When the commander had reassured him, Velath had disrobed and lay down on the mattress with only a little hesitation. He watched as the blanket had been placed over him. Then shortly after he felt his consciousness fade and a nightmare started. He was having his identity stripped away and merging with something so evil his whole body shook. He could feel his skin crawling from contact with this...foul...unholy...vile creatures blood . His essence was covered and he disappeared inside. He could feel Erastils presence reassuring him. Still he shook...and somewhere he heard a scream escaping his lips.
Then as if he'd had a bucket of ice water thrown on him, his eyes flew open and he gasped. He took in his bloody and mucous covered form that now has bluish skin beneath. He growled low on his throat saying simply...that ...was...less...than...pleasant he sat up and looked for a way to rinse the disgusting covering he now had off.
Colgrim staggered over to his equipment,seeking something to center himself and found his longhammer. He visably stopped shaking as he hefted the dwarven weapon.
There might be complications.
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"Ketephys almighty," Cuthalian groans as he opens his eyes. Squinting at the bright light, "I agree, someone turn down the light." he says.
Keeping his eyes shaded he looks at his palm seeing his light flesh turned to dark blue.
"It would be best to give a warning of the trauma if there is ever necessity to do that again." he says as he finally rises to a sitting position.
"I need a bath or just a tub unless someone can get this putrid stuff off of me with magic."
Assuming someone grants each drow some Prestidigitation action, Cirok begins to pick and choose his new garments to be worn over his mithral chain shirt. The Pale grey/blue skinned drow then proceeds to re-equip himself with all his various toys, wands, daggers and one even may view a dark metal chain with a Blood red pendant around his neck, companioned with the new mysterious amulet.
Once finished (it seemed to take a few minutes), Cirok looks at the group. Somehow, the grinning Rogue seems stylish still in his new drow gear.
Dress for success, my father always said. If he could see his boy now.
Cirok seems extremely pleased by that notion.
Looking at each of his new companions, the Rogue seems to be studying each individual's stature, faces, bodies; calculating each height, weight and possibly their level of acceptance of the situation.
Any other nice, fun, reputable surprises for us next,my good elf?
The Rogue lastly places his hat on his head.
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So, it happened! I imbricated mortal physicality with a cadaveric corporeity! I’am… Oh yes! Oh, yes, yes, of course I will help you. He casts Prestidigitation on each of you in turn. You are now Wolves In Wolves’ Clothing! It seems that the wizard has quite a poetic mood.
The commander, however, does not share this spiritual uplift. Wearily rubbing the bridge of his nose, he starts his speech. We don't know much about drow society, but according to several written sources we have received, we believe that they are quite divided, gathering into a single fist only for a common goal. Such as destroying our kind, for example. In such chaotic structures, the role of sellswords is always great. I suggest you introduce yourself as such. This way we will avoid unnecessary complications… Mercenaries all over the world are always hiding something about their past. I don't think it will be any different for the dark ones. So it will be easier for you to hide the ends in the water.
Calmly waiting for you to change and equip, Kaerishiel attracts your attention with his long silence. We know the following. There is a certain House Azrinae, something like an influential noble family that led this attack. This House has generously sponsored researches here. At the head of this сlan is a certain woman whom they are afraid of. Pause. They are really afraid. And these bloody mad sadists in general are not afraid of much, you have seen. She inspires them with respect and horror, which merge into something similar to fanaticism. We do not know her name, in one record she was called "the New Matron". Another pause. As I said before, the part of their plan that took place here was called the Echo of Armageddon. This part is just a piece of the big picture and not its central part. As far as we understood from those documents that were not destroyed in the battle where fireballs were thundering everywhere, they were not even working here on the technology of the Earthfall itself. Unfortunately, it turns out that here they have already polished the details figuring out how to make the attack quite sudden. So much so that our astronomers and divinators will see the end approaching when it will be too late.
Your task. Minimum: to find out how much does this technology really work, when and where exactly strike is planned, what they need for this, where the strike will come from. You must gather all the information that we could potentially launch a preemptive strike at the place where and when preparations for this catastrophe will be carried out. Task maximum: the same thing, plus stop the end of the world with your own hands. Who knows, maybe just one or two deaths of key figures will be enough to destroy this crazy plan.
He goes silent. You all notice that he did not add his crowning and winged words this time, that the task of at least every warrior is to return alive. Apparently, not this time and not on this mission.
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Ah, what a wonderful question! You should not take off the medallions that you are wearing for a long time. For more than an hour. Even if you remove them for a short time, you will lose some of the new abilities that you have received. For example, darkvision. And then, after an hour, the degradation of the spell will begin. I find it difficult to say exactly how it will flow, but your disguise will be partially ruined!, Giseil responds to a cheerful adventurer. Oh, yeah. And this curse will last for 91 days, after which the magic will dissipate.
Each of you, looking into the medallion, sees a screaming drow face there for a second... the drow who was lying next to you on the mattress.
Soryan Dirge feels an instant moment of guilt and sorrow for the screaming Drow face in his Medallion. An imprisoned Soul is a fate bestowed as an Evil act, and in a way, Soryan Dirge is responsible for the continued incarceration of this sad Soul -- imprisoned in the Medallion so that he could masquerade in the Drow body. But the moment of guilt and sorrow is fleeting and ephemeral; 'What horrible crimes of violence, rape, exploitation and murder have you committed, Drow? A death sentence in life and incarceration and torment for your Soul is appropriate punishment for your crimes. And if my masquerading in your body helps prevent far worse Chaos and Annihilation, then it is a boon for Good.'
Dressing in Drow's clothes Soryan Dirge looks skeptically at his enchanted Cloak, Haversack, and most especially at his Magic Circlet and Spellbook. He never really considered fashion, or even color-matching clothing garments, so he doesn't know if his Headband, Cloak and Haversack clash with the Drow ensemble he now wears.
Without any irony or innuendo, without guile or double-entendre, asks Cirok Brokencrown, "Does this Handy Haversack make me look fat?" Soryan Dirge is clearly not confident in the look he's projecting. Why he is asking Cirok about fashion, he can't explain. Neither does Soryan Dirge know if choosing the Un-Rogue will be perceived as insulting or flattering.
Velath moved to pull out a set of Stow clothing after being cleansed by the Necromancer. He chose Grays and Blacks from among the clothing present . The shirts were a bit effeminate for his taste, but it was their clothing.
As he went through his gear making sure it Would pass the darklands test...he hefted his bow...knowing they preferred crossbows...he thought of a story to cover it being with him, and moved on. When he went to put on his holy symbol to Erastil...the silver bow...he once again came up with a story. And prayed forgiveness to The Stag God.
Dressed and equipped he looked at the Bloodline Medallion he wore and looked at the screaming face of the drow within. Thinking of how he felt...he offered a other prayer for the soul of this dark elf whose skin he wore. He wouldn't wish this on anyone.
Finally he said what was your name drow? If we are going to share the same body, the least I can do is honor your being... he waited to see if anything came to mind before looking up at the others.
Colgrim seems too appalled to speak and just chooses an outfit for himself and dons everything after he gets cleaned up. He doesn't bother looking closely at his amulet and no doubt doesn't care about the fate of the drow within.
Cirok looks at the Wizard. His white eyes drifting up from toe to hat.
Try carrying it on just your left shoulder. That's what all the cool drow do.
The Rogue winks.
Cirok then turns serious (for him) white eyes to Giseil.
An hour if removed? Maybe consider some Sovereign Glue?
The Rogue then repeats the information granted by Kaerishiel.
House Azrinae. Scary Lady, called "the New Matron". Echo of Armageddon. Investigative and stop catastrophe. Die.
The smiling drow laughs.
You had me at die.
The elf seems at ease in his new skin.
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The necromancer looks at Velath. Young man, he can't hear you. You are talking to yourself. Keep in mind animating objects by giving them the ability to speak, understand and feel in your head is literally the road to madness.
Kaerishiel responds to Cuthalian. Some of the names are simply ours, Elvish. The other part seems to be distorted, there are many sounds of "sss" and "zzz". The wizard general commanding the operation was called "Nolveniss" for example. As for weapons, I think leave your own, these are your trophies. You may have lost something and forcibly removed it from the corpses... our corpses. He takes a breath and continues. If you are ready then time is not waiting. The longer we chat here, the less reliable your legend will look. Let's do it again:
You are now drow. You were part of the battle here in Celwynvian, but when we elves got the upper hand, you went into hiding to wait for the elf gate to recharge. You watched from afar as we tried, and failed, to cleanse the portal, and when it recharged you stormed our camp, slaughtered the elves you found there, and swiftly moved through the portal to the other side.
As soon as you’re through, some of my best men will follow in pursuit to further confuse the matter. If there’s any drow on the other side, they’ll likely be more concerned with our ‘invasion’ than a few bloodied stragglers. This should buy you the time you need to lose yourselves amid the chaos, and we should be able to prevent any drow from taking advantage of the portal to return here. Once you’re through, my men will return and close the portal. From there, you’re on your own—hopefully, you’ll be able to assimilate yourselves into drow society soon enough, but if they question you about what happened here, do your best to keep your story simple.
We only get one shot at this, so, no matter what confronts you through that gate, remember that we’re the enemy and there’s no going back.
Cirok steps toward the Portal. The drow's white eyes fixed in concentration. His hands deftly reach into his haversack to retrieve a variety of wands, that he absently uses and places away just prior to stepping through the opened Portal.
The Rogue looks quite eager....
Velath stopped staring at the medallion and grinned at The Necromancer. I understand . Not to worry, it was musing on my behalf. ...then after a second he looked back at the Necromancer wait are you saying that spirit in there can cause us issues ? he moved towards the gate while looking at the Necromancer to answer and pulled the sword out, wiping it on a patch of blood to make it more believable
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No, no, only your fantasies can harm you. Technically, it's not really a soul, it's a cast of it... Oh well, it's very difficult to explain to a beginner, Giseil answers Velath.
You are going to the Academy of Arts. There was the bloodiest assault, there was the headquarters of the commander of the "dark ones", there are the elven gates through which the drow penetrated into the city. You are walking through the streets where fighting has been raging recently. Buildings changed hands, the ground around the walls is littered with stone chips and broken crossbow bolts and arrows. Here and there are spots of dried blood already partially absorbed into the ground…
You enter inside and walk through beautiful halls destroyed not only by disaster and time, but also desecrated by dark elves.
As you approach, the elf gate shimmers with energy. The stone inside the arch grows smoky, then translucent, revealing a cloudy view of a shadowy cavern beyond. An elven voice shouts in Undercommon as the scouts ready their weapons...
The first arrow flies right by Cirok's head and flies into the portal, scratching his skin and letting a thin trickle of blood flow down his temple. You rush inside…
~ It's like walking through a column of vertically standing water and at the same time remaining completely dry ~
Inside you can see a very large cave and a camp. Several wagons of unusual design (and it seems not made of wood) form something like a fence. You immediately see your hated enemies. Drow. They had already been alarmed by the light of the flashing portal. Seeing you, followed by the attacking light elves, they rush into battle with fury.
There are things that you are not mentally ready for. Big monsters, something like a centaur but a mix of spider and drow, with terrible insectoid mouths and lots of eyes. They are rushing straight at you, looking like cavalry that is about to demolish you. And then there are a few freaks, there is no other word to find. These are drow, but some kind of mutated ones, with claws, tentacles, sharp teeth and Gods knows what else. All these monsters have one thing in common: bestial rage bordering on madness. Plus, there are at least a dozen drow soldiers here, and you seem to be caught between a hammer and an anvil.
Cirok just grins as the fresh blood bleeds baleful and braggart down his dark cheek.
So, it begins.
The drow's white eyes watch warily the welcoming wagon of other drow. Cirok dodges and steps lightly around any obstacles, obstructions, obvious other altercations.
With his speed magically enhanced Expeditiously, the Rogue realizes that being in the center of this conflict seems a bit foolish!
Moving 60' further to the right of the portal (angled towards his new comrades), he dodges behind some stalagmites.
Soryan Dirge sprints feverishly through the portal and, amongst the Drow and the mutated monsters, trips and rolls with very little grace, scrabbling away on all fours in fear. The warning, "Close the Portal; close the Portal!" screams breathlessly out of his gaping jaws in a panicked gasp -- the ineffable phonemes of the secret Drow language new to his tongue and stuttering forth. He continues, alongside a few animated terrors of Drow-science, "And distance yourselves! Beware of Spells that effect large areas!"
Finally, Soryan Dirge turns back toward the Aiudara, from a sitting position after his graceless, sprinting tumble. He speaks under his breath, audible enough for only those close to overhear and out of breath, "Curse to the Elves, I'm almost out of Spells." Then he yells again, "Close the Portal!" and he intones the words of a minor Evocation, as four glowing red wasps jet from outstretched fingers toward the Portal, zipping just a hair's-breadth from an Elven archer's ear, and sting the Portal with their destructive magic.
Move Action:
Run in 30 feet at an angle, provoking AoOs from any monsters and purposefully failing Acrobatics checks in attempt to make it look like I'm running -- and tripping and falling -- for my life. My direction is not a straight line but a swerve toward the Drow I see. And hopefully, finish my Move in a 'sitting' position adjacent to a Drider or other Fleshwarped.
Standard Action:
Magic Missile
Will firing a Magic Missile at the Portal really have any harmful effect?!? .... If my Spellcraft check indicates a 'Yes,' then please change my Magic Missile to *hit* an Elf, preferably one I know has SR, or one who I can safely assume is jacked on HP.
Casting this Magic Missile would also provoke an AoO from said Drider or Fleshwarped.
Note:
All of Soryan Dirge's speech is in the newly gained 'secret Drow Language.'
Longsword out Velath is the third through the gate. He sees the advancing Drow forces and the arrow streak past Cirok, slicing open his check. He sees Soryan, stumble and roll as he yells close the gate he follows through heading straight for the advancing group he yells They are right behind us in his newly acquired Drow tongue, waving his bloody sword. He doesn't show any fear whatsoever and just runs across the uneven ground as quick as he can, trusting the magic placed on them to his their identities.
Still fuming, Colgrim sprints towards the gate and leaps through. Emerging with a pile drow ahead and bolts harrying them from behind. Following the wizard. He grunts and snarls. Bloody surface scum!
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Soryan's magic arrows hit the gate, of course without causing any harm. But it looks (moderately) impressive. And most importantly, making his way past monsters and casting spells next to them, he realizes that he may be living his last seconds... But no, the monsters completely ignore him and rush at their hated enemies - the elves...
The rest of the squad members will also be spared the fate of fighting monsters or guardians. Drow fighters clearly don't attach much importance to their fellows, focusing on the immediate threat. There are various shouts, from "attack to the end" to "yes, close the gate". However, it doesn't look like anyone is going to follow someone's orders yet.
Demonic bastard! The arrow scratches Colgrim and a couple more stick into the stones next to him.
Monsters crash into the ranks of the elves, forcing them into close combat. Drow shooters are showering your recent comrades-in-arms with bolts. One of the light elves suddenly falls unconscious. Two elven warriors rush to him, one grabs him by the shoulders and begins to pull him away, but the other does not have time to grab his legs as the tentacle of one of the mutants squeezes his ribs and begins to press with terrible force... Driders begin to crowd the elves, creating serious problems for them. Their bestial cruelty and pressure force their opponents to back away, who barely have time to dodge the blows. It all looks dangerous...
White eyes crinkling in amusement as the drow's self-interest happen to align with (ultimately) theirs, Cirok returns his gaze to the battle and more importantly the key to winning this one, the Portal.
Deciding that regrouping and getting the drow out of this cavern and on to the mission, the Rogue reaches into his Haversack, producing a Wand.
From behind the stalagmites cover, he begins speaking a sharp Arcane phrase, pointing the Wand above the Portal.
Silent Image
A Cascade of broken ceiling begins to fall above the Portal (piling incessantly around it) from a Black Dragon burrowing through it!
The Rogue then smiles.
Soryan Dirge, half-sitting prone and out of breath, looks at the spot whereon he fired his Magic Missile and the battle raging in front of it.
Standing up to his full height, he continues to move away from the fight, closer to the fence-line of unusually designed wagons.
Velath ran right through the line of horrors, sword still out, heading for the wagons. He was looking for a place to move through them and saw the Drow stab the other in the back. Saw that one fall to the ground without a sound. A wry grin touched his lips. It's good to know they aren't cohesive. He tried not to let the killer see he saw him as he headed for the entry while at the same time making sure to keep from allowing this backstabber from getting behind him in case he didn't did see.
Colgrim notices the knife in the back and is not surprised. If these drow commit all sorts of atrocities, a little grudge fulfilment would be as natural as breathing.
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Cuthalian turns from the fight as the beasts surge past him and looks at his surroundings. He spots the duplicitous act of the drow at the wagon and stores that away for later. As he drags his weary appearing self away from the gate, he tries to pick out something to mark the murderer by. Quite possibly this was a personal vendetta and blackmail may be useful later. Moving along, he stays near the others. Once they have cleared the wagons he starts to create a light and then stops himself, besides, he can see. He continues on past the wagons a good hundred feet or more until they are out of eyesight of the other drow and waves his companions onward if they make to stop sooner.
Once they get away from the gate and the other drow. "Shall we travel on and see what we can see to perhaps return later and somehow ask directions?"
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You pass a line of wagons, leaving the battle behind. You can hear the elves shouting "Collapse! Run!". The roar of monsters, somewhere from rage, somewhere from pain. A few sobs of the dying (you will never confuse this sound). Looking back, you realize that your brethren bought you time at the cost of several lives. However, you can see that one of the mutants and several drow are also dead. Drow in the camp don't attach any importance to you at all. They watch as the elves retreat into the portal, dragging the wounded and several dead with them. They don't care about you.
None of them, except one.
Hey. Guys. Psst. Come here.
At first, maybe you don't understand where the sound is coming from. But then you see a drow hiding under the farthest wagon. This cart is different from the others as it is harnessed by two lizards while the others forming the fence are unharnessed.
Hide behind my cart until a stray arrow hits you in the head! Hurry up, what are you standing for!
Soryan Dirge looks past the fence-line of wagons to the lizard-drawn cart and the whisperer. Before scurrying over he stands straight and looks around again, both at the finishing battle and the fence-line. 'Is anyone watching me? Can anyone else hear that voice from the cart?'
Then he hurries over, an obvious facade of suspicion on his features 'at least, as an Elf this would have been the melodramatic look of suspicion.'
Cirok watches the chaos created by the elves, drow, drow-spiders
Someone should come up with a name for those things
along with the group's contributions for as long as it takes to replace his Wand, watch which way his group went, and dodge, weave, duck behind each appropriate cover to stand easily behind the only wagon currently harnessed.
Bending down to peer at the drow hiding under the farthest wagon, Cirok smiles at him.
I couldn't help but notice that your sweet ride seems ready and rearing to travel. Would it be kosher to just murder you and take it, or would you prefer to bargain?
The smiling Rogue seems fine with either answer.
EDIT!
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Drow carefully climbs out from under the wagon and dusts himself off. He looks at Cirok with obvious respect but without fear. It seems that he totally believes in the reality of the threat, but it does not cause absolutely any shock and rejection, as it would be on the surface. My name is Gadak Simiryin from the House Vonnarc. He says it clearly with pride, expecting that it should impress others. I think we really should bargain, my death may cost you the price of skinned alive. You guys have been in a nice mess, haven't you? I can't even wait to find out how many scalps you've taken from those. I was just about to get out of here… So as not to hang around here like these suicides waiting for the next stream of treacherous arrows from the light freaks. My suggestion. I'll give you a lift to the city, and you tell me stories about what was on the other side of the portal. Deal? He smiles. Friendly enough to be liked, but not too friendly to look stupid or weak.
While you are talking, the fight finally subsides. All the light elves retreated. The portal goes out. And with it disappears some last connection with the house, with the surface. Now you are here, vaguely deep underground in the midst of real evil and you are alone. This thought weighs heavily on you.
Cirok's white eyes smile back at the drow trader, as if to convey mutual respect and an understanding.
The Rogue then gestures to his company with a Graceful bow, flourishing out his hat.
Well met, Gadak Simiryin. Cirok Brokencrown, merely a mercenary that got caught on the wrong side of an interesting Portal. My company and I would indeed appreciate the ride.
With waiting for a response from anyone, the Rogue easily climbed up to the front seat.
Who's first?
Soryan Dirge openly accepts the invitation, but inwardly is full of suspicion: 'This has to be a trap; he is leading us to some treachery. He must have an ulterior motive. .... I'll play along but any description I give of Home will have to make sure he feels it a place he can *never* go. .... And in time, I will extract more information from him than he from me.'
"Telling tales of the Lands-of-Light in exchange merely for a ride to the city? Seems a one-sided deal. Nonetheless, I'll tell you these two things as we ride to House Vonnarc: Any description of the pain and brightness of above that you may have heard is a pitiful reflection of the reality. The blazing shine is inescapable, blinding and burning so penetrating that your mind itself feels the pain. The only refuge is back to the Darklands. But the other thing is even more alien, more sinister: Everything above is colored in this unnatural, ineffable hue; it makes one's skin crawl just thinking of it. I can't describe it. It's as though someone took the pure color of blue, and the haunting color of yellow, and mixed them together in a horrid amalgamation of rancid, disturbing palate. It's revolting. And it is *everywhere.* ... Beware the surface Gadak Simiryin of House Vonnarc -- it is worse than you can imagine!"
Colgrim looks back and sees the surface elves fall in their support of the deception and gives them a quick nod of respect. As much as I despise my new role, I will honor your sacrifice and see this quest through. To do less would shame me into shaving my beard.
Colgrim merely grunts at the drow the others are talking to and boards the wagon.
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Cuthalian does what he can not to look back and shivers when he hears the cries. He is intent on pushing on until he hears the drow whisper to them. He turns just as Cirok gets to the man. After the exchange the drow gets out from under his wagon. As Cuthalian nears he hears the man name himself. When he closes the gap, he merely says, "Well met." to the other. The ride sounds like an easy way to the city and others seem rather ready to regale the man with stories of above so Cuthalian sits quietly pondering. 'Where do we begin looking for earthfall.' he thinks.
Velath stopped moving and watched the group head to the wagon with lizards hooked up to it. He headed towards it. Leaning down to grab some dirt and wipe his blade with the dirt til the blood was gone. Then sheathing the sword he climbed into the rear of the wagon as Soryan went on about his description of the land above. Since NOONE asked him directly he kept his mouth shut. Best to give as little information as possible. He merely grunted in agreement and nodded to Soryans description.
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Sounds like a nightmare. It's a good thing I wasn't there. Indeed, there is not a hint of regret in Gadak's voice. He looks at you again*, after which he smiles a little wider. Get in. Let's get out of here. He jumps onto the cart, takes a whip and whips the lizards quite harshly several times.
The cart itself has enough space to accommodate you all, even though it has some barrels, boxes and so on.
The next few hours pass quietly and at the same time very curious for you. You drive through caves sometimes so narrow that the cart barely squeezes through and Gadak has to demonstrate considerable skill to cope and not to put the bottom of the wagon on a stalogmite. And by contrast, once you drive through a cave so big that your darkvision is not enough to see the ceiling. You hear the noise of the waterfall and several times the sounds of the wings of some rather large creatures flying from above and even from the side much beyond your visibility. In another place you saw a fork where you turned right, and to the left there was another cave with a grove of strange mushrooms shining with an unhealthy color. For some reason, you get the feeling that nothing good can happen from contact with these mushrooms.
In the process, Gadak unobtrusively and politely asks you about your past and about your plans for life. Along the way, he is ready to tell you something if you have questions.
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Soryan Dirge answers Gadak's question regarding his hundred scalps, "I don't collect scalps, preferring to be further away from my enemies and using Spells. Chain Lightning, Disintegrate and Meteor Swarm spells usually burn too much of the victim's heads to collect a trophy from in any event."
He continues, "But tell me this, Gadak Simiryin of House Vonnarc -- you saw us leading the Elves down here to the slaughter; why did you ask us to join you? Why did you choose to contact us; are you recruiting for your House? Are you really just curious about what the too-bright surface looks like?"
Hard to collect scalps when they no longer have heads. Colgrim grunts.
Cirok laughs at Gadak's audacity. The Rogue accepts the Merchant's appraisal with aplomb.
Trophies from the surface freaks. They practically hand it over to you.
The drow laughs.
As they traverse the underground terrain, Cirok notes the major landmarks of their route, while appreciating the other drow's wagon skills.
Your driving skills are commendable.
Cirok raises an eyebrow at Gadak's questions.
Not ones I would figure from a drow.
The Rogue considers them while they travel.....
Velath looked around as the wagon moved through the caverns. He realized the the Drow had an ulterior motive to his asking them aboard and he bided his time when they entered the large cavern with something flying overhead he started talking About battles above ground using the fights he had fought in as a reference point. But changing the tale so he was of the Drow force and not the defender. When the Drow wagonmaster was listening carefully he suddenly paused and said bluntly Gadak Simiryin of House Vonnarc. It occurs to me that I do not know why you volunteered yourself to bring us back. What's in it for you? Or for House Vonnarc
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Hard to collect scalps when they no longer have heads. Colgrim grunts.
It seems Gadak first wants to object that it is easy to remove scalps from severed heads. But then he looks at the hammer and suddenly understands. Not bad, it is clearly read on his face when the corners of his lips creep down.
After listening to you all, he says: You have an interesting accent. From Gizratayn or Umberweb probably, right? Heh... I could pull a couple of strings in my House, Great House Vonnarc. The Mother of Slaves and the Master of Blades listen to my opinion. We could use warriors like you. You were in this bright hell and survived, and even scored trophies. You will be of use. Why would I do that? Well, you will owe me and one day you will be useful to me as much as I am to you now. Catch your luck by the tail before I change my mind. Gadak smiles extremely charmingly.
Cirok just smiles at the merchant. He Studies his drow facial expressions, body positioning and tone in an attempt to gage his purposes.
The Rogue doesn't quite answer his questions. Skating deftly using vocabulary and Deception to spin a web of mystery and Backstory.
All invitations shall be considered, Gadak. Honors to your House.
Colgrim keeps an eye out around them as the elves chirp at each other. Being this far underground was both comforting and disturbing, there were no well carved halls and comforting caves here, only endless gloom and noxious plants that no do8nt hid twisted creatures, he was eager to be someplace more like home.
Velath remarked after hearing the web of deceit being wove perfectly fine. Just know I'm not the kind to serve as as a slave. Serve the mistress of blades? Yes ...if the money is right. Don't make me look to you for a trophy.
His attempt at pointed threats falling on deaf ears though.
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Having uttered his words confidently, Velath gets a completely different reaction than he would have expected. Instead of fright or respect, you see a slight surprise. Gadak immediately hides it, but it seems he thought something like "they have everything in Umberweb (or still Gizratayn? hmmm) somehow quite strange and different..." At the same time, the paladin does not have the feeling that right now he is essentially lying to you. On the other hand, you simply have no doubt that he always lies to everyone a little bit.
He nods to Cirok. Wherever you come from, you should know about House Vonnarc. This is your chance, dear warriors and sorcerers, and...
It seems he wants to say something else, but does not have time. You are in another big cave and you can hear the splashing of water ahead, but not as if from waves, but as if something quite big is trampling there. Gadak abruptly stops the lizards and listens intently. He pulls out a hand crossbow with one hand and still holds the reins with the other.
Seeing Gadak's reaction to the vulgar sound of water being tromped upon by a large creature, Soryan Dirge whispers to his guide, "What is it? .... If it's big and stupid, I may be able to Enchant it if we can avoid combat and it has language."
Riding easily along next to Gadak, Cirok also turns his focus in the direction of the splashing water ahead. The Rogue is suddenly seen holding two Wands.
He is also now standing next to the wagon with it being between him and the ominous sounds....
Colgrim gets out of the wagons and pulls his bow, getting two arrows ready as he scanes the area for threats.