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"Indeed! I too do not find it sweet to worry about a foe left unseen. If she is warning us to stay silent for fear of attack, I say we SHOUT OUT THAT WE ARE HERE! Greatly would I prefer to face a foe in honest combat than shrink about like thieves in the night, fearing the cudgel of the night's watchman. DO YOU HEAR ME?" the angel starts shouting at the walls. "You do NOT face mere children here! No mere playthings are we, nor are we slight girls for you to imprison for your sick pleasure!
SHOW YOURSELF DEMON! Show yourself and taste my STEEL! No longer will others cower before you. NO longer will BARS cage those you would see SERVE you! FACE ME! FACE ME and REAP the END you have so richly EARNED!" He stands breathing and ready, all but vibrating with battle lust, willing something anything to come within reach of his STEEL.
As the lady drops to her knees, Imrael does indeed agree that it is a nice rack, but this isn't the best time. Instead he grips his polearm tighter and speaks up, "Niversal? Are you able to open these gates? If not I will simply bash them down." He would say more, but sometimes there's a perfection in brevity.
Imrael smirks. "It seems Serendipity is the one who rules here. As you have thrown thy blade into the circle, so 'twould seem that powers beyond our ken hast taken up thy challenge. Here, wizard, as you have challenged the universe, so 'twould seem that it has taken up thy gauntlet. May Propoket guide thy blade, and may thou be not so without honor that thou mayst declare defeat cleanly," he says, handing Keryeh the pouch and its content.
"Nonsense!" Imrael states at Bud. "If it is worth so much then, an untapped cask might be worth double that. Triple! Why halve the value by tasting it when there are liquors in plenty that might be just as sweet? Leave that off as coins in thy purse and prepare for an adventure into the unknown." Imrael nods at Niversal. "Ah! About time that we are enriched, even slightly, by our efforts here. In the name of the Seven Pillars of Law, of the Emerald Sword, and Propoket the Many, I claim this purse by the Right of Conquest. Should any contest this they may challenge me in a contest of arms now," Imrael says by rote, the words, in his mind, transcending the act from thievery to mere...acquisition. He take the pouch and inspects it.
Imrael lets out a sigh. It is no ordinary sigh, but it is the sound a yellow star makes as it's own mass can no longer support it's own mass and it begins the transition to becoming a red dwarf--and no force in the universe can stop it. "Very well. There's no bypassing it so be about it. And as we are interested in gains-by-conquest, let me know as you find any bottles worthy of the name. I may provide guidance as needed."
Imrael roars in the way that only an angel of confrontation can when faced with a foe that will neither fight nor treat.
He marches out of the storage room and pokes his head out into the hallway. "Are one of you able to stand in this doorway so my quarry does not escape? I think I have found the source of the murders, but they are skillful at evading GLORIOUS COMBAT. And if someone is able to bring a light into this dark room, that would be helpful." Imrael stays in the doorway, cutting off the thing's retreat until reinforcements can be brought up to close the trap.
"COME AND FACE ME YOU WORM!" cries the Angel of Confrontation, sweeping his mighty polearm to and fro, uncaring of what pitiful foodstuffs might be disturbed by his RIGHTEOUS search for the murderer of the corpses they have found. "My ARMOR is CONTEMPT! My SWORD is HATRED! DEATH is the SERVANT of the RIGHTEOUS and you shall FALL this DAY!" The shouts of RIGHTEOUS COMBAT and shattering crates can be heard well outside by the others...and possibly several blocks away. "Face me in COMBAT and you might at least tell your ancestors that you FELL to a WORTHY BLADE. But continue to RUN and you SHALL merely...die tired." Imrael takes an over-hand swing and cleaves a particularly annoying bolt of cloth.
"Is there?" Imrael asks Bud with no small amount of sarcasm. "Or has the lack of mirrors forced you to show a modicum of creativity in thy baiting? Has thy day grown so boring that you seek the low laughter that would come of having me siege-break a broom closet? Bah, no matter. I've long since determined that this place is abandoned--bereft of aught things still moving by their own volition. The corpses we come across are no doubt a former band of thieves--some ne'er-do-well lot that fell unto each other in the normal way of those without honor or trust. So picketh thou thy pantry or closet of stationary. I'll war against it as thou 'twere a slayer of priests--all the faster that we might search the place in whole and return the quicker."
"Eh? What are you on about man? That is no golem, but just some demi-human creature, perhaps a mis-shaped kobold or other under-ground dwelling r--...." Doubt creeps over Imrael's face until he begins to waver. "I see that we may have a greater mystery here, and I would not have us kept ignorant for want of effort. Let us solve this conundrum and see if the thing before us was once a living creature or a magically animated fabrication." Imrael advances on the creature and inspects with the rough hand of one checking an empty water skin for pinholes. He tears the clothing off and prods and clutches the tissue, trying to discern it's true nature.
If he's not sure, he raises his weapon for a vivisection.
Imrael mutters, "Odd. This shows some small semblance to that lightly-killed corpse in the front room. Did that not also have a small wound on the neck? I begin to fear that we might encounter that most ancient and terrible of evil monsters. That one called... Vampire." Imrael watches Bud as he delves for more arcane answers in his odd way.
For a moment Imrael looks surprised. 'By the Great Pillars that worked??' but then the moment passes and his normal frown comes down like a postern gate.
Imrael searches the body.
Keeping an eye out for ambushes and mirrors, whatever kerfuffle sent the others to call for battle seems to have escaped his attention, but with Bud and Keryth summing it up, Imrael gets the gist. Sighing heavily, like a harried husband being asked to not kill a spider but instead take it outside, Imrael nods at Keryth's statement that such a thing is not his usual call to battle. "Hrm. But, alas, but if 'twill set your mind at ease, then I shall this accursed sound that you have heard! Hark! 'Tis silence I hear, so mayhap it has already died merely by my wishing it! I shall go down and retrieve the corpse now." Imrael tromps heavily down the steps, weapon at a casual ready.
Imrael prods each bed with the butt of his polearm, ensuring that no horrors are hidden amongst the bedding. He repeats the ritual with the wardrobe. "Also, I should make sure there's no inter-dimensional portals," he says.
Imrael starts as he sees something in the mirror out of the corner of his eye....then he shakes his head. Bah, surely 'twas Bud's dark shoulder, or the whisp of Ballar's cloak. Confound he's so deluged in this group illusion he's almost believing it now! That would be the last thing he needs, to admit the possibility that such a beast exists, only to have the two drunks laugh and howl at he gullible the angels of law have become! He nods curtly to Zae then follows Niv, silently echoing his thirst to find a door...whether it already exists or has to be made is yet to be seen.
Imrael sighs so loudly it's palpable. "I'm so glad that I came in first in the Supreme Struggle against the creme of the High Order so that I could be told to go stand behind someone who is in front of a mirror. Very well, since your juvenile prank does not involve an overdone jump-scare, I shall comply." Imrael walks over to the area indicated...staring at Zaehyra and not at the mirror.
Imrael marches along. He rolls his eyes massively seeing the purposely-placed shard of mirror, and considers just smashing it to be done with the play. But with Bud and the dwarf taking a look, such an action would just come off as impolite. He leaves the drunken duo to their investigating and keeps a watch toward the center, eager to be about exploring the rest of the place.
"Gratitude, Zaehyra. You have my leave to work thy art upon me. I shall see if I can return the favor sometime, though I hope fortune does not call for that." Imreal meanders about as the translation goes on, listens to his wounds knit and trying not to touch anything else. As the passage seems to go on and on about a mirror, Imrael smirks, determined that the universe itself is just trolling him at this point. "Can we leave this accursed room or is there aught else to accomplish here?"
Imrael suffers the mild taunts stoically, accepting them as the price to pay for shielding them from the meat of the blast. That they thank him not for his sacrifice is just a matter of course. He hands the book over, glad that it's been made safe by his actions. The smile stays on his face. He said he would trade a laceration to be free of the mirror-games, and it seems his wish was granted. His Order does say that Propoket will grant all wishes...in the order in which they are received. The others have the searching of things well in hand, so as time passes and his flesh mends, he just keeps a sharp eye, casually walking the perimeter and looking for ambushes. He lets the Vigor end, but steels himself for the Chant of War...because apparently such things may be needed here.
The explosion catches the WarAngel full in the face, shearing off flesh and sloughing off sinew. Imrael's eyes go wide as the shock of what happened hits him, but only for a moment. After a breath a slight smile touches his lips and his eyes glow with appreciation. "Well played," he intones to the unknown layer of the trap. He retains the book, his prize by conquest. His flesh seems to struggle and writhe, as if the force of Law that propels him makes war upon so insulting an intrusion as damage itself. So too does Imrael pass a hand over the air, intoning deeply, "Prayer cleanses the soul. Pain cleanses the body." Motes of white light fly about and land on his injured skin.
He takes another pause to compose himself, then again raises his eyes. "Well? Any book worth protecting is a book worth reading."
For a moment his eyes flash, as if seeing something...familiar in the images.
Imrael enters the room, frowning as usual. He was expecting a fight, and seems disappointed to not find one. After a casual glance he intones, "When one opens a door of secrecy, one expects a darkened closet holding a rack of weapons, or a small chest of valuables. To conceal an entrance to a shrine of this work is..." His voice trails off as he finally takes time to really look at the images depicted, and his eyes...grow wide.
At Ballar's first outburst, referencing the pan-galactic beverage...Imrael's sigh is the sound a comet makes as it enters the gravity well of a healthy young star, and enters a death spiral as long as it is inevitable. Without turning around, Imrael spouts, "Seven Pillars of Law give me strength! We have only just now set foot in the manse and already you join thy drinking cohort in his sophomoric games! I weep for the alternate reality in which I had said nothing, and sworn Bud to secrecy, and our ongoing exploration is silent and free of juvenile pranks. Fine! 'There is a very scary monster in the mirror. All tremble at its passing! Fear and honor be heaped upon its name!' Are you quite sated? Now, if we might move along to -actual- work...." Before being diverted back to town, Imrael had been charging head-long into room after room, and the instant mentioning of the jolly-pirate nickname of the beast only reconfirms that there can be no other course. The angel points to a bare section of wall that until recently held a tapestry, until it was removed by a now-gone minotaur. "There. 'Tis a secret door that was hidden, and we were called away before we could explore it. I shall open it so we can be about the _serious_ business we are come for. By all the powers you hold dear, if you see something just KILL IT! And SAVE thy breath, for either warnings or games, and instead just be about doing violence to that which needs it!" That done, Imrael opens the no-longer secret door...by any means necessary.
Imrael nods at the soldier as a master to a loyal servant. "Several of our former comrades have been...neutralized...by the powers within, and we are come with others, hopefully made of sterner stuff. You may tell the captain that none others are permitted to enter, or even gaze upon the events therein. If they do, they should leave accurate accounts of their next of kin so that their remains...should any be able to be found...can be returned to a final resting place. I shall say that they died swiftly and painlessly for the comfort of the living, though both accounts shall be inaccurate." Imrael stomps onward, dismissing the mortal soldier with a slight wave of his hand. Imrael boldly enters the door, in case any following have fear of traps. He points to the first room on their left. "There was nothing in that room, but that mirror there was where we first saw the mirror-demon. The mountain of feathers and upholstery is the chair that suffered my wrath after finding that no enemy save the imaginings brought on by strong drink stalked me. To our right is a cozy den. The body on the floor died of violence to the neck, but no other sign is found." Imrael says of the corpse, keeping an even tone in describing death. "We postulated that a bear had done it, but as there is no sign of eating, that would not be accurate. Moving inward, here the last of our companions disappeared. We know not how. Take care you do not suffer the same fate. My plan is to search these rooms going clockwise. Should any of you fear traps, I shall lead the way. You may search for items of either hazard or value, but do not be overly stodgy. One does not call upon the Order of Confrontation to drink tea with pinky extended, and, as I've not seen glorious combat this day, I grow weary in its lack." True to his word, Imrael enters the first room inward, upon the left. Bud will recognize that they've already been here and were ready to move onward, so Imrael must be backtracking for the courtesy of the others.
Imrael looks confused and stunned at Zaehyra's observation, as though she just asked him to make her a salad with crushed glass and unicorn dreams. In time he recomposes himself and answers in his usual rational manner. "I am...but an acolyte of the Order. Commander Veienne has been documented to have destroyed a catapult with only his stare and his massive disappointment at its inaccuracy. He then repaired the catapult to working status, also with his stare. The leader of my Order, High Lord Maredak, is said to have changed seasons with his great mood swings. Indeed, people often think that Law must be without emotion. This is not so. Law is simply the matter of doing what is lawful. Emotion of course will play a part, but emotion is not an excuse for actions toward Chaos." As Ballar touches the angel he feels a sense of...euphoria? Euphoria and rejection. It's as if he had a small coffee around six o'clock, and that coffee had a shot of Bailey's in it. And the Bailey's was made of kitten giggles and mylanta.
On the table over, the owner of her first mug, a half-orc festooned with leather and muscles, starts to get up and take umbrage, his tusked mouth half-open to let loose some choice insults and definitely start a brawl--but Imrael fixes him with a glare that could, and has, shattered stone columns, and the half-orc decides that giving is the best way to show grace. As Hana 'confound does Jacquelyn even have a job anymore?' winds down, Imrael stands up, ever ready to leap into action! "We can only do what we can do," he says, reassuringly. "We have good data that there -is- a mirror built of some mischief here, so we shall secure it as we are able. As to the Society's agent, if he is unfortunate enough to attempt to hinder us, we shall deal with him then. And after we have secured all that the tower here has to offer, then we might go to Pawkatukit and see what there is to see there. But only after we've penned our current quarry, for one slays and eats the bird in hand before hunting the brace of birds in the bush." That said Imrael marches like a battering ram out of the tavern and toward the place from which they had just come. "We must be cautious," he councils on the quick march there. "My companion has claimed to see a demon in the reflection of the mirrors there, although, upon the simplest of investigation, no such beast then exists in the real world. If this happens DO NOT TELL ME ABOUT IT! I am NIGH UNTO INSANITY hearing about this phantom beast! I am made of sterner stuff than you...mortals...and upon this hour I wouldst HAPPILY trade a foot-long laceration just for the soft comfort of knowing that this necrotic necromancer is made of more wit than imagination. Apart from that, we have found little else. A corpse, murdered skillfully, but no hostile creature as yet, save the bamboozling reflection we've mentioned."
Imrael stares at the wordplay with the confused and disdainful look of watching a head of iceburg lettuce slowly succumb to Alzheimer's. "Indeed. 'Twould have been more efficient to have said so directly." To be a good sport, Imrael takes an offered tortilla chip. His eyebrows rise a fraction at the surprisingly good taste, and he nods his head once in appreciation and acknowledgement at Ballar. "Do you have aught else to do about town, or shall we go straightly to our destination?"
As if an cue an angel appears.
Imrael scans the mundane flotsam and jetsam that usually congregate in such a place. Most are dismissed out of hand, being worthy of neither martial consideration not contempt. As one band of obvious worthies stand out, Imrael marches over to them unerringly. "Greetings," he rumbles out at the table occupied by Keryth and company. "I...we...are looking for a group matching the description of 'a dwarf, a dark elf, a human woman, and a pale elf.' I can not help but notice that you passingly match that. Now, the important question is...are you waiting for us?"
If allowed to purchase magic items Yes, under ABP you still get gold to purchase, the amount is just halved, but for any level that's still a considerable amount. Find a +5 Vorpal Longsword at 1st level, well it's a masterwork sword now. Heeheehee. =) If you do find a VL +5 at 1st level...you really think you're gonna hang on to it whether you're doing ABP or WBL? ;) Either it'll get nerfed, or everyone will agree to give it away just so it doesn't kill the campaign then and there. ABP just circumvents that. IMHO. YMMV. XD
Um, actually, if we might take up the topic, I've found the automatic bonus Progression to be superior to the normal WBL approach. Not only does it lessen the headache of constantly making sure that both gold and merchants are in adequate supply, but it helps PCs get the right bonuses and not miss things (like a bonus to saves. =) And it only cuts gold in half, so you can still buy things you want, without worrying about covering the basics. Also, the DM doesn't have to worry as much about juicing combat encounters because someone maxed their entire WBL into combat toys. =)
As the devil-minion suddenly appears and delivers her missive, Imrael's fist beats the wall in frustration. "Oh confound woman! Once again you interrupt us to deliver a fully contradictory order! And just once might'n't they send Jacquelyn in your stead? I seem to remember some promise of having her play host to the winner...." Imrael trails off, not wishing to let his personal torch for the pleasure-construct show through too much. "Well, come on then, Bud. And do not speak until we are quit of this place! If you so much as breath about a demon behind me until we have others to give proof to your sophomoric games, I can not be responsible for my actions! So come on, then. Mayhap we can visit an apothecary and see if they have ethyl alcohol for you to try. Have you tried that? Even if it does not get you sleepy with drink it should pickle you well enough...." Imrael trails off as he carries his polearm out the door to the tavern.
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