five gold for the spear and one more for every five bullets you'd like."
Evelyn would step out of the tavern for a quick breath of fresh air while she mentally prepared herself for what they were getting into.
"I'll take all the sling bullets. And the spear too--but I might have to come back for it later," says Eirikr.
"So that's... Eirikr mutters a few numbers to himself, counting on his fingers as he does. "Nine gold, right?" he says, before producing the coins and giving them to blacksmith.
Isker nods. "Nine gold." He sweeps the coins from Eirikr's hand and steps over to one of his shelves. He picks out a bag and checks inside for a moment, then tosses it to the young man. "That should be the twenty sling bullets. I'll get started working that spear you wanted."
Inire moves through cleaning herself considerably more quickly than cleaning her weapon and armor, as well as each tool from her set individually. She actually takes the time to use boiling-hot water on her sword blade, for good measure. No sense in being the vector.
Finishing up on cleaning, she heads back out to find food... she was also rather hungry. They also still had to work on who would use what amongst the magical items they'd found.
Morgraine has a bath drawn and, unlike Inire, spends considerable time soaking in the hot liquid. Even so, she doesn't take too long and soon emerges with hair brushed, clothes changed, and feeling a completely different person.
She too is famished, and finds Inire also in search of food. "We should probably obtain a few more rations. No telling how long we'll be gone this time. Also, do you know who carries the enchanted items we recovered? I may be able to identify one of them today so that we know exactly what its properties are."
Tiferet enters the back room just as Inire is done cleaning herself. Having spent most of her younger years in the care of her extended family, communal baths have always been the standard for her, an attitude only reinforced by her military training. So it's with great naturalness that she strips down to her small-clothes and starts meticulously cleaning her tunic and armour, sitting cross-legged while humming a melodious tune; from time to time, she whispers an arcane word, summoning her magic to aid her in her effort.
As Morgraine takes her bath, she begins the longer and more tedious job to properly cleanse the items they brought back from the lodge, taking particular care as she handles the bandits' personal effects. Luckily, it seems the fair sorceress is enjoying her stay in the hot water, giving Tiferet plenty of time to perform her job thoroughly. Finally, she splashes herself with a bowl of cold water, washing away the dirt of the road and the fatigue of the battle, before stepping into the tub, and there languidly lying for a while.
**********************************************************************
Still wearing her usual clothing – the double-slit, flowing linen tunic which now seems more unseasonable than ever – Tiferet rejoins her companion in their quest for breakfast, her long hair still dripping, sandaled feet threading on wooden planks. "Hey! Menander!" she hails their host, placing a gold piece on the table. "Starving guests here!"
"Most of the items we've recovered I've laid there" she says in response to Morgraine, pointing at a sack in the corner. "The unclaimed ones, that is. There's a scroll whose purpose I can't quite figure, and I haven't had the time to check the other stuff. There's in all likelihood some sort of enchantment woven into Rohk– I mean Erikr's cloak, but I can't quite decipher it. Something meant to protect its wearer from the elements, if I had to make an empirical guess."
Inire is suitably coquettish, which is ultimately what speeds her way through the self-cleansing process... though the care she takes for her equipment is fairly obvious, as she doesn't exit until the other two do. She uses boiling water to blanch each piece of metal, and then uses fairly cooler water to wipe down the leathers. She doesn't have any oil on hand, so that would just have to do. She doesn't so much as cast a glance at the other two while they prepare for, and go through the process of bathing.
Perhaps most strangely for someone with such long hair, it stays mostly straight on its own during the cleaning process, and she needs only run her hands through it to remove what few tangles did manage to find their way into it. Suiting back up and packing away the tools, Inire defers to Tiferet when it comes to answering where the goods from the lodge are, comfortably moving alongside them back towards a table. She calls over to Evelyn (which seems slightly out of character) when they reach a table, and waves her over. "We should be able to go sometime soon. We've finished cleaning up... you probably should, too, if you haven't."
To Nathara: "How is it that you came to blend dancing with magic?"
A surprised smile runs across Nathara's face as she hears the young half-human's question and she angles her head. So the fear or resentment or whatever it was that had kept the graceful cat of prey who likes to call herself mouse was defeated by her curiousity and her politeness.
"I have always been dancing, throughout my life and I like to see life itself as dance. Magic, that which seems beyond reach, but truly connects the multiverse, is a power to be understood as much as it is to be felt. I comes natural to me to express my magic through dancing. But the truth is: It had something to do with a spelldancer, a hero of our people, when I was young. I wanted to get closer him. And as I did - not quite as close as I hoped for, but that's probably a good thing - and my illusions faded he did not seem all that bright to me. But the dancing remained and will always be a part of me.
You do have the grace of the dancer yourself and your motion are lithe and elegant. I would feel honoured if you trained with me on occasion. I might teach you a few things and learn from you."
While she was sceptical at first Nathara takes it with great relief when her new comrades are healed. The challenge which stands in front of them seems to become larger with every passing minute.
The lightheartedness with which Inire and Tiferet enjoy the simple luxury of a bath is probably the right way to deal with it, but for the time being Nathara finds herself unable to share it.
"I shall see whether I find some place to buy equipment. Tents, provisions, maybe a mule to transport our equipment. Where we are headed I wouldn't be surprised a slide would serve us well, but I doubt we will find one here. Nor maps of the Witchs' realm. Can anyone think of anything else important to organize?"
She silently reaches her hand out for the scroll to check upon, focuses and whispers a few words in elven.
- Rohkar's Masterwork Shortsword
- Rohkar's potions/poisons (never identified)
- Rohkar's scrolls (never identified)
- A small gold ingot engraved with the seal of Taldor
- A brass spyglass
- A silver ring
- Three small tiger eye stones
- A pair of exceptionally fine boots with some odd patterns on them.
- A silver dagger
- A silver holy symbol of Norgorbor
- A leather bound portfolio containing several scrolls
- A lockbox with 15 pp, 150 gp, and 180 sp
- Three oily potions
- Six alchemist's fires
- Two scrolls that seem to be written in a strange combination of two very different languages.
The innkeeper makes no move to take the coin. "You're heading out to save our town in a few hours. It wouldn't be very good form to charge you for one meal if you're about to risk your lives for us." She pushes the coin back to Tiferet and pulls out bowls for the entire party, beginning to serve out a hardy stew for anyone that's hungry along with mugs of their choice of water, milk, or ale.
Nathara is quickly able to determine the purpose of the scroll as she examines it.
You do have the grace of the dancer yourself and your motion are lithe and elegant. I would feel honoured if you trained with me on occasion. I might teach you a few things and learn from you."[/b]
"I would very much like that, I think." Inire says in response, with a small smile.
==================
Once the woman begins to serve the stew, Inire opts for milk only if it's a spicy stew, and otherwise sticks to water. She definitely takes her time in eating, but also eats considerably more than the others have seen her eat thus far; there's nothing left in the bowl once she's finished.
His business with the blacksmith concluded, Eirikr returns to the inn.
"The blacksmith has cold iron. We could use it. To fight the fey. Already has arrows. Could maybe make other weapons, but it'll take him time," he tells the others.
When the innkeeper offers them food and drink, Eirikr is quick to accept. He hesitates at the choice of beverage--Eirikr had mostly only had water to drink up until this point--he knew what ale was, kind of, and had always wanted to try it--now seemed like the perfect time to try it. He devours the stew as quickly as he can before trying the ale. At first, it is the most terrible thing he has ever tasted; by the time he's finished, he's beginning to understand why people drink it instead of water.
"I... well, thank you sir" Tiferet says as she slips the coin back into her pouch and pours herself a generous pint of golden nectar. "To you and the Silver Stoat then. May its fine ale keep on flowing for a hundred years and more!" she toasts raising her tankard in Menander's direction.
The stew's warmth is a pleasant sensation in her belly, and it's not long before her bowl is scraped clean. Stretching her legs beneath the table once she's done eating, she gives Eirikr a knowing smile as she notices the feral young man's growing interest in his drink: Civilization has its perks, after all.
"How much time are we talking about?" she inquires. "Hours... perhaps even a day we can spare. More, I'd be loath to."
I hope Vosi won't lose all hopes of our return should we tarry too long. Still, by this point the fey already know of our raid and are probably expecting us, so perhaps waiting a bit might even be beneficial... allow them to let their guard down by making them think Lady Argentea was our only target and we won't be coming back any time soon.
She casts a look toward the equipment they carried back from their expedition, now properly cleansed and tidily laid down on a nearby table. "Perhaps we might trade some of the items we have no use for for provisions and supplies. I remember there being a map in Rohkar's room, but I forgot to properly check with all the things that were going on."
Morgraine wolfs down her stew, although once it has cooled a bit, she picks out choice bits of meat and 'sneaks' them down to Kettu who sits at her ankles.
She nods at Tiferet's suggestion of trading the less desirable items for needed supplies. "It might help to know exactly what we have to trade. We know Eirikr's new cloak is enchanted, and there were some oils and potions as well that we should find out what they are for. With a little time, I can try to figure that out."
******
After eating, Morgraine gathers the loot accumulated and analyses the pile with divination, ascertaining and separating out those items with magical auras. The strongest auras she sets off to the side for further investigation, the weaker in a separate pile, and those without in yet another grouping.
That done, she chooses two items from the first group and begins another incantation to delve deeper into its properties...
Morgraine's mage sight lights up as she looks over the one scroll they have yet to identify, though not over the three vials that also came off Rohkar's person. She examines it for a moment, invoking her bond with her spirit to grant her greater knowledge. It only takes a moment to realize the scroll is a more advanced version of the lesser animate dead scrolls that were found in his supplies . The cloak takes a few more moments to examine, but with what she already knows, the magic is fairly easy to pick apart. It seems to invoke a constant endure elements though only against the cold and radiates animal ferocity that makes the wearer more intimidating . Additionally, the heavy furs seem to wrap around the user in combat, making them harder to hurt .
When Mouse tells her the entire party needs to clean up then leaves Evelyn goes to find some place private and uses prestidigitation to clean herself instead of using the public baths.
While the party is sorting out the items they gathered from the necromancer Evelyn tries to gather any information she can from the town about the winter witch or anyone under her control.
Eve wanders the town, listening for what rumors she can and chatting with the locals. Many of the villagers are more than happy to talk with one of the heroes that saved the lady and are going to put an end to the unnatural weather. As with many small towns, the story had spread through the whole town before breakfast had even started. Unfortunately, she gets little more than rumors and guesswork for her efforts. The distant land of Irrisen is hardly well known to villagers in southern Taldor.
However, the owner of the general store has an interesting theory. "The lady you brought back, she's an odd sort. Always holed up in her rooms and the like. Only came out when you dragged her to the Stoat ta help your friends. Somethin' not quite right with her, mark my words."
As Morgraine's arcane sight fixes on the scrolls and cloak, Tiferet examines the three vials, handling them with the care required by their status of former possessions of a likely devotee of the God of Secrets and Assassins.
It only takes a moment for Tiferet to identify the remaining vials not as potions, but as poisons. Two of the vials are greenblood oil while the last is a dose of oil of taggit.
"Those things are poisons" Tiferet says, carefully laying the three vials down. "Pair off well with that Norgorberian symbol. These two" she points at the greenish ones "are doses of greenblood oil. You can coat your weapon in them – just a little scratch will debilitate your foe. That last one is a paralysing toxin, but it will only work if ingested. Oil of taggit, it is called" she flatly states.
Nathara has to force herself to eat her stew with little enjoyment while the others identify the items. "Poison." She returns with a hint of disdain. She tries to read from Tiferet's face what she thinks about this, but fails to do so.
"That does not seem... very noble, yet I suppose we cannot sacrifice a tactical advantage." She reaches her hands out and picks one carefully up with her claw tips wraps it into a piece of cloth from her equipment and stows it away.
With that she pushes the bowl with her food, mostly but not entirely eaten away. "I shall go and see whether I can acquire some mundane equipment for the challenges to come."
She leaves to look for what the shops of the town have to offer, even though she fears that winter equipment will be in short supply.
It doesn't take long for Nathara to be pointed to the general store. The owner, a sharp-eyed woman by the name of Vivialla, smiles as she makes her way inside. "Good morning," she says. "You'll be looking for supplies I take it. I don't carry weapons or the like, that Isker's job over at the forge, but I have plenty of goods brought in on the trade caravans. What can I get for you?"
Negotiation has never been Nathara's strong side, particularly not with humans. Her share had been considerable, but probably not sufficient to pay for everything she needs.
She takes a deep breath before she responds. "Desna's Fortune with you, good woman, I am Nathara Darkblade. We... intend to face the menace those twisted fey represented." Technically rather coerced than twisted. "We intend to close the magical portal which they have opened from here to the lands of the Winter Witches. Unfortunately we will likely have to do so from the other side, so I am in dire need of winter equipment." She looks around in the shop.
"If you could suggest a farmer who has a mule or stout horse to sell, I'd be grateful. What I need are... tents, blankets, oil..."
She points at several items she may require. If the shop keeper is repulsed by her horns and demonic appearance, or her being an elf she doesn't show, which is a good sign. Either she has indeed no reservations or she is too professional to show.
She keeps a running total during the the conversation and seems quite focused, often closing her eyes to actually picture the situations in which she will need the equipment to find out whether anything they can afford is amiss.
"I'll leave such debates to the Iomedaeans. It's the slaying of sentient beings which intrinsically isn't noble, and yet, sometimes it cannot be avoided" she says. And sometimes people make a job out of it she thinks. People like me. – though truth be told, she has never killed if not in self-defence, or to protect a client; and even with those, she's always avoided the shady ones.
"As long as it doesn't bring unnecessary pain, I've always felt the 'how' is less important than the 'why'. Or the 'who'. Still, your blade would probably dispatch a foe much quicker than that substance, Nath."
As Nathara walks through the Stoat's main door, she quickly follows suit, rapidly grabbing one of the oils on her way out.
The shopkeeper listens to Nathara's list in silence. "We appreciate everything you're doing for our town, especially when you don't really have much reason to care. I'm sure that I have most of that in stock, though I'll have to go through my stores and pull everything out. As for a horse... I think there should be horses available down at the Livery Stable, right down the street past the Stoat. Sophia's good at taking care of them, so I'm sure she's got a good pack horse she'd be willing to sell." She pulls out a scrap of paper and scribbles down the list of items, jotting prices down next to them. "Let's see, that will be... 123 gold and 6 silver. I think that covers everything."
Out in the town square, Tiferet is able to chat with the locals easily enough. People are still eager to share what little they know with the town's new protectors. It seems there aren't many spell casters in town and even the general store rarely deals in magic items. The only person who might be interested in scrolls would be Father Natharen down at the church.
"I disagree with the idea that poisons aren't noble... the right poisons can help you to take down a threat without killing it. I'll take whatever's available." she nods towards the vials. "Unless they literally break the body... then they're the same as a weapon." she winces after a moment, imagining the effects of some of the poisons she's read about.
She doesn't opt to go outside to shop, but instead goes to check on their 'princess'.
"I... wanted to thank you again. You didn't have to do that." Inire says, with a frown. "We- I would have been fine." she says, before chewing on her lip for a moment. "I wouldn't have slowed us down, at any rate." she says, offering a small smile. "Are you doing alright?"
Nathara is a bit surprised as she hears the amount and goes through her list again. But the price seems all right, even though a single one tent is extremely narrow for all of them. The others would probably expect her to negotiate...
The elf maiden verifies the qualities of the furs again. Those should do...
"Very well, I shall talk to my associates and come back to collect the package later once I organized a horse."
She waits a moment for the tradeswoman to return something and then leaves, looking for her new comrades on the way to the stables.
Tiferet's and Inire's words regarding poison linger on her mind and she will likely pick up the topic later on... but her reservations will not stop her from using it. Not using an advantage would not only endanger herself, but everyone who depends on her as a fighter.
With his meal finished and most of the rest of the party elsewhere, Eirikr decides to explore the town to see if he can find anything or anyone noteworthy or useful before the party departs.
"Noble... It's always curious to notice how those who make the laws also tend to decide what's good or bad – usually by sticking their names to the former" Tiferet muses. "Of course a nobleman's act performed according to the dictates of nobility wouldn't be anything short of noble. Though many noblemen would cringe at the idea of dispatching a foe in anything less than a formal duel, of course. Publicly, at least."
Wandering out of the smithy, Eirikr passes by a few other people on the streets. It seems the village has become more lively now that the promise of an end to the wintry weather has been circling around town. Most of the talk is just rumors and hearsay, but he does hear one interesting thing. It seems that a hunter named Dryden Kepp went out early this morning after some animal that had been attacking livestock in the nearby farms. No one has heard from him since.
Tiferet thanks jovially those who pointed her to the temple – all the while silently berating herself for not having thought of the most obvious option.
She steps into the shrine with vigorous strides, carrying the scrolls with her. "Hi! You're probably tired of seeing my face around by now, aren't you?" she jokes greeting the Elder. "Thanks again for having put Inire and Morgraine back on their feet. Now that this storm has passed, we can once again focus on more mundane matters" she says handing the Erastilian priest the parchments. A sense of relief pervades her as the three necromantic scrolls leave her possession, the distinctly electrical sensation in her veins finally going away. Celestial blood can be so dramatic...
"We found those in the necromancer's possession; these three in particular contain spells to create winter-infused undead abominations. Luckily, he won't have any more chances to do that now – and we certainly have no intention to use them in his stead" she says, remembering the zombies' ferocious attack by the ambush site, which almost knocked both her and Nathara down. "So I'm entrusting them to you, Father. I believe your wisdom will know how to best deal with them."
"I... wanted to thank you again. You didn't have to do that." Inire says, with a frown. "We- I would have been fine." she says, before chewing on her lip for a moment. "I wouldn't have slowed us down, at any rate." she says, offering a small smile. "Are you doing alright?"
Lady Argentea smiles softly. "I owe all of you my life. The very least I can do is try to help on your mission. Besides, I feel a bit bad that I had nothing to reward you with after your daring rescue."
Father Natharen is performing a morning prayer with his wife when Tiferet enters the temple. He silently leaves his wife to her prayer at Sarenrae's alter and walks over to his visitor. "It was simply my duty. And with what you've done to protect our community, it was the very least I could do."
His eyes narrow as he carefully takes the scrolls and examines one of them. "Yes, I see. Thank you for bringing these to me. I know just how to deal with them." He rolls all three up and takes them over to his wife. They speak quietly for a moment, then she sets them on the alter to Sarenrae and whispers something in Celestial that you can't quite make out before igniting all three scrolls. Father Natharen watches the three scrolls burn, then disappears into his quarters for a moment. When he returns, he offers a pouch to Tiferet. "I'm merely a village priest, but I have enough funds to offer a suitable reward for defeating that necromancer and for allowing us to destroy his foul craft." He passes you a bag purse containing 300 gold coins.
Inire fidgets for a moment, then shrugs, "I suppose. But I'm not sure any of us were interested in a reward. It... cheapens what we did, in a way." she says, looking down. "So... please don't feel like you have to do good things for us, just because we did good things for you. We knew what we were getting into... you didn't really ask for anything that happened to you."
"Perhaps you didn't do it for a reward, but you deserve recognition for what you've done. I'm not going to be as rude as to ignore the people who saved my life. So I'm not helping you because I feel like I have to. I'm helping you because you deserve help after what you did for me. It's the very least I can do."
Inire smiles, and nods to her. "Then by all means." she says, bowing her head slightly. "Thank you very much. If you need anything, we'll be here for a little while longer, and then we'll be heading into the woods once more."
Tiferet blushes vehemently when she notices her impetuous entrance has interrupted the couple's worshipping. As if to make up to them, she joins them in their prayers for a while, having already offered her thanks for their generosity. Though she respects Erastil's role in protecting and fostering a community, Old Deadeye's teachings – a quiet life, the blessings of family and hard work – have never truly spoken to the Ulfen warrioress' heart. Instead, it's Sarenrae's shrine she kneels in front of, just besides Zaarida.
The Queen of Angels... The Queen of the Empyreals...
Nath's Queen...
She can't tel how much time she's spent rapt in her meditations, but when the priest and his wife are over their devotions, she too stands up and bids them farewell. "Thanks again, Father. One last thing though. Let me put this money to good use. Wouldn't you by any chance have a set of bandages and ointments lying around? We can't always count on having a priest of your power around, in which case even a mundane aid is better than nothing, I figure."
Lady Argentea smiles and bows her head in response. "I believe I'm alright, but it is comforting to know you're around. Thank you." With that, she heads off to the alchemist's shop to check on her bodyguard.
The priest nods in understanding. "Ah, of course. I keep several such kits around for treating more mundane illnesses and injuries when I'm trying to conserve my magical gifts. Hold a moment." He fetches a simple wooden box from behind the main alter and offers it to her. "The items here are generally worth about 50 gold."