"Shield too heavy for a horse?" Rurik's eyes narrow and he steps a little closer. "I've no ill will toward you, friend, but your answers aren't satisfying. Our friend's gone missing, and your explanation as to his disappearance is starting to rub me the wrong way. Now why don't you explain in a little more detail why Eddwick went deep into the wastes without his shield, and what exactly happened, hmm? Truth won't go far amiss here."
"Alright! Easy fellah!" Skeribar holds up his hands apologetically. Immediately, both dogs and the wolf begin to growl. The two workers in the garden look over, cupping their hands over their eyes. Skeribar, however, is presently unarmed.
"It's as I say. The gnome set out this very morning in the company of two of my rangers. The shield was too cumbersome for the journey, and so it stayed here. I'll tell ya exactly where they're heading--the grove, a sanctuary in the middle of the Ashen Waste. If you don't believe me, you can go and check yourself!"
Agyen's face tightens a little at this interchange.
What is going on here?
Ulave looks upon Rurik askance at his suddenly aggressive mood.
Ulave raises his hand, but then lowers it down again.
I suppose this is why temples find inquisitors indispensable
I believe you. Tell us though, when they are to return?
As I said, we will discover the truth soon enough. And should he perish on his first trip with the Rangers, I will disparage the rangers with every conversation, and we WILL form a mercenary core of such competence, knowledge, and muscle with which you could not HOPE to compete. I, Ammonis the Reviled, Cornu of the Wastes, tell you this now.
Rurik holds Skeribar's eye as his friends speak. There's nothing overtly threatening about Rurik; his hand doesn't drift to his weapon, his eyes don't narrow, his frame doesn't tense up. But even so, from the flat manner of his gaze it's clear that he's taking this conversation very, very seriously.
"That's all true, friend, as far as it goes. But we both know you could go farther. Last chance to start this relationship on sound footing. We plan to be around awhile. Ask yourself if it's really worth hiding whatever it is you're keeping back."
I believe you. Tell us though, when they are to return?
"No telling," Skeribar replies. "That's the thing about adventuring. It can lead a fellow off onto all sorts of unexpected routes."
As I said, we will discover the truth soon enough. And should he perish on his first trip with the Rangers, I will disparage the rangers with every conversation, and we WILL form a mercenary core of such competence, knowledge, and muscle with which you could not HOPE to compete. I, Ammonis the Reviled, Cornu of the Wastes, tell you this now.
At this, Skeribar balks. "Oh, will you now? You and the last dozen adventurers who said the same thing, hm? They're all rotting in open graves out in the wastes, I wager. But you'll do better, I'm sure. Just don't come complaining to old Skeribar when you're down to a man and looking for protection to flee back home to whatever piss pot you come from!" Even as Rurik appeals to reason, Skeribar whistles sharply and stalks back into the hut, the dogs and wolf following hot on his heels.
Rurik shakes his head as the man stalks away.
"He was clearly hiding something about Eddwick. I've little patience for such people when it concerns my friends. Perhaps we should head out to this Grove of trees and make sure Eddwick is as hale as Skeribar says."
Frowning, he considers his friends. "If we discover foul play, however..."
Agyen looks at Rurik.
"Ah. So he was hiding something then? He had me thinking otherwise, and perhaps others. A liar might have good reason to conceal the truth. A murderer less so. We should indeed visit this Grove, but only if we are prepared for the worst, in discovery and battle."
Ulave frowns. He had thought Skeibar honest at least. If you say so, Rurik, then I will heed your word. But then... what if Eddwick is not afield, but here, or somewhere else in the camp held prisoner? It still troubles me that Eddwick would have gone off on some adventure without at least giving us word.
"That is certainly possible, Ulave. But if we can find no sign of him, are we to kick in every door? Making too many enemies here could be a deadly mistake."
"No, I believe everything Skeribar said out loud. I detected no evil on him. He was simply omitting key facts. Perhaps... perhaps Eddwick did not go willingly, for example. Or... I don't know."
Rurik lets out a sigh of annoyance. "He's gone to this grove, wherever it is, and for whatever reason. That I'm confident of. Besides that? Anything is possible." He looks around, already feeling weary despite its being morning.
"How about breakfast with Finn? He at least seemed talkative. I've more questions for him and the orc, now. About those we've met, for example, and how best to prepare for tonight."
You pass the old wellhouse, The Bender Bros., and of course the hanging corpse in the Common (who seems to have survived the night no worse for wear, by the by). Then turning past The Sip of Blood where you first spoke to Finn, you approach his livery.
An adobe house in very poor repair fronts a fenced paddock. A few broken down nags munch on the sparse grass within. A large barn of faded planks stands next to the crumbling adobe wit a sign painted on its side in large pink letters stating that this is Finn’s. In the large pin out back, a local boy handles two light horses. Whinnies from the stables area suggest that at least a few more are boarded at this time. Finn is nowhere in sight, and a polite knock at the front door yields no results.
Casting around, not seeing any sign of the elf, Rurik wanders to the large pen out back and calls out to the boy.
"Hello there! Good day to you. Might you know the whereabouts of Finn?"
Bit early for that drink, don't you think?
"Oi!" the youth calls back, jacking his thumb at the house. "Finn's inside. Sleepin' off th'drink. He usually crawls out in time fer lunch. Lookin' fer horses?"
Agyen cocks an ear, then turns to the others.
"Mister Finn is indeed inside. And snoring. If we wish him to be cooperative, we should return later."
"Perhaps we should see if this orc you mentioned is about?"
To my mind, this ranger fellow was just avoiding telling us why the rangers were going to the grove. That is there business, frankly. Moreover, I believe that Eddwick joined willingly. Did you hear a bomb go off last eve? He'd have thrown one if he'd been attacked. Ammonis reasons.
I for one do not believe that Eddwick is in any more danger than he willingly put himself.
My first impression is that the grove in the Ashen Waste is a sanctuary for druids and such. But I will walk the storerooms of my mind for more.
Iyon nods as Ammonis makes his reasoned points. "The point about the bombs makes sense... if they did abduct or kill him in town leaving such a distintive and large identifiable item of his as the shield just lying about would be rather foolish."
"Ammonis do you know of any spells or magic items that might make camping in this area any safer... I'm not sure if anything could make it safe but safer might be possible."
I know of several spells, but I do not know them...unfortunately. An oversight I sorely regret. I have not spent much time on the road..I had a cottage and a garden.
Rurik sighs and nods to the others. "Sound reasoning. I suppose we'll only find out when we meet up with Eddwick. Are we all agreed on following after him? The ranger made the journey sound rather more than I was hoping for on our first outing, but... damn. If any of us went missing like this, I'd hope we'd all put in some effort to make sure they were all right."
Not really, Rurik. I understand your concern, I share it, but I think Eddwick is fine...he is just a gnome that follows whatever seems interesting at that moment. If we do not see him in a week, then I am all for finding this sanctuary.
I am going to head over to the celestial emporium, and see how things cost here. Perhaps I will find a scroll of fine camping. My celestial friend here is curious.
"If the man is lying... I doubt he's pointed us in the direction of anything useful but I'm still torn about the matter. If you do find a spell that would keep things safer at night I'd add some coin to the cause. Perhaps the staff at the Celestial Emporium have some inclinations towards a more manageable goal than a lich."
This strange market consists of dozens of tarps and coverings supported at random places and angles by crooked or poorly repaired poles. This results in a haphazard tangle of poles at all angles and awnings at all heights creating a shadowy maze punctuated by bright shafts of sunlight streaming through gaps. Within the hot, musty interior are simple tables and stalls set up to display wares.
As you approach, you're treated to a dizzyingly gruesome sight. The body of a campie lies upon the dirt in front of the tents. Kneeling over it hulks a humanoid creature with long, sharp teeth, its pallid flesh stretched tightly over a starved frame. A group of people flock around, looks of great concern on their faces.
A ghast! With revulsion, Ammonis acts instinctively. Raising his hands, white shards fly from his fingertips.
Undead. Destroy it.
Ammonis begins to invoke his magics. The undead creature’s eyes, white orbs within sunken flesh, turn to you.
___________________________
Initiative (bold may act):
Agyen
ghast
Rurik
Ammonis
Lyon
Ulave
Agyen: 45/45
Ammonis: 44/44
Lyon: 67/67
Rurik: 60/60
Ulave: 53/53
Agyen looks upon the creature with disgust.
"A ghast. We must indeed finish it.", he replies, stepping up next to Ammonis to guard him with his longspear. And to intone holy words to rend the undead.
pass
Screams ring out from those nearby as you assail the ghast. Especially from the undead.
”Eeeegads!” it shrieks, before shambling over to and then under a rickety table nearby in a pitiful attempt at escape.
Angry shouts emerge from the crowd. ”They're after Griswald!... First they killed Gurg, now the undertaker!... Who’s next?” One gruff looking woman moves forward, raising her fists. ”What'd he do to you? You want him, ya gotta go through me!”
___________________________
Initiative (bold may act):
ghast
Rurik
Ammonis
Lyon
Ulave
Agyen
This spell does not heal creatures healed by positive energy; such creatures instead gain a +2 bonus on saving throws against death effects, energy drain, negative energy, and effects directly caused by haunts. This bonus lasts for 1 round.
Agyen raises an eyebrow at this strange development.
"Good lady, that is a *ghast*, an unliving thing. Please step aside."
As he says this, he begins the motions to summon a celestial servant to impede the ghast's escape.
Undead. Destroy it. spoke Ammonis.
Here? In the market?
Ulave had sworn a holy oath, to seek out and destroy the undead inhabiting this land. But Ulave could only stare, aghast, at the pitiful creature hiding under the table, defended no less by a gruff looking peasant-woman shaking her fists at them.
”They're after Griswald!... First they killed Gurg, now the undertaker!... Who’s next?”
And so, instead of calling forth his Goddess's righteous wrath--the sword she holds in her right hand--he called upon her other aspect as the Goddess of Mercy, and sought understanding.
The ghast registers as faintly evil.
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Iyon holds up a gauntled hand with a finger aloft as combat didn't have to erupt it seemed. "One, the giant went berserk and attacked us. We defended ourselves." A second finger joins the first. "We're new in town and asked around about anything we should know. No one has mentioned a ghast as your undertaker. It's not like we just randomly attacked a half orc he's a ghast... maybe that's normal here-" His voice raises to a scolding shout. "-BUT IT'S NOT NORMAL IN MOST PLACES!"
"Now someone tell us nice and calmly about people of unusual origin who are part of this community... because if someone tries to belly ache at me later we killed the seamstress who just happened to be a succubus like that wasn't worth mentioning I'll loosen their bloody teeth!"
Agyen has time to stay the pincers of his summoned beetle while he hears out the others and the locals.
This Camp is a solemn and dreary place and stinks of evil, but it is not as chaotic as it had at first appeared. I cannot abide the undead, nor evil, but I cannot directly oppose an order under which people willing live and willingly defend. What to do?
Ulave nocks two arrows and pulls his bowstring back.
Madam, I am sworn to destroy the undead in this land. Explain to me please, why I should delay the execution of that oath?
Ammonis stares. Then as a slow rumble he begins to laugh, first without real mirth, but then as uncontrollable eruption. The Cornu is home.
Tell me Ulave, is this woman that protects ghasts evil?
”...If someone tries to belly ache at me later we killed the seamstress who just happened to be a succubus like that wasn't worth mentioning I'll loosen their bloody teeth!"
Madam, I am sworn to destroy the undead in this land. Explain to me please, why I should delay the execution of that oath?
A man of middling age, scrawny and jaundiced with matching teeth, calls out from behind the woman. ”We dun’ owe you offal! We were gettin’ long just fine ‘afore you’ns showed up, ‘n you, you adventurers stroll in as though you own th’place, now! Attackin’ poor Griswald while he’s tendin’ t’ poor, uh, hmm, this poor sap!” He motions at the body of the man on the ground, clearly unsure of the his name.
”I’ll explain these t’ya, if ya got the gumption!!” the woman, dressed in rugged pants and shirt, raises her fists at the armored Ulave. She doesn’t strike at him, but neither does she yield her ground.
Behind her, the ghast still crouches silently below a table, white eyes unblinking. Its expression, lost in decay, is unfathomable.
He shrugs off Ammonis's question, staring at the woman in disbelief. He then turns around, walks back to his camp, and begins packing his things.
Paladins are a stubborn lot. Ammonis grumps.
So in this celestial bazaar, the undead walk with angels. Ammonis spits, feeling freed of his manners in this lot.
We feared for the man there, since, as it happens, ghasts eat the hearts of the living. Protecting one of your seemed the neighborly thing to do as an aspiring citizen of the Camp. And as to this poor 'sap', was 'ol Griswald attending to eat him living, or attending to eat him already dead?
Agyen decides to resume speaking.
"It appears so. This is most confusing.", Agyen offers.
Turning to his companions, he continues:
"If this undead is to be left be, so be it. I will withdraw my temporary celestial ally, such as they are, from behind the undead."
Agyen looks to the others for answers.
"Well, in tha' case." The woman stands down. "Ole Griswald cain't halp th'way he is... No more'n you'n me." She puts two dirty fingers between her lips and loosing a shrill whistle. "'ey Griswald, come introduce y'self!"
The ghast shambles from underneath the table, and now that you can see it more clearly, you note that it wears what was once rather fancy clothes in exotic styling: a pair of loose fitting cotton pants, an unusual white shirt with buttons running up its center toward a stiff collar, a short coat with padded shoulders, and some sort of scarf of dark cloth tied around his neck, not unlike a noose. The smell is indeed ghastly, but is mingled with some sort of perfume.
"Hmm, greetingsss," the creature rasps, hesitantly extending a bony hand. "As Shela sssaysss, my name isss Grissswald, practitioner of the, mmmm, mortuary ssssciencesss and the art of lassst ritessss. To the lay perssson, I might be called, mmmm, an undertaker." Griswald attempts to smile, his jaw unhinging at an unnatural angle. He knocks it back into place with his hand. "And to whom do I owe the, mmm, pleasssure?"
"I am Iyon, I assume we're probably not the first group of newcomers who've become alarmed at your unusual nature. Given that you are likely more aware of this than your neighbours is there anyone else in town that gets a similar reaction?" Iyon looks at the town folk sourly. "Seeing as some others here just want to give out we do not know your unique customs which run contrary to the rest of the worlds. Rather than being slightly reasonable and inform us before things happen."
I might be subtle, but I'd rather be direct Griswald. What favors you that has not favored your kindred? Ghasts are known to be intelligent, I'll not argue. Have you perhaps found a calling above what is base, mmmm perhaps the mortuary sciences of which you speak? Ammonis, despite his misgivings, was genuinely curious.
”is there anyone else in town that gets a similar reaction?"
”Why, Massster Lyon, a mossst prude inquiry! Without afflicting undue prejudice upon my neighbors, I would hesssitate to give you the impression that any were, mmm, untoward. However, in consssideration for sssparing my unlife, might I advise a quantum of caution when dealing with the priessst, Father Death, and our apothecary, Mama Grim, mmm? They can also be quite, mmm, sssurprising to newcomers.”
What favors you that has not favored your kindred?
”That remains, mmm, a myssstery,” he says, his unsettling eyeballs turning to the wizard. ”I originally hailed from the Desssolation, but I grew weary of the monotony of that exissstence. Shambling here, groaning and moaning, then shuffling there. One day I came upon the body of an, mmm, adventurer, not unlike yourssself, and found this magnificent garment. I knew that I had found my calling, and ssso I wandered into civilization and lay claim to my dessstiny. Alssso not unlike yourssself. And your friend, who sssems to’ve been in quite a hurry...”
His milk-white eyes take in Ammonis for a moment. ’I daresssay, are you feeling quite alright? You appear quite pale. Perhaps jussst a touch of the flu. On the other hand, it could be sssomething quite, mmm, fatal.” Griswald unconsciously licks what remains of his lips with what remains of his tongue.