Gruum Sharpest's page

"No dye." He shakes his head. "You want one of tankards that fills itself up with cheap ale and couple times a day?" He nods to himself. "Three stalls down the back alley you can get both the tankard and the dye but keep your conversations short and crisp there, or you'll end up with your neck slit." You have no doubt that the infers the vendor and his customers are ruthless.

"Aye, I can pay for the armor and shield." The normal half price selling of loot rate.

"So, what about Desmond? Can you prepare a way to detect or cure vampirism?"

"Not me area of work." The blacksmith wizard shrugs. The the poisoner 'as somethin' for that affliction." He frowns at the party as they stir. "You goin' vampire huntin'? A stake through the heart works best."

Remember he has never met Desmond, nor does he know he went whoring with a vampires.

The next morning you wake up feeling recharged and the backsmith wizard is enjoying a mead as he brushes out Felicitas wool cloak. It looks cleaner, stronger, and the crossbolt holes have been finely stitched. Croaker is leaving against the wall, polished and looking razor sharp.

"You can't stay 'ere any longer. Me spells ain't gonna hold the search off for that weapon much longer. I went an bartered with the drow and got you a scroll to hide and mask that thing for a little bit...You owe me 200 gold for it. Spell should hold till you get out beyond the Great Wall but don't dally around."

"There's bunks back there, if you don't mind the sound of my chanting." He points towards a back room where you can rest for the night while he enchants the weapon and cloak.

Level up.

"Well spit it out goldie...what ill effects you speak'n about? You want warts to go away when Croaker gives yeah a big kiss?" he giggles and spittle freely oozes from his mouth. "Or are ya look'n fer like arrow ward'n, or fire resistant?" His bushy eye brow raises, "I could enhance the resistance?"

The weaponsmith looks up at his protective barrier then nods to Karnog. "Take your rest, I'll get working on 'Croaker'" He gets up and pulls another draft chugging it it down in one single gulp. He spits on the ground and picks up Grung's axe and begins his work.

Before doing so, he motions to Felicatas, "Your cloak what are you looking for?"

He frowns and thinks about Karnog's question. He shakes his head back and forth, "I have heard that there is sporadic divine contact from other planes of existence that pulsate near the singing zombies beyond the Great Wall, then there are the tunnels away from here.

He is referring to 1A on the Map near where you entered the dungeon level. He is also referring to the tunnel you came through, essentially back tracking.

"I'm pretty sure that LORD NAPHRATHOTH, the FALLEN EMPYREAL COMMANDER is scouting for you and That weapon."

"Well let me see what it says..." He unrolls a ancient scroll. "...it just mentions the weapon." He looks up. "But I do know this if you present that weapon to the denizen around here, you will face many many battles from every and anyone who is trying to incur favor with Orcus and his Commanders. You need to mask that thing...hide it's magic, hide it's aura."

He rubs his chin and scans the scroll some more. "Well, it does mention that for the wielder to survive they must weaken the Avatar by Consecrating the three Shrines of Power. This will weaken him by taking away abilities."

He goes on and mentions, "There is Upper Chapel of Orcus, Lower Chapel of Orcus, and Grand Chapel of Orcus.

Level 4 Upper level, 9 Lower Level, and 14 Grand Chapel respectively.

"It says here that the last and most powerful chapel may only be accessed by the secret door on Level 5, and that that door may only be opened by the key held by the high priest on Level 9.'

You've been on level 4 before that is were you found Meathead, you didn't go into the cavern far enough to get to the chapel.

The blacksmith wizard pulls a couple more pints of ale - after he tosses the drow a pewter tankard - then he begins the story. "So, there's prophesy that one day a ragtag band of adventurers will defeat Orcus' chosen Patrol Captain and present his weapon." He nods towards Grung's hip. "That weapon that you carry. The legend says there will be a king among the group and another with kinky perversions." He gulps more of his draft and wipes his face with teh back of his hand. "That band of the brave are destined to battle with Demon Princess."

He pauses to let the story sink in and wait for the questions.

"Here it is." He studies the ancient writings. He looks up eventually and rubs his beard. "I need a Strongdraught ale...so do you. Grab your tankards and lets have drink." He reveals a lichen covered oaken keg that has already been tapped. He pours himself first then steps aside.

"Now there is folk tale...some would call it a prophesy...others would call it a death wish that is part of the weapon's lore." He begins to shuffle through some tomes and parchment, "Let me see if I can find that parchment."

About 20 minutes later he located an old dusty scroll. "Always on the bottom, always on the bottom of the pile the story of my life."

His bushy brow raises, "Well done..." he lets the compliment sink in before he smashes the party with the harsh reality, "...but..." he it comes, "did you kill Lord Naphrathoth, the fallen empyreal." he chuckles. "I didn't think so, or how about Orcus did you banish is avatar back to the abyss?"

He exhales, "You may have destroyed Patrol Captain Luther and the graveknight armor, but that is but a smear of evil lurking. "That weapon was once presented to Orcus himself and blessed by his unholy spirit. So you may have destroyed the graveknight but not demon lord's tie to the weapon."

the best that Nym and Felicitas can tell is the wizard placed a divination sepll to mask the shop from scrying and/or aura detection.

"What enchantment on your cloak?'

He starts to let the spittle gather in his mouth, he lets it ooze between his gaped front teeth then sucks it back in. He repeats this process over and over again until he finally speaks. "I know it belongs to a favorite of the demon lord himself. How it is now in y'possession I can only guessimate." He looks towards the doorway. "It's like a homin' beacon and oth'rs will track it." He says a few words of power and waves one hand over his head. A pale light aura flows clinging to the wooden interior of his building.

When he is finished with his spell he places Croaker down on a sturdy table. "How long till you 'ave th't magic, cuz the most I can give you is solid day...then they will find you 'ere." His eyes never leave Grung's hip. "There's an ol'lore 'bout that weapon."

He smirks, "Alchemist y'say?" He rubs a callused hand over his face the spits through his fingers onto the floor. He looks at the "Croaker" without touching it. He sniffs it, then gingerly pokes at it. "Can't put no holy on it...don't know that type of magic. I can boost up d'enchantment though." He spits gain, this time in his hand and rubs them together. He picks up Croaker. "If any of you know that type of divine magic, I can help you out if you have the spell."

He twirls Croaker pretty deftly for wizard blacksmith. Certain he's a person who has swung a weapon in battle. "Now that's an interestin' weapon you've go your hip there." He looks at Grung while holding Croaker.

If you have holy smite to cast into the weapon he can prep the weapon for it for you. It'll cost you of course.

"We are here of our own volition, cousin. We are beholden to no dwarf, elf, or man."

Dwarven: "Nor undead or demon, as I live and breathe."

"Bah...how'd you surface folk..." he glances over at Nym. "well most you are anyhows, find me."

The pale dwarf hawks up another goblet of phlegm and lets it fly across the room. "Who'd sent you?" He eyes the party suspiciously as he picks up a few oddly shaped tools. "Enhance yer weapon ay' let me see it. Who'd sent you."

The group moves down to the enchanter's shop and rickety wooden shack. This is particularly odd since wood is rare at this subterranean depth. He looks at you skeptically and snorts just before he spit a big loogy at Grung's feet. In common, "Whatcha need." His brow furrows as he hacks up another blob of split.

"Come on now...speak."

To your surprise the enchanter is a fellow dwarf.

The burly dwarf chuckles at the comments about the orphans, "Sorta like cats, feed one and ya 'ave ta feed 'em all." He eyes the kids like a father, "never 'ave 'nough family around."

"Torag's blessin' y'did it! Let's tip one back ta that guud news!"

"Boy get sum tankards flowin'" He points to one of the orphans you've placed under his tutelage.

"Aye...it's been nasty. Fear and dis'rder ev'rywhere. Whole city mistustin' ev'ryone." He strokes his braided beard, he has fine chain armor under this smelting apron. The other employees are similarly equipped and each wears a blade or ax clearly to defend the shop, if necessary.

"What word y'have?"

One masterwork hand crossbow and I've got 10 silver tipped bolts and 10 silver tipped longbow arrows.

Gruum looks at the group shaking his head,

"Aye, magicks be scarce now! I've got a suit of scalemail that has two enhancements that I've picked up at an estate sale (+2) with a spell resistance (SR13). I've, also, got a this hand crossbow up (+2)." He shacks his head again...."Supplies are short."

"'bout time you come t'pick-up this item." The stocfky dwarf holds up Daniel's Jingasa. "Been pure chaos in a city of law, lately."

After five or six more rounds of toasting Gruum winds things up, "You all better be off now." Basically, more of an indication that he has some private mourning to do.

The hardened dwarf nods to the hooded figure. "Dat bastard needs to cook in me furnace."

"G'rl, I'm sure he tried t'cope a feel during his sparrin' but glad to 'ear you learned to few techniques." He clinks his tankard to the others. With the mention of Duncan, Ermolos and Grim he breaks down.

'I nev'r forgit a blade th't I forged, mightly gald it's being put to guud use."

A muscular young man comes carrying eight tankards, and he's followed by tow younger kids each with developing biceps and forearms who are toting four tankards each. Gruum pry's Grimm's fingers so he can hold a tankard.

"Ta my'son!"

Gruum slowly pulls the cloth from his son's face. The gruff stern dwarf has a river running down his face as he looks at his only son's battered face. Using the back of his thick hand he wipes away the tears and sniffles, "Boy 'ad a 'eart of gold when he wasn't thinkin' wit 'is pecker." He pauses the bellows out, "Brian git da aged bitter stout flowin' time ta toast and drink ta 'is memory!"

The smithy's shop is ringing with the sound of iron being shaped and some haggling over prices when the party walks in. Brian and the two of the orphans stop what they are doing when they see the glum look on Lucrezia's and Andrea's faces. When Daniel and Gerard carry the dwarf's covered body inside, only the crackling of furnace can be heard. Gruum, who was at his forge, stares at his bundle.

"Lay 'im on the counter."

Orsin you take the rapier and assassin's dagger to Gruum's and he is impressed with the rapier, less so, with the foul nature of the assassin's blade. He inspects the workmanship of each blade makes a few notes in a small book about the dagger then he tosses it into the kiln.

"Y'keepin' yer gear clean like I taught ya?" More rhetorical than anything else. "Yes, that rapier is a fine blade, think the Missepe family may like that one." He pulls out the tankards and pours some mead for the two of you. "Business has been guud." He counts out the coin for the two blades, then he gives you 100 additional platinum pieces for the rapier.

"Aye it'll take a week of craftin' ta git ye a fine chain shirt Lady Andrea."

Gruum nods and handles the sword, flipping it in his beefy mitts, inspecting the keen edges. "good steel, bit of blue moon in dat iron, makes it a bit stronger to the sunder." He flips it back handing it hilt first. "Excellent blade."

"Nut'in like rollin' da dice, better 'ave them back as goblins then in the beyond."

Gruum respnds, "I've a few gold to contr'bute ta dat goodly cause, maybe a few extra tawards Ermolos." He laughs hard.

"Boy, ye been takin' care of da sword but ye better do me proud wit me armor, or I'll have Duncan and Grimm haunt yer arse from da beyond" He clasps Orsin hard on the shoulder and a tear in his eye as he speaks.

He lookes over the group nodding, knowing you may be going to your death, his eyes meet Daniel. 'Son let me see dat sword."

I visit that only remaining bookchain in the country.

"Plenty of guud shields fer Andrea. Got a couple wit some minor enchantments made in the store room."

"Aye me friend Tobian the Gifted could enchant a helm fer ye. He's protected by dat paladin noble" he snaps his callused fingers in search of a name, "holy fighter Kajen Tilernos, House Tilernos patriarch, they prey to Iomedae." He grins, "yeh, suppose to be illegal, but folks turn da other way on regards to maintaining their guud health."

Gruum directs you to a a few masterwork quality helms, "Ye can pick one of those....leave the coin," He reminds his son, and go see him. He provides the address.

Tobian the gifted will be a high level cleric that can enchant divine items. He is protected by his Paladin friend, Kajen Tilernos, House Telernos patriarch. The AP actually has a LG paladin as notable figure.

Gruum walks Grimm mumbling,"I's swear if ye wasn't me own flesh," there a thud on Grimm's head, as the firm hand pops him,"I'd toss ye in the river wit fullplate on." For good measure he whacks him again and sits at stokes the fire to his own forge.

Gruum eyes widen then he drains is frothy mug, letting out a large belch. "She may be a bit confused at times, but she'd got a 'eart of gold"

"I've been workin' on dat armor meself, it'll be ready tomorrow." He points towards his private area where he works, the armor is sitting on rack there. The dwarf mentions to the bard.

"Aye, 'is death and Duncan's 'urt lots, both here," He thumps his chest "and at da forge. Let's 'ave tankard and discuss this craziness ye be thinkin' 'bout. Besides ye can fill me in on the Lodge details." Guum will then lead you to the back room and his kegs.

Do you recall when it was going to be ready?

When Orsin walks into the smithy he nods.

"Aye boy...howz ye doin' keepin' da sword clean? His sharp eyes, immediately, lock on the scabbard and pommel of the sword.

Andrea and anyone else with her at Gruum's.

Gruum does not take Ermolos's death well. "Terrible luck that was." He is upset, "Fine lad, good fiber and heart. Damn fine smith." His sullen eyes are wet, "don't know when I'd be able to git Orsin's gear ready now...Ermolos was workin' on dat. Surely, gonna extend the completion time, it's hard losin' both Duncan and Ermolos."

Andrea, This way you all can regroup when I'm offline.

"Now me boy might'nt be the purdiest ti look but he's got 'imself a strong back an arm, and wit's about battle." He grins, "might've taken a hammer ti da head but dat shouldn't be an issue."

Chuckling, "He actually helped Arael out on recent trip."

"No self respecting dwarven smithy is gonna produce sumthing like this." Pointing at the nunchuck with his finger half expecting to catch a curse. "Where's da blade?' Shaking his head in disgust. "Take that crapola to Quint's Arms and Armor, ole Quint'll find a use fer it."

"now if ye got some blades and steel I'll take it."

He'll buy the magic breastplate and greatsword for 50% value.

Andrea, Lucrezia, Truk, Orsin an Shadow hear at the crack of dawn activity coming from downstairs. Orsin whimpers it's far to earlier for so much ruckus, his head only hitting a pillow in the last hour.

The safehouse is humming earlier the next day, there are several loud greetings and warm wishes. The spicy sweet smell of sausage, bacon, ham an griddle full of eggs potatoes There is a salute of three cheers in deep boisterous voices: "TO DUNCAN...TO DUNCAN...TO DUNCAN". The sleeping warriors all know it's way to earlier to be drinking mead and talking so loud.

Over the loud voices it sounds almost like...well...a fart. Followed by tremendous laughter.

Gruum stands there taking the measure of man bringing him the news.

"Go git yerself cleaned up, drink in Duncan's memory." His eyes are wet as he turns away from messengers.