"Oh no! Our Seer, Opoli may have some luck. He is our only healer, at the moment, I'm afraid. Fobir would have been able to, but he was killed by one of the Traitors while he slept just prior to their exodus. Yes, Dale should be able to help you with supplies at the market. I'll see that your guide takes you there directly." Sull calls both a young man and Myrra in, giving them both instructions to help the new comers.
Cole plays with his food for a while.
I wonder if he'd poison it? No, no. He wants us to kill his enemies, he'd not poison us unless we seemed disinclined to act on his behalf.
As long as we take out his enemies, we'll get out of this alive I think. Yes, yes, that seems likely. If he's good he'd help us here and if he's evil he'll help us as well. So get what you can...
Cole digs into the meal, happy to have something better, or at least different, from trail rations to slake his hunger.
"You want us to kill your enemies - good enough sounds like we'll help you."
"However, we are not, generally speaking, well equipped. I'm sure you wouldn't mind, uh, donating a few goods to our cause? There are many risks in the caves, not just those of demon worshippers. I could use some Alchemy Fire if you've got any. And a few cold iron arrows if you have any lying around."
"I'm sure my friends too have needs that you could meet. Nothing extravagant of course! Just a small donation..."
Chief Sull smiles, or at least, you think it's a smile. "Yes, I have a few things that might help. And of course, I will talk to Dale at the market."
Later, when it is time to have a meal with local food, Grasker will say a word or two of prayer towards health while ascending.
Casting the Purify Food & Drink cantrip to play things safe and so Cole will eat his veggies without pouting.
"Yes, the Seer and the market. I am ready to go when they are," Serra says rising and dusting himself off. He pat his new chain armor and straightens his belt, trying to look as presentable and knightly as possible for his stroll through town.
When we are on our way, Grasker will confer with Cole.
"I am surprised you signaled to trust the chief. He looks chaos touched, wars with crusaders and showed no interest in the demon invasion above. I defer to your expertise from beyond the walls though.."
Also... there may be wisdom in Jurin's metaphors...
"Jurin, can you explain a bit more about the bakery? You'll point out if it looks like we are walking into an oven I hope..."
This is quite the opposite of Bottlebrush, wouldn't you say, Lenore? Dining with the Deepwells, off their backporch, smelling the sweet alyssum growing 'round their shed. Who would have thought... Now, I'm dining with the Deep-ones, and I'm not sure what I smell exactly. It's new to me. Probably some of that colorful fungus Grasker and Beagan described earlier.
Eli contents himself with his bowl, and the conversations ebbing and flowing between the others. "I wouldn't mind talking with the healer, myself. There might be salves I've not encountered. And healers are always interesting people."
The food, while somewhat exotic in nature, is both tasty and nutritious. After the meal, Chief Sull leaves momentarily, then returns with a large chest.
"I have some of the alchemical fires which you asked for, three.... and these arrows. I only ask that you take word to those that fight above. The people of Neathholm have not forgotten their duty. If called, we will fight the abominations from the 'Wound. I will send a messenger to the deeper clans, to let them know what has occurred. Send word. We will come."
*******
After the meal, Dale leads any that wish to go to Seer Opoli's home. As thin as Sull is round, with a slick, clammy skin, and eyes as white as Eli's. Opoli welcomes them gruffly, but without any real hostility.
"Sully says that you have injured among... oh my yes, yes you do, don't you? Come in, come in, and let me take a look. I will see what can be done." He looks over Anevia first, and then Aravashnyel, his shoulders slumping more and more with every muttered "hrrmph" and "humm"
"I wish I could tell you that I could do much for you, but unfortunately, I can do nothing for them at this time. Iomedae still answers our prayers, but not to a degree that could heal such as these, save with time, or... more." Opoli finishes, sadly.
Eli smiles as Opoli lightens Chief Sull's moniker. You would have enjoyed that too, Marcy. He studies Opoli's approach to tending the wounded, and feels both satisfied and disappointed when Opoli can get no further than he. I was hoping to learn something myself, Lenore. You would have done a sight better than the both of us, I gather.
"It's what you tell us, Opoli, that sets our minds at ease. By looking them over, you at least give us the reassurances that in the mundane arts, we have met our limits. I would only ask if you have the means of making them more comfortable with their injuries, we'd be grateful for that, at the least." Eli looks at both Anevia and Aravashnyel.
"They have not complained in the least, but should the leg muscle pain her, perhaps you have some willow bark to lessen its throb. As for those eyes of the elf, fresh bandages, and some unguent to take away the burn? Yes, that would be choice." Eli listens to a thought or two, and nods as he decides the memory still echoes clearly. I do believe I'm most comfortable with this Neathholmite, my love.
"Ahh yess. I do miss willowbark tea. My mother used to give it to me when I was small and not feeling well. We have something similar here, though luckily, it's not quite so bitter.."
Opoli gathers what he can, then offers to set Anevia's leg in a hard cast made of things basically harmless, but better off not mentiond (though Eli is quite certain he noticed spidersilk in the binding.) The salve for Ara's eyes takes sometime to kick in, but the elf's relieved sigh when it finally does is an audible testament to its effectiveness.
"Jurin, can you explain a bit more about the bakery? You'll point out if it looks like we are walking into an oven I hope..."
"Explain? It's a bakery. They have bread, that we landed on, and some bad chefs, which explains why the bread was so hard. The ovens must be off or it wouldn't be so dark, but now that we've met these dead men with pizza shovels I think it won't be far to the ovens. And twelve more pizza men. That's a lot of them. That's almost a baker's dozen, so that's how you know we're in a bakery. Do you know pizza? The fey have it, wonderful food. It's bread with vegetables on it, warmed and served on leaves. Good stuff. Serra likes it, you can tell."
Jurin looks around, keeping and eye out for rogue ovens so he can warn Grasker if they attack.
Cole thanks the chief, and anxious not to look a gift horse in the mouth, he stows the gear without another glance. However, later, he VERY carefully checks the fletching on each arrow and investigates the alchemy fire as much as he dares (which isn't much).
"Get what you can out of them, but have a care. We don't want to appear too needy or they may decide we can't do the job after all and jump us. Keep a weather eye out, but I think we'll be fine."
Cole looks concerned but easier now that he knows the score and can react to it. He offers one of the Alchemy Fires to Grasker if he'll take it. "I really only need two. One for when I miss!" he grins widely.
The fletching on the arrows is not actually made of feathers as Cole is used to, but a fibrous substance he can't quite identify. The alchemist fire looks to be alchemist fire.
Serra watches as the Chief offers the flasks and arrows.
"You are kind to help us out. We will make good use of them, use them wisely, and use them to protect what is noble and just," Serra thanks.
* * *
Serra nods along with Jurin's words, knowing that he had had pizza before, but can't remember it very well.
"That was a long time ago, Jurin. I don't remember it very well. The fey would is sometimes hard to remember...for some," Serra says, giving Jurin a look.
Huh. Most people don't remember the feyworld. He *does*. That might explain some things.
Serra smiles, wishing he remembered pizza the way he did. And wishes he had the gumption and resolve to create something from that memory.
Why didn't I start a pizza cafe?
OOOH!! I know the answer!! It's because you're fat and stupid and lazy, huh?!
Serra sighs deeply.
* * *
Serra comes out of his unhappy reverie to find Opoli tending to the wounds of the party.
"Might you have any curatives for sale? Or trade? We will be heading to battle soon, by all accounts, and might need stuff to save those who tend to injure easily," Serra's eyes flicker to Ely and Beagan.
"I do have some. The salve will need to be put on this man's eyes every day, but there is no charge for that. I have a couple of potions that I could trade. What do you have to barter?"
"It's bread with vegetables on it, warmed and served on leaves."
"That sounds like many different types of dishes served by the fey, most of them very tasty. I've never heard of this 'pizza' before, but maybe the Elves or the fey of the Tanglebriar call it something different. I'm trying to learn as many dialects as I can, but there are plenty I haven't mastered yet."
"...might need stuff to save those who tend to injure easily"
The Gnome flashes his most innocent 'Who? Me?' expression, before his hands start fishing through his gear, checking his bandolier, belt pouches, sack, and finally his pack. "I've got gold from Druma, Highhelm, Gralton, ummm, maybe ten coins in all?" He rummages through his over-stuffed pack, carefully moving his painting and leather working supplies aside. "Fishhook. Twine. Needle and thread. Acid. Empty flask. Chalk. Lost my bow in the fall. Damn."
He ends with a sigh - "No more wine or leaf, so I don't think I have much more to contribute to a barter, I guess, other than the 10 gold."
"Offer to trade? Oh...uh..." Serra's hands search his body for things to trade for potential healing, his voice trailing off while he pats his pockets for items of value.
His hands eventually rest on the scale he received when they first fell.
He slowly draws out the scale, debating, and looking around to see what other goods people might have.
Serra's head tilts as he remembers something and pulls out his old scale armor, shiny and nice.
"I have this fine armor to trade...and a few coins." Serra pulls out 20 gp, the last of his funds.
Grasker will stand guard outside. He doesn't like the sound of underdark balms. No one can tell what a balm is gonna do. They're unpredictable.
"I have two backpacks, when I only require one. I also have roughly a dozen gold coins to contribute, should they be enough for trade." Eli considers the healer's wares, ready to discuss what may benefit the group.
Grasker will step in with his chain shirt and add it to the pile.
Opoli sorts through the items piled on the counter one by one, then turns to a small locker. He pulls out several items in varying containers. Some of the containers are ancient, reused over the years but still in good condition. These look much like the ones the group is used to. The newer items are formed from other other, more primitive materials, carved from stone or clay, though well crafted none the less.
Eli becomes fascinated with Opoli's wares. As each bottle and phial is produced, Eli takes a moment to study each. He only disturbs bottles that can be recorked easily.
"That is an unusual color for an antitoxin. What makes it reflect light like oil on water?" Eli hums a bit as he looks it over, and only reluctantly sets it down to pick up another phial.
"This, this would be useful to paralysis and sleeping poisons. I wonder if the Traitors deal in such ignoble arts." Eli sets down the twitch tonic, for another.
"The syrup. I remember it more in a blue hue, and yet this one is more crimson. What have you distilled for its viscosity?" Eli holds it up to Opoli. "They're sealed well, but I would really like to smell this, and dab for taste. Would that be too much of a bother? Your work ethic shows here, Opoli, and it is to be admired."
Serra sniffs at the items, not seeing anything of pressing needs for him. He waits patiently in case others wish to purchase.
When others are ready, he will ask to see the Agora.
Opoli answers each one in turn. "We harvest local worms that have remarkable fortitude against poisons. They give it that oily color." His mouth hardens into as straight a line as his rubbery flesh can manage. "Yes, I created this one myself after The Traitorous Night. T'was not enough, I'm afraid, but I do it in Fobir's memory." Softened by Eli's diplomatic ways, he carefully opens which ever vial Eli would like, very carefully, then reseals it when he's done.
When the group is ready, their guide leads them down to the market. The place is small, though there are signs that perhaps on special market days, it expands into the nearby square carpeted in a mossy mold of verdant blue green. Dale, a round, happy creature of indeterminate age and gender, greets their guide upon entering, then turns to the group, her smile somewhat dimmed as she takes in the...the... "uplander"ness of the new arrivals.
"Is there something I can do for you?"
"Hello! Dale, is it? Chief Sull said you were the one to talk as we prepare for further travels. We've had a very interesting couple of days, and I expect our coming trip could be just as challenging."
Beagan thinks on what was useful during the trip so far. "You know, I still have my flint and steel, but I used my last tindertwig, and I've discovered sometimes you want that quick spark! And sometimes a little extra light, too. The Big R only grants me so much divine fire each day."
Not accustomed to such difficult and contentious travel, Began considers the closest parallels from home. "When the Elves stalked the minions of Treerazer, they'd equip themselves to travel through overgrown vegetation when necessary. I think the Chief said the tunnels to the surface might not be clear. Do you have picks or shovels? Or what do your people use to dig through in case quakes have blocked the path?"
Serra, tired of carrying his old armor around, offers to sell it to Dale.
"Would you give me some good coin for this, then? Or who might?" Serra says, offering the well polished scale mail armor.
"I'd like to look at your weapons if you have any. Also, do you have any armor polish?" Serra looks at the man. Serra looks around for travel foods, but does not ask about it.
What's wrong, fatso? Worried about running out of food?
As he's accustomed to big folk only having oversized, clumsy gear, Beagan is heartened to spot some more appropriately sized equipment in Dale's inventory.
"Serra, you know what it takes to be knightly, right? If I have to use force in the Big R's name, I of course to prefer to use the hand-and-a-half sword that is his symbol. I lost my bow in the fall, so now I only have a sling to back up my blade, but I can't really see Cathyra using a sling." The Gnome remembers the Crusaders retrieving a bow from her gear.
"What's the knightly thing to do if you can't use your god's weapon? Is a bow better than a sling? I know the Elves think so, but most of the Big R's followers are knightly, so I thought I'd ask you."
"Chief Sull sent you? Please come in." Dale unbends somewhat, smile slightly less begrudgingly. "tindertwigs? Oh! Yes, I think I have some of those over here."
Dale gets Beagan settled with the tendertwigs, then turns to help Serra, "Let me see it, I may be able to find someone that it will fit. Oh, you've kept it quite nice. Yes, I can trade this at the great Market in a few weeks. Polish? I have some,yes. If you purchase a weapon, I will throw the polish in for free." Dale gives the guide one more look, then shows Serra what weapons are available. The range is wide, with some rather... creative looking new weapons, plus several that might be considered antiques in Kenabres shops. "Is there something in particular you are looking for, Sir." The honorific comes, grudgingly, but without too much snark.
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Serra nods at Beagan as if he knows tons about knightly matters, re-hoisting his belt to cover its girth.
Bluff - Mendevian Knightliness
Profession (Soldier)
"My father preferred no ranged weapon at all, choosing to cover the front with his mighty bardiche. Of course, he traveled with an archer who sometimes hit the targets that we was shooting at," Serra says, giving a knowing wink to Jurin. "Javelins are sometimes used by the knightly as their strength plays into the weapon well. However, the most efficient ranged weapon for a knight is a shortbow. It doesn't get in the way when one charges and isn't so effective that it causes the knight to forget his main duty: melee combat."
Serra looks over the goods for a shortened bow.
"I would choose that, Sir Knight. A shortbow."
Eli listens to Opoli, sensing his pain as he speaks on loss and regret. "The Traitorous Night. That is unfortunate. It was not simply abandonment, then? Please let me know if I should not ask on these things, but we are certain to lock horns with those who slayed Fobir. Pray tell, what exactly occurred?" Eli grows quiet, but touches the vial containing Opoli's own creation, and marks it for purchase.
...
Eli waits out the negotiations at a distance, studying the square and its moss. He wanders the breadth of the area, looking about, and smiling as normally as he can should any residents pass by.
Should Grasker continue his vigilance away from the business at hand, Eli returns to keep him company. "Baphomet. I am not well versed. Are we likely to encounter more than mongrelmen and cultists?" Eli continues to look off as he speaks. "How do you think we will fare against these forces, as armed as we are?" Eli looks over his shoulder for either Serra and/or Jurin. "As impaired as we are?"
While Grasker has some time away from the locals to talk with Elyanias, he discusses some troubles.
"Eli, this situation is strange. We sup with chaotic looking people and plan to assault crusaders. I understand that appearances are not everything and what are known as mongrelmen may simply be.. well, similar to half elves."
"If we see the clerics of one side or the other, we may divine additional clues as to who follows the demonkind. Should it be cultists with pole arms, direct assault would be unwise."
When visiting Dale's shop, Grasker will inquire after a smokestick.
"Lock horns? Are you hiding horns, Eli? It sure would be nice if you could tell what people are like on the inside from the outside, but if you could do that then maybe there wouldn't be bad crusaders, yeah? We'll have to be the good crusaders. With our knight we'll have no problem."
Cole follows along with the party, though he keeps his council largely to himself. Clearly the group is more accepting of the chief than he - and that's fine for now, but Cole keeps on the balls of his feet, keeps his quiver full, and keeps his eyes open for trouble.
"I don't suppose we have anyone who can discern the alignment of others do we? If we're to go against obvious crusaders we should be careful we're not mislead before we go on a killing spree."
"I'd hate to kill a man solely because of a poor choice in weaponry."
Serra peruses the weaponry, but does not end up buying anything. He still would like to sell his armor (+25gp).
He will enjoin in supporting his group purchases and be ready to go to bed so that the party might move on to meet the heretics.
"Lock horns? Are you hiding horns, Eli?..."
Eli chuckles. "Ah, yes, poor choice of words, now that you say it like that. And having horns isn't pathognomonic for evil, as Lann demonstrated. So, book covers do not equal books. And, no, I have no horns, unless you wax my eyebrows just right."
"I don't suppose we have anyone who can discern the alignment of others do we?"
"I can not. As I protected Serra, so might you find out if a foe dealt differently with you should I offer the same."
Dale will purchase Serra's armor and has the basics that everyone is looking for. All too soon, the guide is ready to take them back to Myrra unless they have some other place in town that they would like to see first?
During the bartering at the market, Beagan remembers the pieces of darkmantle hide stuffed at the bottom of his pack. Retrieving and uncrumpling it, he's very pleased that Dale offers a nice price.
He counts the gold in his hand and runs some calculations through his head. "I'm here in the place of one of Big R's knights, so I need to be as knightly in my dedication to the Big Guy as possible. I've got my knightly sword, but I need that knightly shortbow for those foes too cowardly to accept my personal challenge."
"Oh! And some arrows, too! A knightly bow isn't very handy without arrows, now is it. Some of those, and..." He looks over the selection and thinks back to some of the arrows Cole has, and the metal in Serra's knife, and how effective it can be, and he slowly, reluctantly points at a quiver. He slides a couple of more coins over, before making sure his leather gloves entirely cover his shaking hands.
"Y-y-yes, those." The shiver in his voice matches his hands, as he accepts the quivers. He carefully attaches the quiver with the cold iron on the backside of his backpack, as far away from his body as possible, before heading back to the accommodations with the rest.
"I don't suppose we have anyone who can discern the alignment of others do we?"
"Discern alignment? No, though detecting evil certainly would be useful for one seeking cultists and witches in the city above."
Grasker has a sly smile.
"Lets check the temple tonight and the crusaders tomorrow."
The temple sits just on the other side of Chief Sull's home. Painted white, with a well crafted arch entrance, the building appears well tended from the exterior. Inside, a smallish creature covered in scales the color of Lann's kneels before the altar in robes of red, white and gold. At the sound of the group's entrance, she stands, turning to greet them.
Serra doesn't enter the Iomedaen temple, but holds great reverence for it. He looks around, wishing Kastor were nearby so that the young squire might be instructed in the ways of knighthood.
"Kastor, see here? A temple to Iomedae. One of those good gods we've spoken of in the past. Soon enough, you might be called by one of them to serve...or you'll seek out a god to which to swear an oath of service. It's an important part of being a knight, you see, Kastor, for the gods give great gifts to their followers and they are powerful forces against evil."
Serra breathes deep and takes a hand to his outer holy symbol, the one that matches what his father wore: a perfect symbol to a perfect deity from a perfect father.
And held by an imperfect, failure son.
Serra sighs.
Eli contents himself with taking in the church and its altar. He nods politely to the robed priest, and allows the others their time to devote themselves.
Peace of mind is never to be underestimated. If this helps the others center themselves for the path laid before us, then this is good use of our time. Eyes within the temple, eyes without.
It is clear that reconstruction has been going on. The altar shows signs of former vandalism that has been cleaned and repainted, and on the back wall, a mural of a sun rising behind a valiant longsword is in the process of being repainted. A closer look can see the most sacrilegious graffiti has been painted over, and the new artist is now working on restoring the whole to a semblance of its former glory. There are currently enough pews to seat 75 individuals, though more intense inspection shows several of these to have been recently repaired.
Beagan strides in with any companions who enter, arching in a low bow to the robed woman. "Greetings! May the righteousness of the Cause bless this place and keep all who gather here on a goodly path!"
He scans around the repaired building, eying the half-painted mural in particular. "If we weren't in such a hurry to venture forth, I would wish to remain and help with the refurbishment! I'm told I've got some talent with a brush." He removes his bracers to reveal the intricately painted ruinic R on one forearm and the winged symbol of Ragathiel on the other. Painting holy symbols is near and dear to his heart. "Even the best artisan can usually make use of an able apprentice."
Grasker surveys the room, the alter, the figure. Sensing no evil, he slides his hand off his sword and enters the room after Beagan.
"By the light of the sword! Who would defile a shrine to Iomedae?"
The little priest pulls herself up to her full height, the color of her scales dimming. "You must be the good uplanders that Chief Sull mentioned. I was not expecting you until morning mass." She turns to see which desecration Grasker is looking at in particular. "The Traitorous Night was particularly devastating for the temple. But we are putting what things we can back in order."
"Ok, so we know horns aren't always evil and we need to find some wax for Eli's eyebrows."
Jurin stays outside the temple, waiting for the others.
"Why are you so sad, Serra? Isn't this what you wanted? Adventure?"
Cole wonders for a while whether they'd be pretending to fix up the temple just for the visual to the party, but that seems far fetched even to him.
Must be some here who are good. One point for the chief I guess.
To Grasker he says, "We are dealing with Demon worshippers. They do all manner of foul and pestilent things." he looks around, "Looks like it was a beautiful church once."
Serra comes out of his miseries to look at Jurin.
Sadness? Better keep a stiff upper lip there, blubbo. Even Jurin is getting suspicious. *Jurin*.
"Sadness, Jurin? Oh...uh...it's just that someone would damage a temple makes me sad. Yeah," Serra misdirects. "I can't wait to get all knightly on those demon loving traitors. We'll make them pay for what they did here."
Bluff
Serra doesn't enter the Iomedaen temple, but holds great reverence for it. Serra listens to the dialogue and discussion from others.
"Jurin, this reminds me when the Othoeans attacked Falcon's Hollow. The hordes of undead, remember? Such senseless and evil acts to destroy what is safe and sacred. You remember that, don't you, Jurin?"
"It is sad, isn't it. Harder to make bread when the oven is broken. Can't save any souls with a broken church I guess."
Jurin nods along to a beat only he can hear.
"I remember when we...watched them attack Falon's Hollow. I'm surprised you do Serra, you were so young. There was a lot of fighting, a lot of people died. Even the dead people died again. Real shame what happened to your dad in that fight though. You'd think he wouldn't miss the toes on that leg, but watching Othoe eat them like that..."
The young man shudders.
"Didn't even use ketsup."