Denge, so close to the werebat, pulls his masterwork Scythe and swings for the fences.
Denge's scythe hits the werebat, but does not sink into him, skipping off his hide instead.
Geb and Nex have not received any new commands. Nex remains by the fire. Geb stands by Bray, barking at Hanull for taking Adula.
Rafaelis exclaims pointing, "There is a Tanglefoot bag in my backpack by the fire. If somebody can get it before me, please use it to down the beast!"
Brethon calls, "I'll get it." He moves over to the fire and pulls a tanglefoot bag from Rafaelis' bag, holding it out.
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Pulling out another flask from his belt, Bear’f preparing to launch it at Hanull…”Nothing can be gained from your death, listen to us and surrender and we can help you find a way of ridding this taint from yourself and Adula…”
The gnome takes deep gasps of air as he stumbles next to the bat. He looks haggard, and his purple skin has a green tinge.
The anger surpasses the exhaustion in the moment.
The gnome takes deep gasps of air as he stumbles next to the bat. He looks haggard, and his purple skin has a green tinge.
The anger surpasses the exhaustion in the moment.
Albern's strike with the mithral hook hammer and the ongoing fire from Bear'f's flask cause dire wounds to the werebat, but he stubbornly continues to cling to life.
As the werebat attempts to fly onward, it loses control and crashes to the ground. It rights itself, attempting to flee.
Bear'f's second flasks strikes true, and the bat literally goes down in flames.
Albern rocks straight back on his heels, which turns into a semi-graceful plump onto the ground.
"Whew, that was tiring. I'm hungry!"
The gnome pulls out some Taldan marzipan and starts sucking on it greedily.
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Sigh, "Well that's that. Does anyone want to save these two? The trouble being is what are we to do with them once they wake up? It is not likely that any jail would be able to hold them." Folding his arms he turns from the scene of carnage, the stench of burnt hair and flesh stinging his nostrils, to look down upon Gribb "Well Mr Gribb you do pick interesting pastimes: inveterate gambling, pesh abuse, and now roadside banditry. Were you colluding with them to bite us, rob us, or both? One wonders what other surprises you have in store?"
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He addresses Denge, "I know of these matters. Let us put them out of their misery first.". Rafaelis will retrieve the mithral longsword from the wagon, handling the blade awkwardly, and finishes off first Hanull and then Adula. Once done he will prepare their bodies for burial after of course thoroughly going over their former belongings, separating what is valuable from what is not. "May I have the assistance of a Detect Magic?" He looks toward Denge and Taldus.
He will talk to the bodies as he prepares them, "You have what you hold eh? Well, you held your lives just moments before. Now not. Miraculous lives they were too! You could transform yourselves into powerful creatures at will and go a flying where you will. Why would you squander it on this lowly life of brigandry and bloody roadside murder? Let us see if the story is written on your bodies or the things you chose to carry, shall we? No doubt you have family somewhere, mothers, fathers, uncles, aunts, siblings, cousins who would wish to have news of your demise, but I fear the repercussions of contacting such formidable people. Perhaps they would seek vengeance for their fallen kin no matter how ignoble their behavior?"
He says over his shoulder to the rest of the company, "Surely these brigands have a camp somewhere, where they hide their ill gotten gains. Perhaps this whole story of an ettin is just that? To cover for the predations of these two? They could not fly far with much. Perhaps Mr Gribb you could enlighten us?"
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When Hanull returns to human form upon his demise Professor Bellerophon lets out an cry of dismay. "Oh nooo! Damn! Now a dissection won't show a thing!"
He throws his dagger to the ground in exasperation and disgust at the scientific opportunity lost. He stares at the dagger and then, sheepishly picks it up, cleans it, and puts it in its place.
"That's no way to treat an instrument, Taldus," he mutters to himself.
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Speaking crossly to Taldus over his shoulder, "Better a loss to science, than our humanity. Besides I am more than a little miffed at you Sir. Losing your head and healing the enemy! I mean REALLY! Especially after we had a conversation about just this very thing less than a week ago in that Tavern in Maheto. Remember? Tactics people tactics! If Ambrus Valsin could see us now he would have rated it a 'C+' perhaps a 'B-' at best."
Searching the bodies of Hanull and Adula, you find two short swords. 135 gp in coins of various denominations and small gems, and a set of masterwork thieves tools on Hanull. On Adula, you find a silver unholy symbol of Hanspur, a scroll with two castings of eagle's spelendor, a heavy mace, a sling, 20 sling bullets, and 150 gp in coins of various denominations and small gems.
In addition, Hanull is wearing a pair of extremely well-made black leather boots, and Adulla is wearing an extraordinary black wool cloak. All of the pair's other belongings are rather travel-worn. In contrast, these two items are magnificent. They are the exact same shade of black.
Mr. Gribb sputters at the questions. "Colluding with them? What? No! Of course not. Never. They're filth. I never should have let them hire on. Dump them in the canal so we can get some rest."
Albern scuttles over to Nex and starts whispering, even though his gnomish ability to talk to the beast has been expended.
"Wow, I never thought that cutting something open would be so important. Now they are talking about sighing ents and not being human. Is that what happens when humans cut something like a bat person open - they make the ents sigh and they start being not human?" He looks fascinated, but remains too shy to ask. "What do you think they turn into, Arf, if they're not humans anymore?" he asks as he absentmindedly lets the dog lick his marzipan.
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"Clearly you knew them Mr Gribb. Particularly when you ate something surrepticiously given to you by Hanull here, which no doubt protected you from the Negative Energy Adula was channeling! I am not saying that you colluded in attempted murder. You were obviously surprised by that turn of events, but you were indeed colluding with them. There are ways of obtaining a confession from even a dead body Mr Gribb and the dead do not lie Sir. We could easily sashay back to Brethon's brother who has the power to do just that or to a priest in Belhaim! Indeed they could even make you speak the unvarnished truth for once. The good Father will not be pleased to find that his nefews were nearly made fatherless or worse, his brother doomed to the cursed life of an outcast. No sir these bodies are witness to too many a wrong to be dumped into a canal."
Bray suppresses a smirk. Tark shoots him a look.
Mr. Gribb continues to sputter. "What? He didn't slip me anything!" Then he goes on the offensive, "You are threatening me? I have half a mind to discharge you on the spot! I don't answer to the likes of you. You work for me!"
Mr. Gribb stomps into Tark's wagon and slams the door.
Bray starts rolling on the ground laughing and clutching at his sides.
Tark says to him, "Enough," but a rare grin briefly passes across his face as well.
Tark moves over toward the corpses and makes to drag them to the canal. Bray gets up, brushes himself off, and moves to help him. The two exchange glances. Bray turns toward the rest of the group and says, "Help us. Grab Hanull, then we'll talk by the canal."
The two start to carry Adula away.
As they depart, you hear Bray saying, "I told you it wouldn't be wererats out here. Pay up."
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Speaking crossly to Taldus over his shoulder, "Better a loss to science, than our humanity. Besides I am more than a little miffed at you Sir. Losing your head and healing the enemy! I mean REALLY! Especially after we had a conversation about just this very thing less than a week ago in that Tavern in Maheto. Remember? Tactics people tactics! If Ambrus Valsin could see us now he would have rated it a 'C+' perhaps a 'B-' at best."
"But- I was only- you said-, grrr," growls Professor Bellerophon at Rafaelis. "Listen, it was that or let our friends die! I am not adept enough at channeling to exclude our enemies in such a circumstance."
He turns, even more upset at Rafaelis' poorly thought through comments than the time a student complained about his diction to the Dean of the University.
"Listen, you sketchy necromancer-type, if everybody agrees with you, I'd be happy to stop healing. Maybe we can even do it retroactively. Let's see here, everybody who isn't dead, but nearly was, raise your hand. I regret to inform you that Mr. Reeves here thinks you should all be DEAD. Please lay down and die now. Harumph!"
The Professor, clearly unused to criticism, turns away and crosses his arms in front of his chest, a scowl on his face. He suddenly realizes how petulant he is looking, like a first-year anatomical sciences student who received a poor grade. He quickly uncrosses his arms and turns about, looking for some graceful way to cease looking like a prat, while not admitting any strategic blunders.
I mean, really, what does he expect. Damn it, I'm a doctor, not a battle strategist!
The Professor immediately hops to carrying the bodies to the river with Bray and Tark, anxious to hear what they have to say.
No doubt they will want to apologize to me for Rafaelis' damnable behavior. Yes, no doubt that's it.
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Rafaelis looks as Bray and Tark drag the bodies off, says quietly, "I hope they know what they are doing letting go of perfectly good evidence, hopefully they've made arrangements." he then goes to assist them and says in a helpful tone, "You will need to puncture the bodies then weigh them down with rocks otherwise they will bloat and float along the canal to be eaten by gods knows what. You know we could just keep the heads. As long as the jaws are intact, they can be made to talk like I said."
. Rafaelis ponders, "Hmmm too powerful for Bellerophon as yet. We could pickle them or brine..."
When all that is done and any conversations that arise concluded, he proposes to the company, excluding Mr Gribb hiding in the wagon, his tone very buisness like,
"Clearly Bear'f here should be compensated for the expenditure of his alchemist fires and that special arrow. Uses of first aid kits costs money too. Also Tark had expended a silver bolt or two that should be paid for. I suggest a standard adventurer's contract for the equal dividing of the spoils minus expenses. This cloak and boots are too fine and too similar not to be either made as an ensemble or come from the same source. Also, I am willing to bet they are magical in which case they should be used in trust by the persons or persons who they would most benefit until such a time as they may be sold. Whereupon, the proceeds are divided per the contract. Miss Waystrider my sincere apologies, however, since your presence on this plane is entirely dependent upon Mr. Fevor, very much like an Eidolon to a summoner, I believe that you two should be counted as a single unit. Particularly with the danger of you disappearing every time he loses consciousness. Getting all this settled now will avoid any arguments later. Agreed?
Brethon shrugs, "I'm just a passenger and glad to help out. No need to count me in. You lot earned it."
"Yeah me too! I'm happy to help!" chimes in Albern, echoing Brethon, jumping up to return the gnomish hammer to its proper owner now that he's had a chance to catch a breathe.
He wanders over to Bear'f and leans in curiously to ask. "Uh, I wonder what Mr. Bray was trying to say before he walked off. He said I told you it wouldn't be where rats out here. Where rats out here what?" He throws his hands up in exasperation. "I thought the humans were silly, but at least they finish their sentences."
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Rafaelis his dander rising a little, "Clearly, with just a couple steps, you could have helped the majority, who were injured, without helping the enemy. Thus prolonging the battle. Albern, the only one, who might have missed out, was healed by good Bear'f here and not in extremis in the first place. Saying that I would have 'Everybody Die' is a poor tactic, an emotional appeal to deflect criticism. Of course I do not want 'Everybody to Die,' just the opposite I want everyone to live. And did we or did we not have a conversation about this previously?
Rafaelis cooling down a bit after the necromancer crack that struck a little too close to home says in a more conciliatory note, "Professor, we all have things to learn, but we must try not to lose our heads or engage in ad homenim attacks. That does no one any good."
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"Yes, well, Mr. Reeves, you are mispronouncing 'ad hominem.' The 'i' sound in Taldane (or what the commoners insist on referring to as 'Common') is a short 'i' sound, like in Dwarvish."
Grumbling a bit more quietly, "If you are going try to soften your criticism, at least pronounce it correctly. Hmph."
In the meantime, he examines the cloak and boots, twisting them in his fingers and intones, "Nochtann syncopate draíochta!"
In the meantime, he examines the cloak and boots, twisting them in his fingers and intones, "Nochtann syncopate draíochta!"
The boots are boots of the cat. The cloak is a cloak of resistance +1.
Bray is chatty as he, Tark, Denge, and Penelope carry the bodies to the canal. "Don't weight them, we want to send a message."
"So, you should know that Tark and I are Lion Blades. We work for the Grand Prince. We'd heard rumors that the bandits working the Maheto canal had recruited a priestess of Hanspur from the River Kingdoms and were working with lycanthropes. Thank you for taking them down."
"I'm pretty sure they slipped Mr. Gribb some more pesh. If they did, things are going to get messy. I'm guessing they're working with whoever sent him with the pesh, maybe to check up on him, maybe just to make sure he became addicted. Either way, it looks like someone's trying to set the poor guy up. He's always been a smuggler, but never drugs before, not so far as we knew, at least."
"Do what you can for him. The bandits in this area are lead by an ettin. He'll probably want payback for taking out his new helpers. We're bound to run into more trouble before we get to Belhaim. We might need his help."
"Lion Blades, really?!?" says Rafaelis in a tone of surprise.
"Yeah, I'm new. This is my first field assignment. Tark here's been doing it for years."
"We made sure there were some mithral weapons in the caravan this time just in case the rumors were right. I'm glad we did."
"Anyhow, the rest of the rumors about about a tribe of goblins. They and their goblin dogs work with a young ettin named Jebline. She rules the goblins through intimidation."
"I suspect, having killed her werebat friends, we'll be running into Jebline. I think we can take her!"
Tark lets out a loud "Hmmmph!"
Bray continues, "Tark disagrees."
Brethon, concerned about attacks that may come during the night, casts keep watch on himself, Bear'f, Albern, Denge, Penelope, Rafaelis, Professor Belleropon, Geb, and Nex.
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Rafaelis begs off while he is putting the tent back up after it being crushed by Hanull, "Oh gods no Brethon please let me sleep this this night! I have been without sleep for nearly a week. It is altogether fit and proper to sleep, particularly for arcanists such as ourselves. Let the others keep the watch this night. It is their turn surely."
Rafaelis begs off while he is putting the tent back up after it being crushed by Hanull, "Oh gods no Brethon please let me sleep this this night! I have been without sleep for nearly a week. It is altogether fit and proper to sleep, particularly for arcanists such as ourselves. Let the others keep the watch this night. It is their turn surely."
"All right, my friend." Brethon does not cast the spell on Rafaelis.
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"Thank you Bear'f, this will be very useful. After the nights events and Tarks revelations, I would very much like to keep watch tonight."
Penelope is silent, alternating between holding her ridiculous double sword and practicing drawing it(which she painful to watch-- it is a only a matter of time before she injures herself with it.)
After throwing the bodies in the canal to float toward Belhaim, Bray and Tark return to the camp. Bray addresses anyone awake and willing to talk while fishing something out of his wagon.
"As I said to Ms. Waystrider and Mr. Fevor, Tark and I are Lion's Blades serving the Grand Prince. We were hoping to run into these lycanthropes on this trip or another, and we are glad for your help in dispatching them."
"Our information is that they are working with or for an ettin and a band of goblins. I expect we're likely to see more action tomorrow. You handled yourselves well, so I don't think we'll have any problems."
"I'm sure there's a reward in it for helping bring this band down."
He produces a flashy badge from his wagon for inspection. "This is my badge."
"We didn't think Mr. Gribb was working with the bandits, but he sure was friendly with them. I believe I saw Hanull give him something, probably more pesh. If so, I suspect his addiction is back."
"It may be that they are working together, or it may be that whoever is having Mr. Gribb run pesh sent them to check on him and/or make sure he got well and truly addicted."
"Either way, I think we'll have more trouble before we figure this all out."
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Rafaelis wispers in private to Brethon, "Would you do me the kindness of casting Prestidigitation and help clean off all this gore on me and my clothes? Inside the tent would do. In order to memorize Read Magic I needed to forgo other cantrips. I would speak more openly but I don't want you or myself being turned into the washer women for the rest of the party. Some individuals need to learn to care for themselves and equipment."
Although I don't think he will, if Brethon refuses, Rafaelis will clean up as best he can by the canal. In either event he will retire to the tent, cast Read Magic and finish up on the spells he did not quite comprehend using Spell Craft the night previously from Jake Wereson's book before snuffing the candle, and falling blissfully into the arms of Morpheus or the equivalent thereof on Golarion. Sometime in the midst of falling asleep the thought enters his mind that he forgot to have his post battle tizzy, distracted by the childish outburst of Taldus, Hummm... tomorrow you may have your tizzy, tomorrow...
He drifts into the realm of dreams, wandering down a dim path through a cool, shadowy wood, where woodland creatures flit and scurry, chitter and tweet, but ever in the corners of his eye, this wood, not far from the borders of nightmare Leng. He reaches an ivy covered tower in which there is a wrought iron gate barring his way. Above a dim light glimmers in a narrow window high above. Looking perplexed he says, "This gate always stood open before." He tries opening it and finds it locked. Staring at the gate he folds his arms. A test perhaps or just a change, as this land so often does? Think Rafaelis, what did The Master instruct. Ah yes, in the realm of dreams one assumes control or the dream controls you, to flitter about like a Will-O-The-Wisp. I require a key. Where would that key be? To focus his mind, he consciously unfolds his arms and gazes upon his hands, he flexes his fingers. Having focused his mind he widens his perspective, "He wouldn't be so obvious as to hide it under a mat, or a pot or in the ivy, but why wouldn't it be apparent to me? If I am truly his apprentice... he smirks, reaching into his own pocket his questing fingers find what they seek, "I would have my own key!" As he pulls out a heavy brass key. He stoops forward and unlocks the gate. Letting himself in he closes and locks it behind. Climbing the stairs round and round, up and up, until he reaches the door to his master's study which is slightly ajar, warm fire light spilling out from the crack. He raps lightly upon the door, "Master, it is I, your prentice come to learn at your knee."
"Enter" says a voice that is at once heavy with age, assured, and tinged with a little mischief. "Long were you gone, I see the news of your demise was premature. The gate is locked for the boarder is unsettled. The Lord of the Witching Hour prepares to trouble the waking world, which sends ripples through to embolden the beasts of Leng. The Master, in this realm, appears as a hoary and old Varisian man with long white hair and beard. He looks upon Rafaelis with kindly brown eyes.
Rafaelis speaks, his words tumbling out, "Master I have travelled far after faking my death. Trouble enough it was with the lord of the neighboring manor but I found that I was to be sent to Ridwan. You know how terrible at lying I am. I would have been caught...
The Master holds up a hand to forestall more explanation, "You are present. That is sufficient. Shall we begin? I recall that we were about to study the forces of the Natural World and the interactions of the Inner and Outer Planes along with the catalogues of the denizens therein." The Master conjures up images of worlds and planes, angels and fiends from the very stuff of dreams to teach his rapt pupil.
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Bear’f listening intently to the hubbub of the group, gets lost in thought until Albern addresses him directly “Oh the were rats and bats issue… I understand that humans can be a little muddled at times and this recent outburst of transmogrify surely must have taken its toll on them this evening…”
“Thank you Brethon… On the note of compensation for the arrows and alchemist’s fire, reimbursement through the sharing of wealth would be greatly be appreciated though… ”
Bear’f looks towards the weapons locker and thinks shame there was no nice arrows in the there… He sits back at the campfire looking as though he is going to settle in for the night… waiting for the forest to send more challenges their way…
Alben nods at Bear'f's insights.
"Oh, ok. Well if they're muddled I'll make sure to keep an eye on them. I don't want them to hurt themselves if they're confused." Albern seems to have steel in his eyes, ready to protect his new allies. He'll happily stand watch all night, 'till the dawn breaks and chases the nightdew away.
Bray moves to the compartment in the wagon holding the mithral weapons. "Hmm...I see the longsword, the hooked hammer, and the heavy pick are out. Tark, you take the kukri. Anyone want to carry the battleaxe? If we get attacked by more werebats, we're going to want these handy."
Bray carries the kukri over to Tark.
"They belong to Mr. Gribb, but I think he won't mind too much if we hang onto them, at least for tonight."