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The wizard briefly considers things before shrugging, He offers a friendly wave towards the imps before turning back towards the way they were going. "Count to ten while we walk," he whispers to the team,
Daranil looks up and then ahrugs. "I'll never say no to having an audience, but if they want to become involved..." He nods towards Bridgette, in particular her armaments. "then they'll become part of the show, just like everyone else. Even if it's just an intermission."
Daranil offers Lem a slight bow. "Why yes, I do put work into my creations. Thank you for noticing." With that, he follows his allies towards the castle. Hopefully with little interference from the mobs. "Alright, I think the novelty has worn off. Now they're starting to annoy me."
Lem shrugs. "I'm sure the gods have better things to do than listen to a bunch of random people muttering over a grave." "I've little doubt that the gods are watching us with rapt attention, even now. My divine inspiration is proof enough of that, and there's the entire topic of spell casting clerics..." he waves a hand dismissively. "Regardless. I agree that this is a nice place to use as a rest stop. Keeping the house in use is likely what she would have wanted." The elf gathers his things as he notices Bridgette putting on a blindfold. "You know, if you're looking for something to conceal the eyes, I'd suggest something a bit more intimidating. Perhaps a helmet with a monstrous visage. Or a mask? They're quite useful. Perhaps something to wear [i]over[/o] the blindfold, so it's at least a little less obvious that you cannot see."
Daranil looks back at the dwarf. "I am merely a player on the stage, here for the gods' amusement, just as anyone else. But each actor is allowed to have a favored member of the audience. Calistria is one of the Great Patrons that I especially appreciate, as her faith ensures that life is never too dull. And I'd dare not deny her a story of loss and vengeance, as simple as it was."
Daranil steps forward, drawing his holy symbol of Calistria. "I shall handle this, then."
When the grave is ready, the elf stands over it with a solemn look in his eye. "We lay to rest one dear Zellara, who gave her life to seek retribution for the murder of her son by the criminal Gaedren Lamm." "Though she died in her pursuit retribution, her undying will allowed her to shine a light on Lamm's hidden den. And we, kindred spirits in vengeance, dragged Lamm out of his pit and brought an end to his wretched existence." He trembles slightly, but continues. "May Zellara find peace in knowing that Lamm will never harm another soul, and that he has been paid back for all the pain he caused. And may all those present find peace knowing that we too might find new life as we step forward onto the grand stage that is life." He gestures towards the others to commit Zellara's remains to her final resting place.
The arcanist shrugs. "Buying one should be easy enough. I'm sure the rioters didn't tear down every general store in the neighborhood. Perhaps the dearly departed's home has a tool shed out back?"
The masked elf chuckles a bit. "Well, things happen. It's been rather exciting around here, hasn't it? Especially with the riots." He then turns to his allies and clasps his hands together. "Well! We should probably step a safe distance away from the fire and prepare to move on with our business, yes? I wouldn't blame any of you for warning to gawk at it a little bit longer, of course."
"Well, let's hope that the queen can appreciate the good work we're doing for her fine city, from finding jewelry to disposing of refuse. But Lem's right, let's give a proper send-off to our ghostly patron before we take this bauble to its home."
The backdrop of his old home going up in flames is enough to bring a tear to Daranil's eye. He watches in solemn silence as the glow and the heat wash across his body. His eyes close as he listens to every crack and cackle of wood, to the sounds of debris falling into the water, and to the bustling of the city around him. "This is a new song, I think..." he mutters, thinking aloud. "I like it."
When Daranil is alerted to the sight of the ghost, he turns towards it and trembles.... but also forces a laugh."Hahaha... oh, you wretched little man. You just. Won't. Leave. Me. Be. Won't you!?" The elf reaches into his bags, putting away his holy symbol to Calistria and retrieving a symbol with a skull over an anthropomorphic moth. A stylized unholy symbol of Urgathoa, as anyone versed in the faiths could tell. "For what purpose do you haunt us? Answer me!"
"Don't. Ever. Joke about the undead like that. The dead must stay dead. No ifs, ands or buts." Daranil pauses to consider. Then he raises his drink and nods. "Not quite the way I'd put it, but I quite agree. Someone's death is a precious thing, and should not be taken from them. And undeath is the fool's gold of immortality anyway. I merely seek to give Lamm the mockery he deserves." "And for the record, I do take my theatrics quite seriously. If the gods can imbue carefully selected followers with divine magic, then they most assuredly watch the rest of us. And I'm sure some of them will enjoy our 'memorial' to dear Lamm." The elf leaves a piece of silver for his meal, collecting the last of his food in one hand to eat while they travel.
"But if you burn the body, you burn the memory. And within half a dwarven generation you'll have another Lamm making trouble. A Hamm, if you will." The elf lets out a chuckle. "You need something more durable. It's beyond my power, but I'd suggest turning him onto a zombie. A docile, groaning reminder of the punishment for..." He trails off and gets lost in thoght for a moment. "I can't think of why I'd want to punish him any further. He played his Gods-given role from beginning to the bitter end, as did we. But..." his voice takes on a seething tone. "...I wouldn't mind making sure that Lamm's performance is a once-in-my-lifetime event. I think putting his preserved skull on display would be a tasteful compromise."
I'd peg Daranil at a clean 6'2" and a half. The guy is lanky.
Daranil waves dismissively. "Lamm's cruelty has opened my eyes to the truth of this world. Golarion is a stage, and we but the players. Our sorrow, our joy, our triumphs and defeats are all for the gods' amusement. I have chosen to embrace my role." But enough about me." He gestures towards the dwarf with his drink. "I want to hear about our new friend here. Tell me, friend... your name, among other things. Were you here to pay Lamm a beating? Perhaps you have an interest in what's going on in this current exciting moment?"
Daranil's smile is wide enough to make his ruined jaw audibly pop, but his revelry in the moment is far stronger than the pain. "That sounds exactly like the kind of friend Dear Lamm would have. Rest assured we granted him his finale, and it was quite beautiful. The same affection he shared with me. I could nearly hear the Gods' applause as the curtains closed around him..." Feeling at ease with a fellow victim, the elf pulls down the cloth on his jaw to enjoy his drink. The dwarf can see that the jaw is offset and slightly slack without the support, as though it were halfway knocked off and allowed to mend incorrectly.
Daranil manages a polite "Thank you" before leaning back in his chair, finger swirling through the top of his drink. "It's lovely, isn't it? What a wonderful contrast. It's so relaxing in here. But out there? You can still hear them. You can just drink the atmosphere." Speaking of. the arcanist concentrates on his drink, casting prestidigitation to alter its properties. "Mmm... berries, some bitters, and the slightest hint of a coppery aftertaste. Like a sip of fine wine after a good performance. Mildly chilled, of course." He holds his drink thoughtfully, but then realizes that his mask is in the way. Chuckling at his own conundrum, he gestures towards the dwarf with a free hand. "You've got the look of an actor about you, I'd say. A shame you weren't around just a day earlier. We threw a party for our dear friend Lamm. I think he would have loved to meet your hammer."
The elf considers. "I'll take the fried potatoes. And some ale, watered down." Then, he turns to the others. "What a memorable Kingsday it is, then. I wonder how it happened. Oh, I'll have to get in touch with the bards about this one. Even their delicate sensibilities..." he says, trailing off to search his bag for a holy symbol of Shelyn and thoughtfully caressing it, "...even their unique perspectives should be able to weave something enthralling out of a day like this."
"You look like you've been enjoying yourself." the masked elf says as he sits down across the table from the dwarf. "I can only imagine what the other man looks like." He thoughtfully traces a hand across his own half-mask. "I am Daranil Aldaris. Though I'm sure I'll be known for my performances soon enough. Myself and some... concerned citizens have been taking it upon ourselves to make this town a nicer place to live." He glances outside and laughs a little bit. "Our first outing as a team has been remarkably eventful." "So, sir, what brings you to this whirlwind of passion happening right now?"
Daranil steps up to the door with a shiver, as though coming in from a blizzard. But his friends know by now that he's shaking off the excitement. "Well, it just keeps heating up out here. No sign of slowing down any time soon. Shall we enter and find a seat? Azig is correct, we should let the right person take center stage."
The masked arcanist glances around and spreads his arms wide. "Ahhh, it's like the entire city is celebrating our victory with us! But we shouldn't dawdle in the path of their overly enthusiast activities. Come, let us take refuge and relax while we observe." He ducks out of the way of two people engaged in a brawl. "....from a comfortable seat not close to a window."
What do you mean? I think the only thing my paladin would absolutely hate more than anything are murderers and necromancers.
If the party collectively wants to keep it quiet, Daranil will play along and keep his head down. All the better to silently observe. That, and not bring attention to their precious prize. If not? The collective passion of the city will get the better of him, and he'll find himself festively moving through the streets, the laughing elf mask on his face and a holy symbol of Calistria on his belt. "How lovely! The city is more alive than it's ever been!"
A shame, it looks like Daranil may be playing the 'starving artist' a bit closer to heart than he was planning. Ah well. Hopefully, he'll at least have a chance to revel in the beauty of the city's descent into chaos for a bit.
"The things an artist must do..."
The elf chuckles. "oOh, we certainly aren't selling this thing on the black market. Cashing out is the lest interesting thing to do, and gold is practically worthless in the grand scheme of things." Then he raises a finger. "Now, the things people will do for gold, that's where it gets interesting."
A brooch of the Queen's... Lamm, old friend, you've been holding out on us. One final parting gift. The second greatest he's given us, besides that look on his face at the end. But how do we return it?" The elf looks at himself, then at his allies. "We don't exactly look like courtiers. An easier assumption would be that we were working with the thieves that stole it. If we do return it, I'd say we spend some of our Inheritance on getting nice outfits for the occasion. Perhaps have ourselves announced? I wonder how one makes a discussion date with royalty..."
"Oh, I don't know. Seeing this place erupt in a pyre would serve to provide us with a well-needed catharsis if nothing else. And she didn't say to not turn it a lush pile of ashes if we found her remains." The elf looks back at the body once again. "Either way, no need to let Dear Lamm's things go to waste. Only fair that is 'extended family' inherit his worldly possessions after this passing. Let's find everything we can. If any of you know your way around beast taming, we could even buy some meat and claim his pet."
Daranil inclines his head towards the ghost. "Then I hope your final show was one to remember. It was dedicated to you, after all. Are there any... final requests, before you go? I'm certain we can perform a tasteful encore."
Daranil speaks in a somewhat mocking tone. "It would be better, I suppose, to use some of that money towards the poor unfortunate souls that have been so unfairly robbed of Lamm's tender affections." The elf ponders their situation for a moment. "Do you think they know any other self-important manipulative scum? If we were to provide them a place to stay and a meal, perhaps they would be willing to tip us off."
"Ahh, personal records. That's a good idea. Let's go digging through dear Lamm's documents to see what he's been keeping track of. In fact..." The elf lets out a chuckle. "Do you think Lamm knew any other scourges of the streets? Perhaps we can rescue other children. Secure other spoils. Put on more... performances."
While the party is focused on the safe, Daranil kneels down over Lamm's remains and looks down for a moment. Satisfied, he closes the man's eyes and once again dons his mask before examining the safe with his allies. "Ahh, almost a shame that those underlings ran away like they did. I bet one of them would have solved this problem for us, one way or another."
I'd like to second that notion. (Not that I'm leaving, I'm having too much fun hamming it up as Daranil.) But with GM responses to every post and no big initiative or status tracker to cleanly establish a post order, or minis on a board to observe, I've been finding it difficult to stay focused and post consistently.
As the darkness fades, Daranil looks down upon the fallen body of Lamm. He brings his hands together in a slow clap. "Let's hear it for our dearly departed friend. And to Bridgette, who took his hand and guided him off the state of life with a delightful farewell with word and spell and blade. Please, take a bow!" Should Bridgette allow, Daranil will take her hand to guide her in a bow for some unseen audience. If she does not, he respects her space and allows his applause to taper off. "Now, I know we're all excited to 'inherit' our darling's possessions. But I think we need to take this moment to truly savor what we've created together. Take in the sight... his position, the errant sprays of blood, the scrape in the wood where the weapon came down. In every story, an end. In every end, death. In every death, beauty."
He glances towards the three thugs. "I... suppose you can join us in observance. So long as you're willing to behave." His voice is almost musical.
And I still managed to roll a 19. I'm just gonna call that roll a failure since it was clearly never meant to be.
Daranil is shrouded in darkness, completely unable to see where the allies and enemies have moved. But his low cackle is proof enough that he appreciates it. "Now's your chance, Lamm! The darkness may be around you, but the spotlight shines on you nevertheless! Please make sure your last moment is as memorable as possible!" The elf closes his eyes, denying himself his instinctual reliance and using his ears to guide his shot.
And he takes a shot in the dark!
"Is that the troupe of clowns you requested? Oh, perhaps they're here to sing your epitath. Here, let's help them reach a high note!" Daranil targets one of the less wounded thugs and casts a spell at one, filling his mind with abstract, artfully crafted horrors. If need be, he'll take a short step away from Lamm to avoid leaving himself open to an attack.
"You didn't deserve it, then." "You don't mean that." There's a bit of genuine concern when Daranil says those words. He reaches up to toss his mask to the side, and then he yanks down the cloth over his mouth. Part of the elf's fave looks partially impacted, as though the bones around the socket were broken and set one. That eye is slightly off kilter, and his jaw hangs slack, as if it lost functionality on that side of his face. "There ish no shuch thing ash 'didn't desherve it' in thish world. The godsh. Demand. ENTERTAINMENT!!" A bit of spittle trickles down from the corner of the elf's lips. His jaw pops and cracks painfully as he speaks without the support. "Don't hide from what you created. Be proud!"
"Oh, please, help me." he says in a mocking tone. "Don't hurt me!" Daranil draws a knife as he gets a look in his eyes. He steps closer to Lamm, hoping to physically bar him from escape. "As I recall, those words weren't. So. Useful. When I asked of you for mercy."
"If you're looking to turn this tragedy into a comedy, all you had to do was ask." The elf leans forward to pikc up the scroll he discarded to fire his bow. He casually flicks it open and reads the runic magic.
The elf tilts his head back and lets out a laugh. "Dear Lamm, are you serious? There's no drama in putting down a beast. Are you calling for an intermission?" Daranil tucks the scroll away and takes a shot at the beast.
"Ahh, my dear mentor! Come, sit, we have so much to catch up with. Come, I've prepared a performance just for you!" The elf reaches into his belt and draws his scroll of grease.
"Hmm... since we're taking the time to help a friend come down from a poison high... I suppose we have time to investigate these scrolls. It may be amusing to see the look on Lamm's face when we hit him with his own accoutrements."
The elf cocks his head to the side. "Shame, really. With one's mind so muddled, it's difficult to appreciate the drama of the moment. I suppose we can take a moment to see if our friend here can calm down. I'll take this time to... prepare."
Daranil lets out a chuckle that's only slightly muffled by his mask and bandages. He backs away whith his palms up, hoping that Azig's next ourburst won't be aimed at him. "My my, it would appear that our friend has gone quite mad. Does anyone happen to have a means of calming him down? I fear my next spell would merely put another crack his already fractured mind." "What does this guy have to do with Lamm?" "And to answer your question," he states quite calmly despite the current situation, "he trained the most magically gifted of the little lambs. So they could be more useful, of course, and it hardly earned them sanctuary from his cruelty."
The elf cocks his head to the side. "You'll have to fill me in on this one, I don't think that was in the script." he states matter-of-factly. "You must save your blade for the star of the show, our dear friend Lamm."
Daranil catches the wand, but his eyes remain on the fallen form of his old teacher. The elf walks with a spring in his step to examine the remains. The angle of his fall. The tasteful splaying of his hair. The way his clothing billows around the body.
"Ahh, it was almost too easy. To be laid low by such a simple casting... of..." and his eyes narrow. He leans in close. Though he is unhappy to disturb his work so soon, he simply must know the deed is truly done. Daranil gently runs his fingers along the cheek and under the chin of his mentor's body. He half expects his hand to pass through an illusion.
"Do you see? You can threaten us all you want, but you cannot escape your role to play. You can only chose whether or not to embrace it." The postulating elf points a finger at him menacingly.
If the enemy casts...:
"How theatrical of you." "That is the point, my dear Balko. I am but a player on the stage, forever performing for my Great Patrons. It is they who eagerly observe my every action, my every expression, my every moment of pain and joy." The elf sighs. "You've always lacked vision, you know that? It's part of why I left. I can spend a decade in any academy on Golarion to learn the rest of what you have to teach. But my lesson to you, by necessity, would come at the cost of your life." "Speaking of," the elf says musically, "my friends, feel free to march on this short-sighted spellslinger at your leisure."
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