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"Young Jak awakens!" Malthus beams. "How fortunate! A grand day, indeed, sires and friends. ... Wait, I believe I was instructed not to call you sires, yet it has been some time, and I am unsure if that agreement, if you will, is still effective... sires." He uses the momentum of his oversized belly to wind up a dagger and whip it at the strange creature.
"Hmm. Indeed, a choice easily made, yet I find myself wondering what is to become of Young Jak once the ritual is complete?" Malthus pensively runs his hand through the his beard, shaking off the skin flakes. "How will he be changed?"
Malthus continues pulling Jak along with Herrick. "He is going to be fine. Stay with us, young Jak, and I will reward you with a bowl of fresh wild stew when we are through."
Yeah I don't know. One of my biggest forum pet peeves is players posting repeated check-ins thinking that it's somehow going to summon back the DM. At best, it's a mild annoyance with no real purpose other than perhaps stressing out whoever is being called out. It's important to remember that this is a game, and it's not like GMs/DMs are paid to put the time and effort it takes to compose creatively. As someone I know personally, I am certain Aumukua will post when his real life allows him enough bandwidth to, and that calling him out will not quicken that process.
Right there with you, Herrick. Take care.
Malthus immediately backs away from the spirit and digs his hands under Jak, putting his full strength into carrying him away.
"Oh dear. I do wish I had spent a little more time learning of the occult," Malthus cringes at the weird silhouette, but helps to keep Jak still. "Indeed, we need this 'Dark', and quickly!"
"Coins and fame, you say?" Malthus plops himself down in the raft. "And to that I say nay, I am on a personal quest of sorts. A growth journey, if you will."
"A small fee for a grand task, hmm? I say it's quite worth it, chaps," Malthus runs a silver coin between his knuckles.
Fun fact: DM Aumakua, Nesserin, and I all know each other in real life, and I actually met DM Aumakua in person through these forums. He works about two blocks from me. Small world!
Toronto, Canada. My company mandated working from home as of last week, so I spend most of my day on video conference. I work in IT so telecommuting has always been a mainstay of my role, the impact is minimal from a productivity and disruption perspective. That said, I miss being around coworkers.
"Ah, of course we'll help, m'lady, and perhaps you and I may sit down to a lovely meal, afterwa -" No sooner had Malthus made the offer when the woman transformed and ran off into the woods. The bard sighs, but takes out his lute and plays a hopeful tune despite himself. "I call this one The Wolf-Wench."
Malthus stops mid-howl, and jumps to his feet. "Apologies, m'lady, I was only trying to fit in. We're looking for Zelkor's Ferry. I believe I will let my friends here fill you in, now that I have, how do you say... greased the wheels." He turns swiftly, his head held high.
"I am not a friend of the furred ones," Malthus shrugs. "But I may try anyway." He steps in front of Nesserin and gets down on all fours, putting on his best wolf impression. Awooooooooooo.
"Who goes there?" Malthus calls, drawing his rapier. "I have the eeriest feeling that something lurks, yet I cannot put my finger on it. Come out and show yourself!"
"Perhaps a herbal remedy might help where prayers do not?" Malthus shrugs. "I'm afraid I never were much of a doctor. Mum handled most of my wounds, though being largely confined meant, well, I was barely ever wounded at all." He stares up at the sky. "Visibly wounded, that is."
Malthus will keep Jak well-fed. He can't refuse delicious stew if he's unconscious, he just makes sure it's fist-pummelled into a pulp for easy ingestion first. Not like he was a clean bard or anything.
Good to hear things have settled down for ya. Welcome back!
Malthus awakens in a snort. "Quite possibly the largest specimens I've seen," he calmly says. The bard clears his throat, and speaks in a low, overly dramatic tone. "Hey, spider, your mother is so fat, it took me two caravans and a griffon to get to her good side."
"Bad stew?" Malthus glares at Gilhaut. "Suit yourself, scripture thumper." The bard digs into his undeniably tasty dish.
Malthus kneels down and, using his dagger, tears out a heap of muscle tissue and removes all of the tendons and connective tissue, then uses his blade and the back of his rapier to grind it into a pulp. Finally, he tosses it in a pot with a spoon of wolf fat, and throws some paprika and rosemary on it.
Malthus shakes out his arm, his muscle strained from the momentum of his swing. "You mean you don't wish for a bowl of spiced wolf stew, friend Nesserin?" He snickers, wiping his rapier in the grass. "I'm aware I'm a much better musician than a cook. My mother did not let me use the stove. Malthus, go back to your room, she'd say. Malthus, you're gonna burn the house down."
Malthus grins cockily, his inspiring tune obviously helping Nesserin's aim in gouging open the wolf. "Very good, friends. Let me see if I have similar luck with my blade." He rushes over beside Herrick, attempting to take down the big wolf, bending at the knees and huffing as he strikes.
"Fiendish bastards!" Malthus curses, the party suddenly surrounded by wolves. "Oh dear. Nesserin, use your might and crush that wolf like a bug." While he attempts to strike the wolf with one arm, he plays his lute with his other.
Wow, during my profile stalking, I found that you wrote PFS School of Spirits, Herrick? I loved that scenario, and have run it on the boards right here as PbP. Great fun and nice NPCs - especially the little plant dude.
Malthus spends the trip munching on berries and dreaming up his next tune. He pauses only to take in the sights and update his journal with the latest findings. Near their destination, Malthus moves alongside Herrick. "Herrick," Malthus clears his throat. "I understand it was you who hoisted my... heaviness up and out of that pit. I'd like to dedicate my next composition to your bravery, if you'll allow me. It is the least I can do for not leaving me as... zombie food."
"Yes, dark and powerful forces indeed, friend," Malthus rubs his belly. "I've unfortunately some other powerful forces at work below. All of that zombie nonsense has my bowels in an anxious bunch. Excuse me for a bit." The bard disappears behind a tree. "Oh! Probably want to head to this Zelkor's Ferry next, if we're to figure out exactly what's going on with Jak," he calls between huffs.
"I may know a thing or two about this Zel-Korr, friends. Let me think..." Malthus stops playing to ponder the name.
Malthus awakens, clearing his throat and then reaching around to check that all of his possessions are intact - especially his lute. "Sires... Er, I mean friends. My thanks for keeping me alive. Last I recall, I came face to face with zombie Cole, and then... Knocked out." He sits up, dusting off his dirty shirt. Still has some remnants of ogrebear stew, even. "What happened to Jak? Hmm, while you fill me in, I shall play a calming tune, perhaps to soothe him," the bard sighs, looking worriedly at Jak as he begins to play.
Aumakua, I take it that was long rest? What's our HP situation like?
Double oof... Forgot to add Con, so it'll be 2+2.
I'm still here, just watching as Malthus is dragged around unconscious. Thanks for not leaving him behind though I would have understood either way.
Malthus dreams of another lifetime in which he's a dashingly handsome, muscular sort.
"Indeed, friend Jak, I will not make that mistake again." Malthus lunges on one knee and swings his rapier, not taking his eyes off the zombie.
"Right. Let us carry his bones away as instructed," After retrieving his thrown dagger, Malthus attempts to lift the corpse, though he isn't very strong.
Malthus' performance brings him inspiration, but the monstrosity before him causes his playing to end abruptly. "Oh dear. I don't have much to deal with a zombie, so I shall merely try to inspire the rest of you... with a more upbeat ditty."
"Indeed, let us leave the rest at rest, shall we? Let us press on while I play a mournful piece," Malthus takes out his lute and plays.
Malthus leans against the wall and begins sketching the scene of the floating dagger poking at the skulls. If not for his own travel journal, then for whoever else happened upon it should something go horribly wrong.
Did DM mean sarcophagus instead of wall...?
"What is it, friend Herrick?" Malthus ignores the advice, and instead approaches from behind.
"A fine spell, friend Gilhaut, and one that ought to have Jawn feeling right as rain quickly. Do let me know if I can also assist." Malthus dusts off his hands. "Dare we barricade ourselves in and take rest here? It may be best to rejuvenate our abilities, friends."
Malthus takes out a stick of charcoal and some parchment. "Even in spite of its... nature... The paintings are intriguing enough that I'd want to remember them, friends," he starts sketching a crude copy of the paintings, putting additional details on the creature with the dog-head.
Malthus waits to see if Jak's attempt to disable the trap works. If it does, he gingerly hops across.
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