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"Erum-Hel, as I recall," Ansha says. "The Lord of the Mohrgs. It's generally counted as the turning point in the Shining Crusade. As for why you think we're worthy of repeating that feat: Is it because we slew the daughter of a demon-lord recently? The Lord of the Minotaurs thinks of us as a thorn in his side, if nothing else."
Arigoder flushes as he finds himself not knowing the answer to the Lady's first question, then smiles at Morgrym's response to the second. He steels himself, and says simply, "I can only hope that you find us worthy based on your ability to see the true measure, and mettle, of each of us -- as evidenced by the actions we have taken to date in defence of the good people of Mendev -- and all of Golarion -- against the incursion of the Worldwound, including the deeds my companions have described... and, personally, the actions that I have taken to honour the legacy and history that I have already been gifted." He taps Radiance, then forces himself to meet the eyes of his goddess, "We have seen pain, we have seen loss, we have seen sacrifice, and we have accomplished deeds that I would have thought impossible even a year ago - and while I do not wish to speak for my companions, we know that the work is not yet finished, and that it is our role to bring this to an end."
Damiel shrugs, hands wide, with a disarming smile - for the average serving girl on a side street in Kintargo. Certainly not for a deity. But he smiles and says, ”I don’t know why you might think I’m worth sending,” then he gets serious, ”but if your strike team has to be mortal, these four are the best you’ll find. I intend to back their play, so I’m betting my life on them.”
Iomedae continues her thoughtful expression as each of you answer her. She seems pleased that at least one of you knew her history even if it wasn’t one of her direct followers. It is an interesting camaraderie that you have and by it I see great things in store for you. There is a mixture of the boldness needed to take the fight to the enemy and surprise them. Yet there is also a humility that keeps you from rushing into a trap and not under estimating your foes. For that I laud your answers and present you with this gift.
Iomedae nods and smiles as a bejeweled chalice
appears in her hand. As she holds the chalice out for Morgrym to claim, she says, Take then this cup to hold the foul
blood of the Father of Worms, for it is said his blood can
melt any lock—this may be your key to the Baphomet’s
prison. This chalice is an artifact called the Chalice of Ozem.
I still have more questions for you…
You have a hero’s bravery. You have proven that you can survive
the horrors of the Abyss, and this marks your courageousness as
surely as any feat. But also you have learned that not all those in
the Abyss are your enemies. Some are creatures whose nature
can be used as a tool to defeat greater evils. So tell me, when
evil assumes a fair form, and when weak villains beg for their
lives, are they due mercy? Or are the wages of their villainy
always death and oblivion?
"Lady, you know that my mistress espouses redemption over wrath. A mere mortal such as I cannot see the truth in the heart of a villain. Given the opportunity to redeem one who has done evil, the Dawnflower would have me make that effort. For she teaches returning a soul to the light is a far greater act than consigning it forever to the darkness."
Arigdoer says, "Those are two different questions, my Lady. For the first, evil hiding its nature is still evil - one might even say moreso for the fair face allows for betrayal - and evil must be stopped. For the second, however, I will not strike down a surrendered foe - so long as that surrender is true. However, to answer the biggest question -- I believe in redemption. There are tales of fallen angels, then surely this means there may also be... risen... demons. And while I will not stay my hand because someone mouths platitudes, I will also not deny someone a chance to find their path to the Light."
Risen demons…? Ansha muses at Arigoder’s words. Then she recalled that they in fact knew one such being: the succubus Arueshalae, a servant of Desna. How did Ansha herself know her again…? Well, only by reputation, she supposed. They had met once, when Ansha first joined the team.
“Well said,” the elven enchantress says, nodding in agreement with Arigodee and Nasira. She wasn’t entirely sure of her own thoughts on the matter, but surely the possibility of redemption was out there for most beings.
Seriously torn by the question, "I really hate demons. A lot of me wants ta destroy them all, good or not. But," he sighs, "I guess if there are some that want ta be good, I guess I won't kill 'em. But I have a hard time thinkin' a demon can be good. Seems impossible ta me. Plus, I'd probably have a hard time killin' one that's beggin' for mercy. Unless, of course, it's lyin' and I can tell that it's lyin'." Trying to think if he's missed anything, the dwarf comes up with nothing else. "That's all I got." He shrugs.
Blindly adhering to any rule may be lawful, but is not always good—a truly lawful good person will temper rules with judgment. A paladin should never be so bound to his pursuit of the law that he loses sight of what it is to be good. Your words bring me great relief, for you understand the central conflict before us all. True heroism is neither the sword that strikes nor the blessing of redemption, but the ability to know which
is the proper judgment. Even in the depths of evil, some unlikely souls may yet be saved from their own lives of malice, as some villains may come to be forgiven. Do not forget this, even in the most unlikely places.
She points to each of you as power fills your soul. To help the you in your quest to redeem foes or repair damage to a creature’s morality, I grant each of you the ability to cast atonement . Use this gift for yourselves should you fall to temptation, but resist if you can so that the gift may be given to those who may need it more than you.”
My last question to you is this...Honor is my soul and life, justice is the passion that stirs me to war, and yet the cause of the true and the righteous is beset on all sides by evil. Tell me, how does one outwit and defeat a demon lord in his own domain? For let us not pretend, this is what I will be asking you to do.
Thinking long and hard about such a question, Morgrym finds himself at a loss for an answer. So, he goes with the only way he knows how to defeat a demon... or any creature for that matter. "Smash it and smash it good. It maybe able ta resist some of me damage, but it can't resist all of it. And aim for its head. If I cave in its skull, it'll be outwittin' no one the way I see it."
"As a team. As a squad that supports each other. To try to do so alone would be folly, even for one much more powerful than any of us. With the aid of gods and goddesses, even from afar, we can do much indeed."
Arigoder pauses, then says, "Ideally, we would turn its allies against it... or find allies to our cause.... However, honestly, Lady, other than keeping faith in ourselves and our companions, as Nasira says, I think it would be folly to make a plan before we get the lay of the land, as it were."
How does one outwit a demon lord in his own domain…? Ansha muses.
“I imagine it involves a lot of luck,” she says. With a wink, she adds, “Good thing I’m fond of Desna. Hopefully she’s just as fond of me.”
Looking around at the others before looking back to the goddess. "Sooooo, are we good? Is it time for us ta go kill this demon lord? Because I'm ready, let me tell ya. Ready ta smash a demon lord's head into oblivion," he says emphatically, slapping the head of his earthbreaker against the palm of his other hand.
Awkwardly cutting his eyes from Iomedae to the others and then back to Iomedae. "Just say the word. I'll kill it. Demon lord or no. Doesn't matter ta me. If it's a demon, it's gonna die. Just say 'go' or whatever it is you gods are supposed ta say. Or do. Or whatever. I don't really know. I'm just a dwarf. A dwarf who has no plans on becomin' a god. Just wanted ta make that clear. It's not for me. Mainly because I don't think I'd be allowed ta go around smashin' demon heads. I don't know why I wouldn't be allowed but for some reason you're not doin' it and neither is Torag, so I'm guessin' I wouldn't be able to either." Stopping a moment as he ponders that, "Not sure why though." He clears his throat. "But I guess I already said that." He pauses once again in thought before, "I should probably stop talkin'."
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Nasira smiles and lays and on his shoulder.
The goddess nods in approval. Strike evil in
the name of the good and right, and redeem those you
can from folly. With the blessing of Iomedae, you shall
vanquish evil, and your names shall ring with glory, for
even if you fail in this righteous task, your just rewards
will await you in the Great Beyond! Take then this, my
final gift to you! With it, you shall always be but a step
away from home, yet know that the path it opens to safety
will save you but once before it returns to me—save such
f light for a last resort. Iomedae then removes a thread
from her cloak, which transforms as she hands it to the
party. This is the Stole of the Inheritor.
SLOT shoulders CL 20th WEIGHT 2 lbs.
AURA overwhelming abjuration
Iomedae often grants the use of the Stole
of the Inheritor to her champions in times
of great need. When draped across the
shoulders, the stole grants DR 5/good, and
it grants the use of heal as a quickened
spell-like ability once per day. Once per
day, a good-aligned wearer of the Stole of the Inheritor can cast
holy word. In addition, as long as it is worn, the user can use
detect evil and detect chaos at all times. A divine spellcaster who
worships Iomedae gains a +2 sacred bonus on all saving throws
while wearing the stole. The stole’s greatest power, though, is
allowing its wearer to use plane shift on himself and any allies
within 120 feet as an immediate action; the stole immediately
returns to Iomedae’s shoulders when this effect is used.
DESTRUCTION
A demon lord must adorn itself with the stole and use its plane
shift power to travel to Iomedae’s court, whereupon anyone who
pulls the stole from the Inheritor’s shoulders can tear it apart
while the demon lord remains alive and in Iomedae’s presence.
Her third question answered, Iomedae waves her hand
and all damage theyoumight have taken from incorrect
answers is immediately healed along with any ability damage or
Negative levels you may have taken.
Iomedae then continues on smiling at Morgrym’s readiness.
“You are worthy to champion me against Baphomet, for mandate
prohibits the interaction of the divine in even such matters as
personal as the loss of a herald. I charge you as worthy souls to
go into the darkness of the Abyss, into the Ivory Labyrinth of my
enemy, and seek out my herald. If he be dead or worse, I trust
you shall finish things as befits those of your boldness. Heed the
advice I have given you. Go forth on a road of honor, swiftly and
with great justice, to defeat Baphomet and return or avenge my
herald. In so doing may you find the strength to face the true
peril that lies ahead. Deskari always watches, and the time shall
soon come when the Worldwound must be closed forever lest it
consume your world.
With that, the cathedral flashes white once again, and
an instant later the you have returned to where you left
the Material Plane. Yet in each of your hands is a simple
token: a bronze holy symbol of Iomedae. Each of you knows
that you need but hold the symbol in a fist and concentrate
to be transported into the Ivory Labyrinth, one final “gift”
from Iomedae to speed you on your way. Beyond this, she
cannot aid you in the trials to come.
Staring at the token a moment, Morgrym clinches it and looks to the others. "Well, what do you lot think? Should we go now or what?"
Nasira looks between her allies. ”What preparations do we need? Did the Lady’s words prompt plans we are not prepared for?”
Damiel looks in his quiver, then looks at the cleric, deadpan. ”Ready.”
Shrugging, "Ready as I'll ever be, lass."
Ansha offers a shrug of her own, mimicking Morgrym. “All set.”
The once blind riftwarden approaches you in the library a he sees you poring over some tomes. Perhaps I can be of assistance. If you are looking at knowledge of the planes I can show you which books to look through. We have a few select offering of the demonic planes that you might find interesting.
The Ivory Labyrinth is a layer of the Abyss ruled by
Baphomet, a sprawling maze world the true size
of which none have ever been able to determine,
for it seems to fold back in on itself, shifting and
growing randomly.
Navigation of the Ivory Labyrinth is difficult but
not impossible. One experienced in trailblazing
and navigation (Survival) and planar geography
(Knowledge [planes]) can navigate the labyrinth to
known locations, provided the traveler does so within
the rules of the maze and doesn’t attempt to cheat
via flying over the labyrinth’s walls. Teleportation
offers the easiest method of travel, provided the
teleporter knows the location he wishes to visit.
Entire mountain ranges, vast forests, sprawling
underground tangles, swamps, plains of bones,
and more terrible expanses exist within the
Ivory Labyrinth, including two sprawling cities—
Blackburgh and Echostal. Of those two, Blackburgh
is the realm’s capital, and at the city’s heart rises
Baphomet’s Tower. Blackburgh can be thought of
as the “center” of the Ivory Labyrinth, and it is here
that one is most likely to learn of current events in
the realm.
The Ivory Labyrinth was originally designed by
Asmodeus as a prison to contain Baphomet, but
when Baphomet escaped it, he took it with him
into the Abyss to make it his home. A fraction of
that original prison is said to be hidden deep within
the maze realm of the Breathless Fountains. This
so-called “Ineluctable Prison” is where Baphomet
keeps his favorite prisoners. This prison is shielded
from magical observation from beyond its walls—
even from the sight of the gods themselves.
Ivory Labyrinth Planar Traits
As with all Abyssal realms, the exact nature of the Ivory
Labyrinth’s planar traits varies slightly from the standard traits
for the Abyss as detailed in the Pathfinder RPG GameMastery
Guide. The Ivory Labyrinth has the following traits:
•
Highly Morphic and Sentient: Baphomet can alter the
layout of the Ivory Labyrinth at will, but it changes itself
as well. Only Baphomet can keep the ever-changing
layout clear in his mind.
•
Strongly Chaos-Aligned and Strongly Evil-Aligned:
A –2 circumstance penalty applies on all Intelligence-,
Wisdom-, and Charisma-based checks attempted by
creatures that aren’t chaotic or evil. The penalties for the
chaotic and evil components of the alignment trait stack.
•
Enhanced Magic: Spells and spell-like abilities with the
chaotic or evil descriptor are enhanced, as is maze.
•
Impeded Magic: Spells and spell-like abilities with
the lawful or good descriptor are impeded, as are any
divination spells that aid in navigation, such as discern
location, find the path, and locate object.
•
Self-Contained Shape: The Ivory Labyrinth covers an area
roughly 10 times the size of the Inner Sea region, yet many
of the passageways on its “edges” connect to other points
in the maze. A few passageways lead out to nearby Abyssal
realms like the Undersump, the Spiral Path, or Kurnugia,
but such exits from the realm are rare and well hidden. See
“Gazetteer of the Abyss” in Pathfinder Adventure Path #76
for more details on other Abyssal realms.
•
Direction: The direction of north in the Ivory Labyrinth
is not static, for items that normally detect north instead
point to Baphomet’s Tower. As the exact location of this
tower shifts, “north” can shift as well between visits. Feel
free to change and manipulate the orientation of north in
the maps of this adventure as you see fit.
Always fear an old man in a young man’s job. This was especially true when the profession was war. Two old men walked out of the wastelands. One was a half-orc in his forties, his hair graying and his scars old. A slight limp likewise was evidence of old battles fought. He was a Paladin of Gorum, forged upon the brutal anvil that was Belkzen. The other was a dwarf, his skin weathered and his beard white. He was two and a half centuries old. Despite his advanced age he still wore his plate armor and carried a tower shield, though the Mithril and Darkwood made the task easier. Some would say that dwarves such as he were too stubborn to die. He put it differently. He had more important things to do. Such as fulfilling his oath to Torag. Little did he know that such was the weight of his oath that his deity would not allow the weight of years to crush him, leaving him stuck as a living ancestor. Both old men carried weapons of power. The half-orc carried the blade, Radiance. The dwarf, a hammer of liquid steel that directly bound him to the Forge Father.
”We’ve made it.” The dwarf said to his companion. They had arrived at the Riftwardens, propelled by the divine so as to join up with Golarion’s last hope at closing the World Wound. But to Thurin it was more personal. He had spent years tracking down his kinsman Morgrym. Despite all of the hardships, despite all of the comrades lost, and the rivers of blood shed, he knew that this was the easy part. He didn’t rush. He had waited years, so what did a few minutes matter.
”Excited lad?” He looked up at his companion. ”We will be waging war on Baphomet’s realm directly. I cannot remember a time when mortals dared such.”
"Excited?" Dranok rumbled as he shifted the weight of his greatsword on one shoulder, the edge of the blade humming faintly as if eager for blood. He let out a dry snort that might have been a laugh.
"Torag's beard, Thurin, I’ve buried more friends than I’ve got teeth left. Excitement’s for greenhorns and bards." He glanced sidelong at the dwarf, the ghost of a grin under his grizzled tusks. "But aye. I’ve got a feeling. Like the world’s holdin’ its breath, waitin’ to see if we pull this off or just give the Abyss another laugh."
He cracked his neck, one hand resting on the battered pauldron of his full plate.
"Never thought I’d see the day we marched into the Wound with the gods pushin’ us from behind. But if we’re kickin’ in Baphomet’s teeth, I’d rather it be you at my flank than some shiny bastard with more hair than scars."
A breeze kicked up dust from the road, and Dranok's eyes narrowed toward the horizon.
"Let’s end it, old friend. Before Pharasma gets tired of waitin’ and sends a reaper after us just to check the ledger."
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the Master of the Ivory Labyrinth, first came to the
Worldwound in 4650 ar, 44 years after the blight opened
in lost Sarkoris. Deskari enlisted Baphomet not for his
mastery over labyrinths or association with minotaurs,
but because the Lord of the Locust Host wanted to use the
Templars of the Ivory Labyrinth as a tool to further the
corruption and destruction of the Mendevian Crusade
from within. An alliance with Baphomet was, to Deskari,
an unfortunate necessity, but in the long run it has
exceeded the demon lord’s expectations. The Templars
of the Ivory Labyrinth have fully infiltrated the crusade,
and it was only recently, with the actions of the heroes of
Kenabres, that the Templars’ inf luence has begun to falter.
Baphomet knew Deskari wanted his cult and not his
direct inf luence, of course, but he was nothing if not a
master of Abyssal politics. He increasingly put his cult,
his children, and even himself to work at supporting the
Worldwound agenda, intending to reach a point where he
could wrest control of the region from Deskari and use it
to draw much of Golarion into his Abyssal realm in the
same way he stole an endless maze from Cania, the eighth
layer of Hell, after escaping imprisonment at the hands of
Asmodeus so long ago.
Yet the actions of the heroes of Kenabres have stymied
his plans. They’ve slaughtered his greatest agents,
disrupted Templar command, destroyed the f low of
Nahyndrian crystals, and perhaps most insulting of all,
defeated his favorite daughter. It was this final affront that
moved Baphomet to act, and in a hasty and ill-conceived fit
of rage he used his daughter’s soul as a conduit to invade
the Midnight Isles, fully intending to slaughter the PCs
himself. Yet he forgot one important thing: the Midnight
Isles are ruled by a demon lord who specializes in the
assassination of her own kind.
As Baphomet materialized in the Midnight Isles,
Nocticula made her move. More as a reaction to having
her realm invaded than any real sense of allegiance
to the heroes whom she had granted permission to
remain in her realm, Nocticula struck at the Lord of the
Minotaurs, in the instant after he physically manifested.
Baphomet realized his fatal error too late and tried to
f lee, but Nocticula’s wrath followed him through the
barrier between planes and struck him, for the briefest
of moments, dead.
He immediately resurrected in the heart of his realm,
shaken at his close brush with oblivion. And across
all worlds, his cult reeled as well at the momentary
interruption to their divine powers. Now, Baphomet’s
brashness and self-confidence are shaken, and he has
retreated to his fortress at the heart of the Ivory Labyrinth,
for if he is slain again before a year can pass and his realm
can recover from bringing him back to life, his death will
be lasting. Fearful that Nocticula may come to finish the
job, or that Deskari might seek him out to castigate him
for his various failures, he clings to one final advantage:
the abduction of Iomedae’s herald.
This abduction ranks high among his more recent
audacious accomplishments. While the being known
as the Hand of the Inheritor is powerful, he is no match
for a demon lord, and he relied on the protection of
his mistress to shield him. Yet even a goddess can lose
track of her agents. When a desperate priest called upon
Iomedae’s herald to aid in an attack on the demon-ruled
city of Raliscrad, Baphomet saw his chance. He dispatched
Ylleshka, the warden of his great Ineluctable Prison, to
the battle. Her capture of the herald and retreat to the
Abyss broke the crusader army and saved Raliscrad from a
critical defeat, and now one of Iomedae’s closest agents is
the Horned Lord’s prisoner.
The Riftwarden Arivashinal looked up from his research on the Abyssal plains and stared at Sosiel intently. Anevia sends word from the South. It’s seems that two travelers equipped in the panoply of war have crossed the wastes just west of Dresden and have made their way here. They are a days march away from us and will arrive tomorrow. According to the scout’s reports one is a half orc and the other is a dwarf. They are experienced travelers based on their walk and they weapons hang loose about them ready for anything.
Are these the 2 that were foretold to me? I do not recall in my visions anything about their races. Instead I felt more about their spirit and essence. I would not know for sure until I met with them personally. We must be careful though as Deskari and Baphomet have many spies and assassins. We should gather the others and meet with these 2 before they come into the city.
You are right my friend. I will ‘send’ Anevia instructions on what we are doing and where to meet. Round up the others and make your way to the south of the graveyards to the second hill. I will watch from the Lady’s Tower.
Sending: Gathering others. Lead to second hill sunrise. Beware spies/assassins but Sosiel hopeful. Arueshalae and Arigoder still gone. Irabeth says stay safe.
Social then hurries along alerting all of you of the coming travelers. We are taking precautions but would request that you come in the morning to greet them. If they are the ones that I think they are, Iomedae has blessed us indeed. With Arigoder and Arushalae out covering the missing herald we could definitely use them.
Assuming you all get the message and meet at the second hill south of the graveyard…
The sun rises in a purple haze as yet another taint of the chaos wastes reveals itself this morning. It wasn’t a blood red sunrise but was it a good omen or bad? Here you never knew when a cloud could give life saving rain or drench you with caustic blood. Some of the taints has softened now that Drezen was restored and the Sword of Valor returned but until the Worldwound closed forever there was going to be this taint…and even then it might still linger here.
The 4 of you stand strong watching as the pair comes up the hil. You know Anevia is hiding nearby to help and Aravashinal is 400ft away in the tower. It’s as safe as anywhere to meet strangers…
If Arigoder returns then I will have something for him then and we might have 2 Radiancesque weapons.
Thurin was about to respond when he looked up and saw that they were not alone. All they had to do was climb a hill and this part of their journey would be done.
”Youth. Making us climb to reach them.” He grumbled, more for show than anything else.”[/b] He tried to keep his voice level and his eyes from showing any excitement. Even at his age, the passage of years still stirred him. One step at a time he walked towards the awaiting group, which to his joy included his kinsman.
With his hammer resting on his shoulder, Morgrym awaits the newcomers with wariness. "A dwarf and a half-orc?" he says to the others. "That's an odd pair. I don't trust 'em. Plus, we've already had ta deal with one blasted traitorous dwarf, we surely don't need another," he complains.
Stomping forward up the hill, Thurin called out in a clear and authoritative voice. "We approach in peace! This is Dranok, Paladin of Gorum! Wielder of radiance, as bestowed upon him by Sir Arigoder." Pausing, he added "And I am Thurin, of Clan Ironfist. I have traveled from the Mindspin Mountains in search of my kinsman, Morgrym Ironfist. In Torag's name, I am oathbound to avenge his death should he have fallen, or to support his quest if he still lives. If any here know his fate, step forth and speak." As he did this, he lifted his hammer up high for all to see. The liquid steel was clearly visible in the sunlight, as was the holy symbol of Torag, the Forge Father.
Nasira shakes her head, ”Morgrym, you’ve a sour attitude today. Is it the purple dawn? I can’t say as I appreciate anything that obscures my goddess’ smile, but am heartened that she yet shines through after our recent adventures.”
After Thurin’s self-introduction, she adds, ”He claims kinship. Do you recognize him?”
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Daniel stands to the side of the others, close enough to hear a whispered command, but physically separate. It’s clear that something is on his mind, but he doesn’t share his counsel with anyone yet. When Thurin raises his hammer, Damiel’s bow leaps into his hand seemingly of its own volition. He seems no more focused on the travelers than before and he does not reach for an arrow. He seems to be listening to something on the foul breeze of the Worldwound.
Nasira shakes her head, ”Morgrym, you’ve a sour attitude today. Is it the purple dawn? I can’t say as I appreciate anything that obscures my goddess’ smile, but am heartened that she yet shines through after our recent adventures.”
"Sour? Sour? My attitude is far from sour, lass. Bah! What are ya on about? Sour. There's no sour to me attitude. Whatever. I'm just hopin' we don't have ta kill this lot, is all. Sour. Bah. I've a great attitude, I do. It's just great. I'm always in a not sour mood," he claims adamantly, looking quite sour.
Stomping forward up the hill, Thurin called out in a clear and authoritative voice. "We approach in peace! This is Dranok, Paladin of Gorum! Wielder of radiance, as bestowed upon him by Sir Arigoder." Pausing, he added "And I am Thurin, of Clan Ironfist. I have traveled from the Mindspin Mountains in search of my kinsman, Morgrym Ironfist. In Torag's name, I am oathbound to avenge his death should he have fallen, or to support his quest if he still lives. If any here know his fate, step forth and speak." As he did this, he lifted his hammer up high for all to see. The liquid steel was clearly visible in the sunlight, as was the holy symbol of Torag, the Forge Father.
Morgrym finds himself shocked as an anxious knot forms deep within his gut. "By Torag's hammer, it canno' be. Thurin? It just canno' be."
After Thurin’s self-introduction, she adds, ”He claims kinship. Do you recognize him?”
Turning to Nasira, "I don't know, lass. I mean, I do, but I haven't seen Thurin in a good many years. It's been so very long. I haven't seen any of me clansmen in such a long time, so I'm havin' a hard time believin'." Sighing heavily as he looks back to the dwarf and the half-orc in the not-to-distance, "I guess there's only one way ta find out, lass." Stowing his hammer, Morgrym heads in their direction.
As he makes his way to them, Morgrym remains alert, still wondering if this is some sort of trap. When he finally reaches them, he looks hard at Thurin as if studying him. And after what feels like an eternity of silence, Morgrym points at Thurin and hollers, "YOU!" with absolute authority before finishing with, "are Thurin Ironfist, aren't ya? Yer beard is longer than it used ta be. What are ya now, 500 years? Blast ya, ya livin' longer than a blasted elf. And it's about bloody time ya decided ta come help yer kinsman." A slight grin forms on the barbarian as he crosses his arms and gives a nod.
”Ye think me a liche, boy? Barely four hundred.” He said, a smile growing on his face. ”Got plenty of years left in these bones.” He looked Morgrym up and down, his smile fading. ”Look just like your father.” He said, realizing that the last mental image he had of Mogrym had been when he was but a beardling. ”Angradd’s axe, ye’ve grown! To think, I swore an oath to bring back either ye or your body to your Clan, and what do I bloody well find? That ye lot retook Drezen, and if the bards are to be believed it was by shooting boots of divine fire out ye arses.” A smile coming back to his face. It felt strange, as it was near two centuries ago that he and Morgrym’s father stood together on a hill not too different than the one they currently were on, armed and armored. Only back then it was with a battle against orcs on the horizon. And now? Now he and the dwarf’s son stood side by side with a half-orc, an elf and a human, with an all together more dangerous foe to face. Pushing aside the memories, he said in a booming voice: ”Well, introduce us to your friends.” He said, motioning to Dranok and then the others. ”Bards be fooking liars at the best of times, so we can’t rightly go by tales alone, aye?”
Ansha raises an eyebrow at Morgrym. Great. A second dwarf--and apparently related to the first one. The elven enchantress followed after Morgrym, stopping a short distance behind Morgrym. A little bit of reaction time would be good, in case it was a trap. Although, it didn't feel like one.
At the call for introductions, Ansha simply smiled and waited to see exactly how Morgrym would introduce her (and them).
Nodding, "Okay. Well, right..." Just as he turns around to point at Nasira, he sees Ansha practically right behind him. "Blast it, lass. Yer as quiet as a mouse. I never even heard ya." Looking back to the newcomers, "This here is Ansha. She...," he pauses, narrowing his eyes in thought, trying to figure something out before looking at her quizzically. "Ya know, she, um, she does things. She, um, well... it's odd. I'm thinkin' she uses magic, but I seem ta rarely ever see it. It's almost like she does 'invisible magic' or 'secret magic' or somethin' like that. I mean, I'm sure it's magic, but it's magic that ya just never see, I think. Or maybe she just uses her mind ta take out the baddies," he says, sounding as if he's trying to explain it to himself. He scratches his beard in thought before finally giving up. "Blast it all, I don't know! But whatever she does, it works! She's not dead and she's helped us get this far, so that's a win in my book!" He gives a firm, yet annoyed nod.
He then motions toward Nasira, "And the other lass is Nasira. She is our healer. I canno' tell ya how many times she's kept us all alive. We'd all be in the dirt long ago if it weren't for her."
Turning his attention back to the two, "They're both amazin'. And no matter what happens, I don't care what it takes, when it comes ta these two lasses, ya DO NOT let anything get ta them. Ever. Whatever it takes, we keep 'em alive. First and foremost. Keep the attention of demons and whatever blasted else comes are way upon us. Period." He nods.
Then looking to the half-orc, "And who is yer friend, Thurin? Never thought I'd see the day you'd be travelin' with an orc by yer side. Especially after all the stories me Da used ta tell me. No offense, lad," he says, truly trying to sound as least offensive as possible, which is sometimes difficult for the gruff dwarf.
Nasira places her hands together and bows when introduced.
The archer looks on, his eyebrow arching at being excluded from introductions, but shrugs. He turns his attention to the horizon, watching for threats during the little family reunion.
The elf laughs at Morgrym's introduction. "Close enough," she says, before turning her attention to the newcomers. "I am a wizard. An enchantress, specifically--and an information broker. Originally from Kyonin, but I've made my way around the Inner Sea for a number of years already. You probably wouldn't have heard of me, but, as Morgrym said, the name is Ansha. Ansha Saeralyan."
The elf was svelte, with an hourglass figure and long legs. Achingly beautiful, the platinum-blonde wore her hair long--down to her thighs--and took enough care with her appearance that she seemed more at home in a palace than on the road. Add to that her ready smile and flirtatious demeanor, and it was fairly obvious that words, both magical and not, were her weapons.
Though, as Morgrym said, it was a rare thing to clearly hear her cast a spell.
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Breathing a sigh of relief, "I thought she was a wizard. I told ya," he says to Thurin and Dranok.
Then an odd feeling comes over him as if he's forgotten something. Or possibly someone? Scratching the back of his head, it finally hits him. "Aw crap! I forgot about Damiel." Looking for him, "Sorry, lad!" he hollers once he locates him. "The lad over there is Damiel. He shoots sticks at the bad guys and keeps the traps from blowing up in our faces. He's handy ta have around. It beats me runnin' into the trap and just takin' the hit. That tends ta hurt," he explains matter-of-factly.
Then turning his focus solely to the half-orc, "Okay, since Thurin has clearly forgotten yer name, 600 years will do that to ya, what is yer name, lad? And how in Torag's name did ya wind up travelin' with me kinsman?"