"Truly? That is rather interesting. I fear I have no answer for you though. Last I knew I was wandering in a foreign land, but firmly in the Material Plane. I'm not sure how I've wandered so far..."
Bolgrith continues in the creatures native tongue while watching the fire lick at the trail rations. Satisfied, he removes the warmed meat and one of the skewers from where it rested over the flames and offers the stick to his strange companion. Leaving his own portion to cook a little longer.
Scratching at his beard with his free hand, the Priest of Irori try's to recall all he knows of the Ethereal Plane and travel between the realms of existence.
Knowledge (Planes) 1d20 + 6 ⇒ (6) + 6 = 12 (What do I know of, specifically, how one can travel between planes. Also useful s~*~ to know about EP)
Bolgrith gives a little grimacing chuckle at the jest while turning the pike over the flames. "Mekal bev."
Keeping a careful eye on the warming meat to not let it overcook, the Priest shifts on his seat a little in the cool air of the mountainside.
"Nekle bafnide sev nakl bef? Ik thi ne var hack lam." He asks with interest.
Goblin:
"Quite so." ------ "Not the Material Plane? More lost than I'd thought."
Diplomacy 1d20 + 5 + 2 ⇒ (13) + 5 + 2 = 20 Not sure if you want me to keep rolling Diplo? I know it's a prolonged process, but I'm not sure of how many rolls it needs? To be on friendly terms with one another.
The dwarven Priest nods maintaining eye contact before poking at the fire again. Satisfied that the flames won't burn out on their own, he begins rummaging in his pack for some of the trail rations. The food of dubious distinction, hardened against travel, shows itself still edible if a bit mildewy from the persistent damp.
He carefully separates the individual items into roughly equal portions, taking the salted beef and skewering it on the metal end of his boarding pike, brought all this distance from their original passage to the Sunderlands. Resting it over the flickering heat he sighs heavily before regarding his new companion yet again.
"Grel hakog mella. Mak felli eg fin mal." He gestures to the food heating over the fire. "Ek bah mek fimm, Barghest nik mille. Ikan mek thal nam te fevorr." He lets out a friendly chuckle. "Min fedna kammuk tel folorin." The cleric watches the being by the fire to gauge it's response.
Goblin:
"It's simple fare. But I'm more than happy to share."----- "I admit, this is the first time I've met a Barghest. I'm a little surprised to see one here on the Material Plane." ----- "I hope you're not here on a hunt."
Diplomacy 1d20 + 5 ⇒ (12) + 5 = 17 Sense Motive (I'm hoping that the more he interacts with the Barghest the more he can understand it's body language. Bolgrith is trying to "make friends" but he's on alert for aggression) 1d20 + 7 ⇒ (8) + 7 = 15
Bolgrith starts for half a second before prodding the the fire again with a blackened stick. He nods to the creature, not sure if he's read anything about so strange a being. Wracking his mind, he offers his own friendly if a little nonplussed smile to his guest.
Bolgrith takes some comfort from the new vantage point and hikes up his travelers pack to rest more comfortably on his shoulders. With only a pause to wonder at where his companions might have lost themselves, the Priest tightens his grip on Hongfongalas staff and begins trudging upriver towards the shale-line.
Bolgrith looks around at the base of the falls, the fine mist offering a little cooling spray from the strain of the hike. It's been at least an hour since he's seen his companions, the Priest estimates. The strange occluding nature of the fog around him feels strange, it had been a bright clear morning earlier.
Adjusting his grip on the magical staff of Honfongalas, he resigns himself to the hike up to the top of the cliff to find a better viewpoint, hopefully over the clouds.
Bolgrith stumbles over an outstretched tree root and his eyes snap fully open as if awaking from a daydream. He glances to his left and right searching for his companions but sees nothing save a thick fog or mist flowing about him in all directions. Hearing the distant sound of water, the priest heads out into the enveloping cloud.
Fist clenching to drive out the cold of the night Bolgrith rises and removes himself a short distance into the trees. Thick short fingers pinch at the bridge of his nose, clearing out the crusted sleep from his eyes as he settles against the bole of some kind of leafy tree.
Muscles warming up with the effort, the Priest pops his joints and settles into the pose of the ascetic, legs crossed underneath him and hands gently resting on knees. He sits in this manner for the better part of an hour, mind attempting to push out the nights dreams from his thoughts. He seeks the emptiness of consciousness, dwelling on nothing save the path that all must walk.
Prepared Spells:
Detect Magic
Guidance
Read Magic
Mending
Bless
Comprehend Languages
Obscuring Mist
Protection From Evil
Aid
Consecrate
Make Whole
Continual Flame
Prayer
Remove Curse
Fears of the unknown night at least temporarily assuaged the dwarf of Irori dons his armor and makes ready his pack for travel.
Unless something comes up, Bolgrith is ready to start the day.
Bolgrith spends his time tending to his armor, scraping what rust has accumulated during their time at sea off with a handful of course sand gathered at the beach. As he looks out into the night he thinks on what has brought him to this point in his life.
He had been travelling down the coast of Hamonreld when the courier found him on the road to the lands of the Sheng Dynasty. He never did get a chance to walk through the Elvish country. The Priest sighs at the missed opportunity, it might be that he will one day return to the lands where he was born, though more and more often these days it seems that he might be spending much time in the Sunderlands, more and again more than first envisioned.
He brightens at the thought, the Sunderlands! All but thought to be a myth where he was from, it was a wonder that they actually existed, and much more that they shared so many traits of home. Honestly unless he weren't constantly thinking about it, the dwarf could forget that he was indeed in another, unknown land.
It was the purpose of his party's journey that was the constant reminder of the otherness of his location. These strange Old Keeps, relics of times unknown. The staff never far from his hand, a key of some great creator, Hongfongalas. These are things not even lost to myth back in Hamonreld, things even the Sunderlanders knew little and less. A glint of greed shines from Bolgriths eyes in the dark. Such lost and unknown knowledge was a wealth more greatly desired than the stores of the Kings of the Hammertides.
Quickly recognizing such unseemly emotions for what they are, he trains his mind towards the purity of mediation. The Priest of Irori settles into the pose of the sower, one foot forward and one arm outstretched, there he thinks on the road ahead. But it's not long before thoughts of lost companions seep into his consciousness. Rolg, who he had called brother, off fighting the war of the Wyldotes and Stonebits. And Ballon, the noble, if shortsighted, ranger.
With another heavy sigh, the dwarf mourns the loss of life. None should be cut so soon from the vines of life, and so far from where roots were first sprouted. Adjusting the goggles on his face he peers through their enchanted lenses out into the night and continues his quiet contemplation.
Bolgrith looks at his companions before settling his gaze back on Tynn. "Our party is not large, and our business of some urgency." He looks up at the sky through the boughs and branches above. "I would think we should stay our course, though there is prudence in making our passing less noticeable." He looks at the others again.
"I've no objections for taking our path into the wood." Though a statement, the lilt of his voice rises ever so slightly. Almost putting the phrase in the clothing of a question.
At the sound of his name, the priestly dwarf speaks up, walking around the corner of a nearby building. "Sorry, sorry!" He calls "I didn't mean to allow the time to get away from me like that." Pulling up to where the party waits he continues. "You see, well, somebody was wrong at the pub! And well, I couldn't just leave them be like that! I had to set them straight on the facts!"
The normally good-natured dwarf huffs in consternation his cheeks rosy with exertion. "Anyway, as you were saying master Hiloxiet?"
Bolgrith attempts to listen carefully. Normally it wouldn't be so difficult as the subject matter was of great interest to him, but Tynn's delivery is just... so... dull. The Priest catches himself before he starts to nod and starts to flex his armored hands in an attempt to keep his blood flowing.
"Ah! There you are, Master Aladdin!" Bolgrith proclaims as the sorcerer drops in from above. "I was just explaining our current situation with the young Lordling." He turns back to Stormcall, "Indeed, the events on Ytramond are troubling. But truly, what benefit would see our small party on the front lines? Perhaps, our friend the Stonebit would make himself distinguished on the field of battle, but Aladdin and I are but humble travelers. Not well suited to the fires of combat I think, hmm?" The Priest strokes at his beard as he continues. "While it is my personal hope that our venture here among the Hammertides will aid in alleviating the tensions in the Sunderlands, I have no proof that it will be so."
His eyes take on a more distant look. "As for our other two, one turned out to be a son of a noble, and was called back to service. The other," He pauses with a quiet sigh, "He gave his life protecting us."
"Indeed, master Hiloxiet." Bolgrith says, careful to get the correct pronunciation. "That would be at the request of our 'Employer.' An unknown benefactor who summoned us from across the waters." At this Bolgrith pauses to consider. "Actually, I don't know if they're from Ytramond. It's entirely possible that they hail from my native land of Hammonreld and just happen to have, extensive knowledge of The Sunderlands."
He looks back out across the waves, a far off look in his eyes. "Whichever the case, both Aladdin and myself were commissioned to conduct an research expedition of our own. We started with a total of 5 in our expedition. Due to circumstance and... disaster, our original number has been reduced to two." He wonders at where on the ship Aladdin is now, the morning was getting on. "Thankfully we've met new comrades and friends along the way." He smiles up at Stonebit kindly.
Bolgrith nods up at the Stonebit warrior as he approaches, addressing his two fellow travelers he says, "Well, once we get to Anvil, we need to set about finding the Lock of Hongfongalas, an ancient device left by the gnomic tinkerer of lore. Ostensibly we are to go about this merely at the behest of our employer. But I find it unlikely that the timing of our venture would coincide with the marshaling of the goblin hoards by mere accident. It is my hope that with whatever was secreted away by Hongfongalas we might help to forestall any violence between the realms of dwarf, man, and goblin."
The Priest looks out at the waters and the skies beyond, "As for how soon we shall arrive..." His hands briefly glow blue as a quiet prayer escapes his lips.
"Well met, Master Stormcall. May stone ever be at your feet." Bolgrith responds, sketching a polite half-bow towards his newest companion. He looks out over the waters and gestures to the sun-tipped swells. "Hopefully the gods deem that the rest of the day be so clear and favorable."
Dawn finds Bolgrith above decks, armor neatly arranged on the planking next to his travel kit. The holy-dwarf is bare-chested and breathing steadily as he performs his morning calisthenics. His burly hair-covered arms flex and strain as the Priest pulls himself off the deck with some loose rope from the rigging.
STR 1d20 + 2 ⇒ (20) + 2 = 22
Dropping down he lands lightly on the balls of his feet and looks out to the horizon. They were drawing closer and closer to the Lock of Hongfongalas, and whatever this "Binder" was. At least Bolgrith hoped they were. This strange summons that had drawn him so far across the waters, he and Aladdin, the only two of the original fellowship to have made it this far. And Bolgrith worried that not all of Aladdin had made the journey...
His reverie is broken when he catches the eye of one of the deckhands eyeing his sweaty form, glistening in the morning light. Pretending not to notice, the dwarf of Irori casually begins flexing, the tantalizing ripple of muscles under thick tanned skin calls out to the curious sailor. Finally catching his eyes, Bolgrith winks at the now flustered seadwarf before taking a running leap overboard into the cool crisp waves!
The Priest swims a few yards away from the vessel before diving down under the surface. Holding his breath against the waters Bolgrith opens his eyes into the azure depths. He's there only for moments, but the peace that fills the dwarf is a familiar one. In these trying days the dwarf from Stonegard rarely got a chance to meditate beyond his morning prayers and he relished the opportunity now.
Swim 1d20 + 2 ⇒ (15) + 2 = 17
All too soon the moment was gone and he surfaced with a spume of seawater and a deep breath. Swimming up to the side of the ship he found the rope, earlier lowered to the waves, and hauled himself back to the deck. Finding an isolated corner of the ship near the bow the dwarf adopts his lotus position for morning prayers, face forward into the wind.
STR 1d20 + 2 ⇒ (12) + 2 = 14
The sun has moved ever higher in the sky by the time Bolgrith finishes his meditations. His skin is taught and dry with the wind and salt and he feels ready to face another day of danger and curiosities.
Collecting his gear, he straps on his armor and pack, before setting off searching for something to break his fast.
Spells:
Detect Magic
Guidance
Light
Read Magic
Sanctuary
Bless
Command
Protection from Evil
Aid
Hold Person
Shield Other
Prayer
Symbol of Healing
Speak with Dead
Took some liberties. If anything doesn't work, just say so and I'll take the consequences.
Bolgrith fetches enough gold from his purse to cover both himself and the wizned kinsdwarf with a gracious smile. Nodding solemly at the captains words as he boards.
Bolgrith sighs at the impertinent dismissal of one of the ruling house. Gently resting his shield edge down, he leans on the heavy wooden piece and says. "I think it's clear he has no intention of simply standing aside, Master Merchant. Perhaps it's in your best interest to comply with his wishes?"
Bolgrith takes in the story as the newcomer, Tolsbaer, brings it to light. At Logan's question the cleric turns and sketches a short bow. "I am called Bolgrith, a Priest of Irori the perfect being. It is an honor to have one of the royal house accompany us during our time in the Hammertides." Turning to Logan and then to the stairs up which Aladdin and his friend absconded, he chuckles. "Let the kids have their fun. Besides I think we might have some business to conclude here." The dwarf says before scanning the room once more.
Perception 1d20 + 11 ⇒ (7) + 11 = 18
Spotting the two instigators at the nearby table Bolgrith marches resolutely over. Setting a gauntletted hand on each of their shoulders, he not unkindly says, "I wish for you to know that I bear you no ill will. Every struggle we face is but a step along the path to self-perfection. And this altercation has helped remind me how even the smallest of set backs can be used to bring about renewed strength." The Priest steps back a pace and brings a closed fist up to an open palm in salute to the pair, bowing deeply from the waist. In the process he chants a quiet prayer and a burst of brilliant cyan-flame races outwards from his body, wrapping everyone in the room with a soft warm flame. The holy fire consumes the bruises and scrapes starting to form on all of the tavern brawlers.
Once the holy light subsides, The Faithful address his opponents further. "Only one thing concerns me. The Irkei stone, was it merely for money that you wished to possess it?"
Channel Energy, if you want it. 3d6 ⇒ (6, 6, 6) = 18 Also, if you're keeping track, I would like to know how many HP that restores throughout the tavern?
Bolgrith nods at the young human's question, though his eyes stay fixed on the Stormcall dwarf now in their midst. Once his piece is spoken, Bolgrith nods again. "Twice in one day, these offers of assistance!" the priest proclaims "Irori must think we are far from perfection indeed, to grant such a boon!" He chuckles goodnaturedly, eyes turned with expectation to the new arrival.
Bolgrith downs the last of his ale in one long draw, the beverage partially pouring out and soaking the clerics beard. Well, it has been a while since the last proper bar brawl. he thinks to himself before slamming the now empty tankard over the head of the nearest near'do'well.
Improvised Flagon ATK 1d20 + 5 - 4 ⇒ (13) + 5 - 4 = 14 DMG... er... not sure what to roll here?
Staying seated Bolgrith looks on as his table is accosted by the strangers. "Surely, friends, my companion speaks true. We no longer have the stone. But you are welcome to join us for a drink if you would like." He waves a hand, still glowing blue from the words he just prayed.
Bolgrith takes a bite of roast while tearing at a chunk of the heavy loaf. Nodding thoughtfully he offers, "Aye, I suppose there could be orcs who posses the strength of bulls. But then I could say the same of certain men." He smiles up at Logan. "But in honesty, they are a savage race. Tall and strong and given to slaughter. I haven't personally met any orcs in my travels, but I've seen them from time to time." He thinks a moment. "I suppose it's unfair to call them savage as a race. The orcs I've encountered have all kept to themselves for the most part."
He gestures to their newest companion. "But tell us more about your studies. How did you come to recognize the staff?" He indicates the magical artifact that is never out of his sight.
"Well it would seem we share some things in common then!" Bolgrith says, smiling. Placing a hand on his chest he continues. "My companion, Aladdin and I are from a continent to the West known as Hamonreld, far across the ocean." He takes a sip of his drink. "I am a follower of Irori, the Perfect Man." He points to his shield. "He teaches that there are many paths to self-perfection. Most take the path of the physical." He flexes a bicep and pats it, with a little less modesty than perhaps is becoming of a Priest. "Which is well and good, but I've always had a thirst for the natural world. Any occasion for learning is to be sought diligently." He nods knowingly at Tynn before rummaging in his haversack.
"And since you mentioned books..." He pulls forth a large tome, well worn with study and stained by travel. "Here's one you may not have read." The Priest, lovingly, pushes the book across the table. The cover is unmarked by a title, but turning past the flyleaf shows that the book is called Unbinding the Fetters. "A holy text, containing the wisdom of my faith." Bolgirth explains quietly.
"A brown ale, my dear." Bolgrith says to the girl. "And heavy bread as well for me and my friends." He waves an armored hand to indicate the others seated with him.
Smiling apologetically to Tynn, he shrugs as Aladdin disappears further into the inn. "Well, I'm afraid we'll have to postpone talks of importance until later." The Priest leans back into his chair, getting comfortable. "So what do you say we learn a little more about each other, master Hiloxiet?"
Bolgrith nods in agreement and pats both Logan and Tynn heartily on the shoulder. "In that case, let us away!" He shows a friendly smile and leads the way to the pub Aladdin disappeared into.
Bolgrith looks at the odd little wizened dwarf before nodding contemplatively. "Aye, that we might. But I'll have to consult my traveling companions before committing to any course of action."
Seeing Logan approach, the Priest nods absentmindedly. "Good. My prayers go with it. As for our ne're-do-well traveling companion, I believe he and his lady have made for a pub down the way." He indicates the direction that Aladdin had left.
Bolgrith regards Hiloxiet questioningly, as if to say "out here?"
He turns and surveys what view remains of the city. The smell of salt-air mixed with the droppings of the avian populace mingle and permeate the area around the tower. The Priest breaths deeply without hesitation. They had kept ravens at the monastery where he was taught in the ways of Irori.
The scent brought back memories of those happy, simple times. There wasn't much opportunity to reflect though, there were still tasks of world-shaping importance to attend to. Turning to Logan the dwarf says, "Send your message to the Wyldotes. I, for one, do not have any other communiques to dispatch."
At this point Bolgrith would go with Hiloxiet wherever the Dwarf would lead in the immediate area. Or if he's willing to talk in the shadow of the rookery, Bolgrith would do so.
"The Isle Anvil? Truly a kingdom of storied and distinguished history. You've come a ways to seek audience with the kings. If I may, what prompted such a journey?"
Diplomacy 1d20 + 5 ⇒ (1) + 5 = 6
Knowledge (Geography, Local, -1 for History) 1d20 + 9 ⇒ (7) + 9 = 16 For information regarding the The Island Anvil. Knowledge (Nobility) 1d20 + 5 ⇒ (11) + 5 = 16 For information on the name; Hiloxiet. Any family ties/connections it would behoove Bolgrith to know about?
I may have spotted a MASSIVE CONTINUITY ERROR!!!11!!!!1!
Logans character sheet says he only speaks Common, but we are on a Dwarven island. Would it not then stand to reason that the sign saying to hit the tuning fork against the nail would in fact be written in Dwarven? HOW WOULD LOGAN KNOW TO KNOT KNOCK?!?!?11?//1?
Bolgriths relex save to grab Logans hand as the bumbling fighter goes to knock on the door and doom them all and then read the sign to Logan in common so he can then proceed to utilize the signalling fork in the proper manner as set down by the proprietor of the communications facilty. 1d20 + 1 ⇒ (12) + 1 = 13
Cast Guidance on Self. SENSE MOTIVE, DAMMIT 1d20 + 8 ⇒ (9) + 8 = 17
Bolgrith walks and nods muttering a "Well met." Until, that is, his new companion mentions ancient pre-dwarrow ruins and shows the map of Mt Fireblood. He stops in his tracks, eyes wide at Hiloxiet. "Now that is an interesting map indeed!" He tries to chuckle. "Which island did you say you were studying from?"
Making a snap decision the Priest quickly adds; "I would very much like to speak with you about this," he waggles the staff, it's end waving well above the head over most of the streets traffic. "But I would feel it remiss to do so out in the street like this." He smiles as graciously as he can before indicating that Tynn should lead the way.
The Priest nods, a testament to his good nature. Beginning to walk out of the grand hall back into the city proper. His grip does not relent but he keeps his tone polite and courteous.
"My name is Bolgrith, called The Faithful." He says by way of opening. "Who might I have the honor of addressing?" Though the stench is unpleasant, the dwarf of Irori had dealt with far worse in his lifetime.
Bolgrith stops in the hall, but doesn't shy away from the strange dwarf before him. Graciously, but with guarded intent, the Priest says. "I'm afraid our path is fraught with peril and must remain a guarded secret, friend." His gauntleted hand ever so slightly grips the staff more surely. "And yes, I do know that which I wield..."
Diplomacy (He's not trying to be mean) 1d20 + 5 ⇒ (10) + 5 = 15 Sense Motive 1d20 + 7 ⇒ (3) + 7 = 10
Bolgrith reaches up and clasps Naxdag by the arm. Nodding in approval he says, "You will be missed, Brother Rolg." Free hand gesturing to the High Priest of Torag he continues. "But I am glad you have found a cause to pledge your shield to other than coin."
The dwarf steps back and places his armored palm against his chest before bowing to his hobgoblin companion and friend.
Sense Motive 1d20 + 7 ⇒ (2) + 7 = 9 Knowledge (Nobility) 1d20 + 5 ⇒ (5) + 5 = 10 Knowledge (Religion) 1d20 + 9 ⇒ (4) + 9 = 13 To see if Rolgs offer would have any meaningful portent to the followers of Torag Knowledge (Local) 1d20 + 9 ⇒ (11) + 9 = 20 How long would it take for the Dwarves to muster an army to assist the Kingdom of men?
Bolgrith removes his weapons and shield, handing them over to the guards. Before proceeding the faithful dwarf moves among his companions praying softly and laying hands on his companions. Warm blue light, spreads out and over the group, lingering and providing clarity and elegance for those who would use their words to sway the minds of kings.
Cast Enhanced Diplomacy and Guidance on everyone. +2 and +1 respectivly.
Cast Eagles Splendor on Logan. +4 to Charisma.
Finally he folds his hands over his chest and indicates that he's ready to go.
Reaching up, Bolgrith slaps Rolg across the back heartily. "Oho! Well played indeed, Brother!" Looking to Logan his jovial smile fades into a more solemn look of contemplation. "Yes, of course you are right, Master Stonebit. We should make with all haste to meet with the three Kings of the Isles. Even now Gartoks forces are surely marching on the free lands to the East."
Sorry for the delay, Bolgrith is ready to go. We heading to the Kings Court it sounds like?
Bolgrith listens to the dialog and resulting game with keen interest. He'd played chess all through his childhood and it was a favoured past time of the faithful dwarf.
At his companions request the Priest produces the strong liquor and two glasses. "Aye, I do have a bottle of something I've been saving for a special occasion." He smiles a bit sheepishly, "Though I'm afraid I've only the two cups." Setting a container before Rolg and Thunderhelm he pours a finger for the hobgoblin, and offers to pour for the General.
