Das Korvut NPC's page

"Ah, you're back," Das mumbles. "I thought I saw you coming back through the mist. Did you..." Das looks at the group with bleary eyes.

When the group reveals that they have recovered Simon's remains, and shows him the toy dog, Das squeezes his eyes hut, trying to hold back tears.

"Yes, that's it... that's his." Das nods dejectedly. "Well, now I know. I know. I always..." he shakes his head, speechless for a moment.

He sighs, and takes the red stuffed dog, squeezing it.

"I don't know how to thank you. But I know you adventurers are always in need of good gear. If there's anything in my shop you need, its yours. If it's something I don't already have, I could make it for you. Call it store credit, if you like."

Das gets up and prepares to head home. "I think I'd rather be alone now. But I'll make arrangements with my workers. If there's anything you need, just speak to them."

Rewards: Originally this section granted a reward of one masterwork weapon for each player. But since most of you that need them already have masterwork weapons (and considering how I have reduced the cost for masterwork upgrades), we'll call this 500 gp in "store credit" from the Red Dog Smithy. We can discuss actual purchases in the discussion thread.

"There used to be a wooden stairway that went up the nearest face of the island. If you look close you can still see the footings. After the shack burned down and everyone left the island, we burned the stairs down too. Nobody wanted to go back up there ever again."

"The chopper left his victims body where he found them, taking only his little grisly trophies. Except for Simon, of course."

"...Since this was someone close to you, having a personal item of theirs may help us convince them to move on to the Boneyard and finally receive the rest they've earned...."

"Uh... I guess I never thought of that. If you think it will help..." Das sighs and stand up again, and leads the group back to his house. He takes them upstairs and shows them Simon's small room. It is relatively spartand but there are a few wooden toys scattered about and a clothing trunk at the foot of a small bed. There is a layer of dust over everything.

"Here it is..." Das says distractedly. "He used to have a little red knitted woolen dog that Madame Mvashti made for him. It was meant to look like Stewart, one of my old dogs. But it's not here, so he must have had it with him when he... he..."

Das turns away and goes to sit down next to his kitchen table.

"Take whatever you need," he says, his back to the group.

"I know this may be painful for you, but what can you tell us of the what they found when the town confronted the Chopper? Is there anything you still have that was your son's? If it is a ghost, or some sort of restless spirit, closure may just be the best thing for it."

"There wasn't much there, but people weren't in the mood to make a careful search. The chopper had been killing for weeks, and they finally had figured out who it was."

"Stoot lived by himself, like a hermit. I don't think there was much of value in his little shack, and after seeing the altar there I don't think anyone wanted to take anything from it. They just burned the whole thing to the ground. It didn't take much."

"I know that Simon wasn't in the hut, I can say that much. We would have seen him there. There weren't really any placed he could hide."

"As to Simon's things... I left his room the way it was. Why? Do you have some kind of magic that can find him with his posessions?"

Das is quiet for a while. When he begins again, there are tears in his eyes.

"My wife Madellin was one of his victims. Died in the street, and no one heard a thing. But she had Simon with her. They never found him. We looked everywhere. The chopper didn't kill him. People said he must have run from the Chopper and fallen off the cliff in the dark. The tide would have taken him out to sea."

He shakes his head.

"But nobody knew. For all I knew the chopper had taken him to play his sick games on him. I try not to think about it, but I can't stop imagining it. What might have happened."

He stands up, still looking out at the bleak island.

"But that's not it. I've been seeing him. Simon. Out of the corner of my eye, I'll think he's there. But when I turn he''s gone, like he was never there to begin with."

"But not today. This morning, the sun was about to rise, and I saw him in the street, plain as day. I wasn't dreaming. And I'm not mad. He was there. He was skinny and sickly. But he looked at me for a moment then darted around a corner, and by the time I got out in the street he was gone."

Das turns to face the group.

"But Simon disappeared ten years ago. Ten years! He'd be a man now, if he were still alive. But he was still a little boy, looking like he did when he was lost, except clearly he had suffered."

Das turns back to the Island.

"Maybe it is a ghost, I don't know. But my son doesn't rest. He's calling me! And the truth is over there." He points to Chopper's Island. "It has to be. How can I go on knowing that he is still suffering? Sometimes... once in a while, in the dead of night, when the fog is thick, thicker than this, you hear a horrible shriek coming from over there. Could that be him? Or does some kind of creature have him in it's grasp?"

Das sits down again, exhausted.

"My son is over there somewhere. It's the only place they didn't search. I can't work knowing that his soul could still be trapped there. If you are such 'great heroes,' go and bring back my son. Let me bury him beside his mother, and his soul can rest."

"Oh, it's you. Did they send you to rescue me? Heh. I'm all right. I've got Boris here," Das says as he pats the dog on the head.

He turns back to look at the island again. He is quiet for a time.

"Any of you have children?" he asks. "No? You're still young. I had a boy. Simon."

He pauses again, lost in thought.

"Everyone calls it 'The Late Unpleasantness.' Like it was some minor inconvenience. A streak of bad weather, or maybe a bad batch of seaweed rotting on the beach, stinking up the town. Or a mild fever going around town that gave everyone the trots."

Das spits.

"No, it was blood running in the streets. One by one, the Chopper took his victims in the night. He cut off their hands and feet, and stacked them neatly beside the bodies. Then he cut out their eyes and tongue, and took them with him."

Das stares blankly at the group for a moment.

"Twenty-five dead. Twenty-five murders. Twenty-five tongues cut out. I suppose you could say that was 'Unpleasant.'"

Das shakes his head, and covers his face with his hand.

"Oh, they got the killer. The bastard Jervis Stoot. Nobody says his name any more. Everyone used to like him. He carved little pictures of birds into everything. Supposed to be good luck, having a 'Stoot' carved into your doorframe."

Das looks over at Laurana.

"You remember. The old Constable, Avertin, managed to wound him before getting killed himself. Then Hemlock showed up and the guards followed the blood to the stairs."

"You see, Stoot lived on the Island there. Like a hermit, had a little hut and there was a wooden staircase running up the near side of the island. If you look close you can see the footings of where it used to be."

"They caught him all right. No adventurers needed. The whole town turned out and went up there. Found Jervis dead by his own hand in front of a grisly altar with all the eyes and tongues he had collected. Including his own. They burned the house, then came back down and burned the stairs."

Realized I never answered this one.

"...Is this type of equipment something you can work with or are we better off throwing it all in the dump?" Flo asks...

"There's no a lot of demand for goblin-made gear, but sometimes I can ship it off to Magnimar. There's a lot more people there, and even though it's made for goblins, halflings and gnomes can use 'em just fine. So occasionally they need gear and buy them because they're looking for a bargain."

Das has already bought the goblin stuff you brought and will continue to do so, but non-masterwork gear will only be sold at 0.25 of it's normal price insetad of 0.5.

"I need a weapon, the best you've got," the half-orc says simply. "Another falchion would be best, but anything big and heavy will do."

"Well, hello again! I was wondering when you folks would come round and see me."

1d4 ⇒ 2

"Let's see what I've got for you." Das looks over the weapon racks behind him. "This should do... it's in the old Taldan style rather than the orcish style, but the balance should be about the same."

He has a masterwork steel falchion for 150 gp.

...I am no armorer but I was hoping to get it fixed...umm like toss it in a sand barrel to remove the rust, replace any links...

"Sure, I can clean that up for ye, no trouble. No charge since your friend here's already buying. Pick it up tomorrow."

The goblin's chain shirt was already masterwork here. So there's no mechanical change.

"Any chance you've got a nice scimitar lying around? This one's good, but it's edge is a little dull. I'm hoping for one that will stand up a bit better to goblin cleaving."

1d4 ⇒ 4

"We have a few priests of Sarenrae here so I like to keep one in stock... ah, yes. Here we are. This one's in fine shape. It's not my own work... I bought it off an Ulfen sailor. Said he got it down south."

He has a masterwork steel scimitar for 45 gp.

Laurana followed the others as they seemed to know what there were doing. She was hoping to find cold iron arrow heads. After that, it would be off to the academy.

"Cold Iron arrowheads, sure. I've got about fifty. If you just want the heads you can have them for a gold piece each, or I could fletch them for you for one more gold. How many do you want?"

If you fletch them yourself you would need to make a craft roll. DC 18 to make them masterwork. If he does it they are masterwork arrows automatically.

"Hm. Well, there's been goblin attacks afore. We always beat 'em."

Das rubs his chin in thought.

"Still... might be a good night to keep the shop open late. Might sell a few things if this gets around. You folks have a good night, and drop to the ol' shop soon."

Das nods and takes his leave.

"but if a payday comes I'll drop by for a shirt of ring-mail... "

"Sure, those are easy enough. Stop by some time soon so I can measure you. I can get started on it now."

He raises his glass. "Death to the Goblins! And good health an' fortune to those tha' make it so!" Many around the bar take up the toast.

A muscular man comes over to the table where the group has gathered. He looks the group over, his eyes settling on Kargas.

"You must be Kargas, then, right?"

"I'm Master Korvut. Das. Call me Das. I made those Boar Spears you used. Sir Aldern bought them from me just the other day. I'm the town's armorer."

"Feel free to visit my shop, the Red Dog Smithy. I do weapons and armor; well, metal armor, anyway. Rovanky does the leather stuff. But if you need weapons or armor, I'm your smith."

"I heard about your battle with the goblins too. A few of them tried to get into my shop, but my dogs look after the place real good. Nothing scares off a goblin like a good mean dog. Heh."

Das smiles a big grin.

"If you stop by I could give you a discount, seein' as it sounds like they would be used for a good cause. Sure. What are you drinkin', by the way? Sir Aldern may be buyin' the wine, but if you care for somethin' else, let me get it. What do you say?"