Nemiril Tharbaden's page

Nemeril swears in Elven as pain sears through her head, raising one hand to her temple to massage her forehead as the other goes to the dagger at her belt. She squints around as if expecting an attack, but sees nothing out of the ordinary, though her heightened awareness is enough to hear a scream from somewhere outside. Tossing three gold coins on the counter, she says hurriedly, "I'll take four of the waterproofed bags, stock one up with rations and an iron crow and I'll be back shortly to settle up properly, okay?"

Nemeril then rushes out of the general store and off in the direction of the scream, blinking extra often against the light outside being a bit too bright with the throbbing inside her skull.

Fortitude Save: 1d20 + 1 ⇒ (10) + 1 = 11 ⇒ Probably a failure
Perception Check: 1d20 + 6 ⇒ (19) + 6 = 25 ⇒ Probably a success

Nemiril is quite clearly fascinated by Inkrit's tattoos, admitting as much out loud as she leans up against the counter, "I love your ink, such beautiful work. But alas, I have business. I am on Dolga's orders to provision an expedition to find and retrieve Master Baine. I require waterproofed bags, rations, and a number of tools." She has purse enough to splurge, but excess weight won't help, so she carefully weighs several different tools appraisingly, "You happen to have a crowbar stocked? Might be we'll need to pry our way in to rescue Baine."

Nemiril heads for the general store first, hoping that the waterproofed bags won't cut too much into her savings but knowing that there's no way she would get away with stealing them. Even if she had claimed to already have some, it would have been far too obvious and then ridiculously easy to prove, and she was here to get rich, not to rot away in some dungeon or get her hand chopped off or whatever passes for justice around here.

Besides bags and food, she also keeps in mind to inquire about useful tools for breaking into a place and taking everything whether it's nailed down or not, like crowbars, pickaxes and the like, though she expects to have to stop by the blacksmith for all of that. Normally that might get more than an odd glance, but she's on an official mission to delve into an unexplored ruin, so she has the perfect excuse.

Nemiril looks to Aaron, as if to gauge his ability to swim, seemingly giving no thought at all to whether Qatrinnica might need the benefit of such magic, then turns her attention quickly back to Dolga, "I can only speak for my own swimming ability, but it would perhaps be prudent to advise Clockfather Kyte to pray to the Whisperer for such a spell in the event that master Baine requires the aid of such magic upon our return. That he hasn't returned indicates he may be injured or incapacitated if still alive, and that means he won't be in any good shape for swimming. And should he be dead, well, probably still best not to risk his ill health after such an event."

She then addresses her new companions, "I suggest we head out as soon as we can, so perhaps we should split up and then meet back here? Aaron, right? It sounds like you know the area already, so how about you check in with Baine's daughter about some trinket of proof. Qatrinnica, how about you check with the priest about the scroll, the magic, and whether there's anything he can offer in case Baine should be alive but unable to move. I can procure waterproof bags and rations and, oh..." She considers Qatrinnica properly again, "Do you require any special form of sustenance?"

Nemeril mouths the strange name silently a couple times until her eyes light up, "Oh! I see! But then you named your small companion after yourself in Taldane?" She then remembers that proper introductions can wait, and returns her attentions back to Dolga, "Is there anything else we might need to know? Perhaps something that would assure Baine that we were truly there to rescue him as allies?"

What Nemeril knows of glaucite is both inspiring and disheartening at the same time. Extra heavy means limited application, but adamantine is far stronger than steel, so automatons and golems crafted of the material would be incredibly durable. The only problem is that 'mining' such metal would likely be a slow and laborious task far less profitable than returning Baine to the comforts of Torch. Her pondering of these implications leaves her a little bit absent-minded, easily failing to notice if addressed by someone she's not actively paying attention to.

Nemeril seems rather quite comfortable with the idea of having to swim into the place, though she does still end up asking, "Is there a general store where I could purchase a few oilskin bags? Magic might help with keeping my bow from being damaged if it's a short enough swim for a single breath, but then..." Trailing off as her brow furrows, her eyes then widen at a thought, "It is a short enough swim for a single breath, right? I don't know any magic at all for breathing water."

She then turns her attention to her erstwhile companions for this excursion, especially the strange seeming female who asked about danger. She bites her lower lip, pausing as she tries to think how to ask all the questions that have bubbled up so far in a tactful way, but ends up just blurting, "Are you a construct? You look so lifelike, and... and intelligent, too? I've only ever seen mechanical birds and insects and, well, this one time there was a mage with a little pseudodragon made entirely of articulated bronze, but..." She eeps and then clamps a hand over her mouth and then bows very deeply, "I am so sorry, that was horribly rude of me!"

Bardic Knowledge - glaucite: 1d20 + 2 ⇒ (20) + 2 = 22

Nemeril struggles to keep her eyebrows from shooting up when the reward is named, and the bonus for solving the mystery and relighting the torch, but her tongue darts out for a moment at the mention of a scroll of resurrection, wetting her lips. Once Dolga pauses for replies, Nemeril performs a simple curtsey, her arms spreading widely as she replies warmly, "Quite agreeable. A thousand measures apiece for locating Baine and escorting him, or his earthly remains, back to town. I must inquire, however, as I am new to Torch, what is the local law regarding salvage? Do we need a writ to claim and remove wealth found within the Black Hill?"

It doesn't seem to occur to her that the locals might use a currency other than Absalom standard, common throughout the River Kingdoms where so few lords bother to mint their own coins.

As a young girl growing up just outside the small town of Novoboro in the River Kingdom of Cordelon, Nemeril was forever fascinated by the strange bubbling black liquid that was so precious to alchemists. While most of the liquid harvested by the town ended up being used for mundane purposes like lamp oil, it was forever her joy and delight to behold the clockwork creations of several inventors drawn to the high quality oil, using it to lubricate gears and fuel tiny furnaces.

It was from these tinkerers that Nemeril first learned of the Whisper in Bronze, but where most are attracted to Brigh because of the joy of creation, Nemeril saw opportunity of a different sort. The oil which attracted alchemists to Cordelon was only one of many such rare substances useful for creating new inventions, and what truly captured the imaginations of so many travelers she spoke to were the skymetals found in Numeria far to the north. Yet unlike the oil which needed only to be scooped up and then carefully refined, the skymetals of Numeria were hidden away in strange ruins, guarded by terrible creatures made of metal and other strange substances, and so even the most plentiful of these materials was more valuable than gold.

The small town of Torch is known for a strange bonfire of purple flame which locals use to smelt skymetals. Such a place seemed to Nemeril a perfect starting location to begin a career in plumbing the depths of Numeria's ancient ruins for skymetals for wealth, glory, and the joy in seeing truly marvelous new creations... but alas while the pilot of the river boat she chartered passage on was able to regale her with all manner of tales of the flare-ups and tremors that made Torch's flame especially unique, she was unprepared to discover that the flame would have been extinguished entirely.

Mystery intrigues Nemeril, but far better minds than hers have already failed to discover the cause, so she wastes no time in volunteering for an excursion into the Black Hill Caves. It is exactly why she came to Numeria, and even if she fails to find any skymetals, the purse offered by the locals for solving the mystery will cover the cost of a room at an inn, and some gratitude and fame can't possibly hurt either.

Rolling Knowledge (history) for information about Torch and its namesake flame: 1d20 + 6 ⇒ (5) + 6 = 11

Rolling Knowledge (local) for information about Torch and its namesake flame: 1d20 + 6 ⇒ (18) + 6 = 24

Nemeril's pointed ears and natural grace, paired with an almost-human build and coppery red hair mark her as a half-elf just as plainly as her garb marks her as a foreigner to Numeria. Lightly armored in just a simple cuirass of leather lamellar, she nonetheless carries a massive curved blade strapped to her back next to a shortbow, both of which are simple and utilitarian in appearance. What little of her skin can be seen, mostly just her face as she is wearing gloves and a scarf against what must be more bitter cold than she is accustomed to, is a light beige marred only by a single scar along her left jawline.

She seems to have several daggers hidden on her body, as she keeps nervously drawing them into her hands and then putting them back away, perhaps as practice, perhaps because of a sense of unease at the unfamiliar surroundings.

Having finally saved up the money to travel up the Sellen, Nemeril disembarks where the Seven Tears River flows into the Sellen and journeys on foot upriver to Hajoth Hakados, where she again finds passage upriver, all the way to the town of Torch near the source of the Seven Tears. Though far from some starry-eyed innocent, the land is quite different from the marshy lands of her home back in Cordelon, and her attire clearly marks her as out of place, leaving her quite wary and suspicious that she's liable to be subject to pickpocketing attempts or cons, though it seems most travelers heading north are bound for the crusades up in Mendev and are far more gullible: easier prey by far.