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Melismar indeeds readies his new mace, but concentrates on trying to take out any skeletons that come near him -- the zombies might be a bit too squishy for his nice new mace, and he didn't fancy trying to wipe any slime off -- bones were so much cleaner.
As the group march once more to engage with the undead, Mel begins a rousing, beat-boxesque underscore to the encounter, hoping to inspire his companions to greater feats of heroism.
"Oh great," mutters Mel. "Looks like we've upset another resident. Perhaps they didn't like you knocking their front door down, Master Lomar..." On this occasion, Mel hopes he is a little better prepared to meet any deceased denizens, and hefts Kerthonk repeatedly in his hands in anticipation, though he also tries to ensure he's between the fighting flanks of the party -- he certainly doesn't want to be in the vanguard.
Mel speaks to Lomar, though his tone is one of banter, not intentional offence. "I have no desire to convince you of anything, particularly. I've also very little objection to you going through doors first, if that is your wish. So far as I'm concerned, you may open them howsoever takes your fancy. You'd also be very welcome to find out what's hiding behind them, and report back in whichever fashion seemed good to you at the time -- screaming included. And as for sullying, there we shall have to differ. Sometimes I, myself, fancy nothing more than a good sully. Even on those occasions where one does have to do it oneself... which is nearly always unnecessarily, incidentally, seeing as what I am such a handsome fellow."
The weatherbeaten door gives way under the light force and falls into the room. it hits the ground in a puff of dust. "Oh my, are you worried about getting splinters in your delicate little prestidigitating fingers? You could just have pushed it, you know..."
Oh wow, we're back on, it seems. Haven't been checking in regularly for a while.
Mel can't stop lovingly fondling his new mace. He keeps taking a cloth out and wiping any fingerprint smears off. He has decided to name it Kerthonk, which seems appropriate to him.
Melismar should have enough funds for a light mace of some description -- the fancier, the better. Some nice detailing on the handle would appeal, and nothing too dull in the metal work department either.
No way around it, I'm afraid. And yes, we must return. Perhaps with different weapons for these things, right Mel? "What would you recommend, my friend?" asks Mel. "Clearly my sticking-pin is going to be ineffectual with denizens whose innards have rotted quite away. I need something with a little more oomph and crush, but light enough for someone of my somewhat delicate frame to wield without too much effort. Oh yes, it can't be very expensive either -- precious few readies ready, until we complete our task here, if you get me..."
"Indeed," adds Melismar, "this picnic is no picnic at all. And if many of the other uninvited guests are going to be a little on the boney side -- a condition poor Blythe now finds herself -- then my skill with a rapier is going to be of no use whatsoever. It appears I am rather inexperienced and a little unprepared for an adventure of this kind. I should appreciate a chance to restock. Perhaps we should bury Blythe. And FireSnap can you make sure she rests easy?"
Melismar is entirely oblivious to the feelings of the barbarian, having had no idea that he might have offended him. He's glad the ooze is finally gone, but distressed there's another skeleton descending on them. Not wishing to appear entirely useless, Mel gamely takes out his bow and and arrow, and nocks it, waiting for the perfect opportunity to leash it. However, he is sufficiently unconfident in his abilities that he doesn't draw the bow back whilst Firesnap is in the path.
"Blythe!" cries Mel, as he sees his erstwhile friend melted away. "Be careful, Oropher, don't risk getting too close! We could always just leave it here, and shut the door!" There really is little Mel can do apart from offer support and advice from the sidelines -- he himself, certainly doesn't fancy finishing up as oozy dessert, so he remains outside the building, and out of harm's way.
"If they can't dissolve bone, they probably don't like up ’em much...", offers Mel, trying to be helpful again.
"Oropher, do you want to have a try with my bone?" asks Mel, proffering his friend his skeleton leg, hoping that his bardic power of inspiration still enthuses (enfuses?) the others.
"I'd stop slashing at it, like that," says Melismar, staring in through the door at Oropher's dancing. "With you waving your sword around like that, you're just making it have babies!"
As mentioned already, Mel is going to have to spend the entire round running over to where Oropher is, this round, and there's no way he can take an action as well. Sorry, chaps.
"My thanks, my dear fellow, FireSnap. What a useful chap you are," smiles Mel.
"Lead on", agrees Melismar, but on the journey he continues to cast round for something more substantial to use as a club that the skeleton leg he's still holding.
"I've a wee graze here," says Mel, proffering his wounded arm. "Do you have any iodine? I don't like to think where that rusty old sword's been."
Wishing you all a Happy New Year, fellow players. :-)
"Whose idea was this silly picnic, anyway?" asks Mel, as he swings again at the skeleton with its former fellow's femur, but largely to keep it at bay. The bard's constant upbeat repartee begins to have an effect on his companions, and they find their courage inspired. "One might reasonably expect to be bothered by wasps, but dead people who won't stay dead are really putting the kibosh on our day out...
"Ow! That dashed well hurt!" says Mel, as the rusty blade glances along his arm. Directing his anger against the skeleton that attacked him, the bard raises his newfound weapon again and once again tries to brain the skeleton with it. "I may not be well armed," he cries, "but I am legged! Take that, boney bum!"
"Hmm, OK. Can I have another take?" he asks, wrily, as the skeleton almost casually evades his wild 'leg' swing...
This time Melismar grasps the femur of the fallen skeleton that Oropher dealt with, and tries to bash its fellow with that. . "Hah!" says Melismar, with a little more triumph in his voice this time, convinced by the clacking sound of bone on bone that he's been more successful.
Now racing forward in the mist to the closest thing he can see, he attempts to bludgeon one of the skeletons near Oropher, but he's really not cut out for this sort of thing... Old dice rolls:
"Yeay!" squeals Melismar, as his improvised club makes contact with the bones of the skeleton. "Take that, dead person!" His face falls somewhat as it is not the skeleton that shatters, certainly not nearly as impressively as the one Oropher dealt with, but rather his piece of gate. "Oh bugger."
Melismar casts round to see if there's some part of the collapsed gate he can use as a club. He's a feeling his arrows or rapier might not be the most effective implement to deal with the undead...
Hello guys, I arrived kind of late but better later then never :P Just in time for our picnic! ;-)
Mel tuts, and attempts to do what Blythe asks by entering the keep and following the sound of her voice.
A loud wailing returns your call and that is all still nothing stirs. "Not exactly tuneful," mutters Melismar concerning the strange noise. He peers in through the collapsed gateway trying to see how far the mist extends.
Blythe loads her crossbow with a bolt. "Do we knock?" "Only if you want to bring the entire gatehouse crashing down on you, I would think."
"I'm with the halfling, too -- less to weigh the boat down, and so much less likely to sink. And he did offer to row. I need to keep my nails safe for my lute playing." Melismar self-consciously inspects his hands as he speaks.
"Ah, I did wonder whether mention of the keep might change his mind about charging for the boats... excellent, I so love it when a plan comes together. Thanks for the apple, my dear. I suspect our going over won't exactly be a picnic, as it happens. But I do so like pretend," grins Melismar.
[b]"Is it extra for an acid-resistant boat? I think I should prefer, on the whole, not to make an intimate acquaintance with the effluent from this, um, city. Charming people though you doubtless all are. But we're actually heading over to the old keep, you know, for a spot of sightseeing and a picnic. Except someone's started eating the apples already, I see..."[\b]
"Fair enough," agrees Mel. "I'm glad I don't have to row. I might get blisters."
"A daytrip, then?" laughs Mel. "How odd they shall think us. Perhaps it might be wise to arrange to have the boat for a longer period, just in case, you know, something happens. I don't want to have to spend the day worrying about both ghosts and a hefty late penalty."
"Who votes for swimming to this island keep?" ask Mel, brightly.
"You do realize this little proposed escapade will involve getting back on a boat, don't you?" laughs Melismar.
I've never seen a ghost, admits Melismar. "I've heard stories, though... I could share some with you, one night, were you so minded. Nothing like a good scare. Perhaps I'll get another supernatural story out of our adventure -- that would be fun."
An unusual policy -- giving away the first drinks free -- then again, looking at some of this party, it's fairly obvious one won't be the last... perhaps there was method in the madness. Melismar looks with interest at the taverner, awaiting his response to Oropher's questioning, and with subtle suspicion at his free drink, wondering just how much it had been watered down -- furthermore, what sort of water it might be.
Laughing Goblin it is. Shall we? "I certainly prefer my goblins to be laughing rather than screaming and attacking," agrees Melismar before joining those heading to the pub. "Though one can't help but wonder what sort of thing makes a goblin laugh? Perhaps it's best not to dwell on that. Mr Krokolam, I imagine you'll be off to the temple as well? No?! Well, I'm jiggered..." Melismar smiles as he tags along with the larger party.
"I doubt the swill they have in the pubs will effect me much after that soup. Besides, I can drink orc ale and stay standing. Sometimes. I just might not remember the rest of the night." "Quite! I wonder whether my taste buds will *ever* recover."
The man shrugs. "I can tell you little more about the keep I have however, heard many rumors at the pubs in town perhaps you can learn more there. I can however guaranty the council will reward you greatly and your fame with the council will defiantly grow what do you say." Melismar rather wishes the councillor hadn't mentioned a pub in the hearing of Blythe and Krokolam, for he's rather a feeling that concept will have a certain appeal... but more information might be helpful, and he'd rather face the unknown on a full stomach of decent food -- assuming that was possible in this gods-forsaken part of the world. However bad it was, it was still likely to be better than the fare on the ship, that was some consolation.
He takes a swig of ale. "I'm not afraid of anything, except maybe that I'll run out of drink." Well, I know who's going in front of me, then, thinks Mel.
"Can we stop yapping and go already? I want to kill some goblins." Says Krokolam "But what if the goblins have a fancy to kill some gnomes? A little more information could never hurt, and I'm not sure it's pesky goblins we need to be afraid of. The gentlemen was just now speaking of orcs, not goblins. And even those have been driven out, by his account, by something worse. My hair might look like a carrion crawler's nest at the moment, but I certainly don't want to distract people's attention away from it by sporting a brand new hat, made of arrows. Even if those arrows do have feathers."
"More reward certainly sounds appropriate," suggests Melismar, "but do I get the sense that not all parties within the council approve of this plan? Are you funding this little sortie yourself? And furthermore, if I may be so bold, why of the many hundreds here, did you select us? Was it our raffish good looks -- though I can scarce believe that, my hair is an absolute horror at the moment -- or do we have this misfortune to appear more expendable than these departed others?"
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