As Notmerlen eats, he checks for his waterskin, and winces.
'I lack water.'
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Bottle checks: Spoiler:
Notmerlen pictures in his head that he is presently cleaning his blades and sharpening them. He instead moves into the small alcove and places the 11 gathered bottles in the small alcove and uses some of Athelstans parchment to write the following message:
Spoiler:
'Athelstan, If I live when you next see me, I may be free. If I am, I will speak the words 'My word is my oath'. For it is, my friend. I said long ago I would defend you. But I have failed in this task. I nearly cut you down, and have dishonoured my name. But know that I have dishonored that for far longer, and have deceived you. For I followed a far greater oath. One of revenge for a wrong that robbed me of all of who I cared about. The name 'Wyvernmane' more than likely does not seem notable, for it is a false name. My original name, my true name, is Dovret Thunderhorn, son of Gungrad Thunderhorn and Jakril Thunderhorn. You may recognize this name as one of your uncle's mines. This mine once belonged to my family, which they had held for generations. Until your uncle ran my father out of business, ruined his name through deception, and left us all destitute. Your uncle claimed the mine for himself, profiting from the abundance of gold within. My parents died of sickness and exposure. I survived by the sword, selling my skills to rich nobles to cut down their enemies and protect their assests and person through brutality. As a youth, I knew only killing and hunger, and anger at what happened to our once great name. My sister, wishing to help me but naive, joined a caravan as a guard, taking my family's ancestorial sword and our family armour. I had refused to touch them for fear of dishonouring their history with the evil I wrought. Maybe that was foolish... The caravan was attacked by ogres. I will not go into what happened, for even as I write this the tears well and I wish I had been quicker to stop her going at all. But I joined the search party for the ogre family. They had taken the merchant's goods with whatever they could catch alive. We dived upon them, driving hooks into their flesh and pulling them to the ground. I rushed forward and drove an axe into the skull of the one that kept my families blade at it's side and wore my sister's poncho around it's neck like a damn bib. It had ruined the handle of the sword, and the armour had been crushed to useless metal. I took it's bones and made a new handle. I took the metal of the armour and made a gauntlet. And I vowed to my sister's spirit that I would bring down the one who did this. Destroy him like he had destroyed the Thunderhorns. I would kill Half-Beard. And I intended to do that through you, Athelstan. I had spent many years building the reputation of 'Notmerlen Wyvernmane'. Made myself as respectable a guard and mercernary as I could, while delightfully betraying my patrons where I could, selling their secrets to their enemies, and building connections with those less reputable to exploit when the time came to strike against Half-Beard. It only required one final piece of the puzzle to begin my revenge. I was approached by a recruiter of Half-Beard's as your personal guard. The perfect opportunity. On meeting you, I took you for a fool, easy to convince and easy to manipulate. And when the time came, I would slip a blade through your ribs, and send you piece by piece back to your uncle. Then I would come for him personally. But not before I destroyed everything of worth to your family name in Mwangi. But that was some time ago. Over these months, my demeanor has changed. As has my opinion of you. You are a fool, Twice-Dropped, but you are someone I value as a friend. I doubt that means much after this confession, but it is the truth. So I say this. If my words mean nothing to you, or you find I do not give you my sign of freedom. Shoot me dead. I will not prevent you from taking vengeance for my deception, and I cannot live while I am in the clutches of another. My will not my own. But if you find mercy in your heart, and I still live or can be saved, then stay your arrow. If you can reconile with what your uncle has done, and empathize with my tale, but I lie dead at this mage's machinations, then please. Carry on my duty, and bring rest to my family's spirit and honor to it's name. And take my blade, Josdrel. Carry it to the grave. Either as a sign of having overcome another of your enemies, a sign of your authority and respectability. Or to carry the legacy of Thunderhorn, one of those who broke through to the Sun so long ago, for yourself as the new owner of its history. Take care. May your escape be safe and swift. Dovret Thunderhorn, heir of the Thunderhorn family.' He places it under the vials, and the vials in the corner less visible from the temple. He also leans Athelstan's instrument against the wall, also out of view.
'How peculiar...' Notmerlen takes some time to have a look about the room he is in before finally coming to the goop that was Gleep. Thinking, he finally appreciates exactly what the small cube did through his untimely demise. A shame, in all honesty, even if it was...a little weird. He picks through the goop and retrieves some of the vials that were floating in Gleep's mass. These could come in handy. Notmerlen pulls out the grog Aerys gave him, raises it in the air in a toast, and takes a swig. He doesn't feel that sleepy. He does look past the trap room to see if he can spy any bodies. If not, he wanders over to the alter to see about that strange opening. Also, where is all this blood coming from?
Notmerlen does as he is told, but parts one of his eyes just enough to see what she is doing.
'What have you discovered?' The words come out in monotone, as though Notmerlen does not mean it. In reality, her words are beginning to get intriguing if only as insight on his captor. Particularly that she is somewhat unique among her kind. Good, Notmerlen thinks. It will help me rest easier knowing putting you down is a significant kick to your people's collective ass. He does ponder Yarzoth's words for a time. Much of what she said. Power is the means to ensure position. Servitude wroughts power, and via by this power one derives servants of their own. These are things that, for the longest time, Notmerlen has thought to be somewhat truthful. Though he saw it as more akin to power given via status, through privilege and authority, was how one obtains and maintains not just the power itself but the power over other people. Through commonality one could exercise their will. That is how the dwarves did it. That was how his family lost their status. But the mage's words are...quite troubling. He can't quite put his finger on why, but the idea of power shouldn't be taken and given through servitude. It is by right and commitment. It's...really more important how one uses the responsibility given to maintain commonality. Society even. What is a person if they hold no standards? What is a monarch with no holdings? What is a warrior without an oath? They are nothing. It is the system of commonality that anything holds structure, holds together the bonds of a people towards a common goal. Notmerlen holds his oaths above all else. It is the oath that gives him purpose and keeps him on the path to what he desires. And via his oath, others benefit as well. It really wasn't ever a matter of power at all! It was the purpose of it that mattered! What an oath serves to do than what it means. Power goes both ways. Yarzoth's god would be nothing if they had no followers, god or not. Maybe she should learn to remember that before speaking of servants... Strange time to be thinking about this. Maybe a week or two on a dangerous, cannibal ridden island and being mind-controlled by a serpentfolk gets one thinking even in the most dire of times. Wait, what on earth is that scroll? Notmerlen tries to snatch glances but realises it is in wizard-gibberish.
'I live to serve. It is my nature. It is my oath.' Notmerlen keeps his face stoic, watching Yarzoth carefully. If it weren't for the magical domination of his mind that made him follow her orders, her attitudes aren't much different to the dawrves. Speaking of sun-reaching ancestors and the great dwarven gods who guided them to the surface. The nobles of home would give speeches like that to their guests. Show everyone else just how devoted they are to the dwarven ideals. Then speak ill of their peers and plot their downfall while they are not looking, but careless of a commoner standing in the room while they carry out their machinations. Yarzoth speaks of a dead human race and lofty ambitions inspired by divine providence. She really isn't much different. She even speaks like nobility. And she too believes that her status, her power, assures her safety. Notmerlen will show her how wrong she really is. He has bided his time before. Waited for the perfect opportunity. He has done so all his life. Leaving tip-offs to his previous employers rivals. Ensuring their schemes fall inexplicably apart with his absence. He will have vengeance for what she has done. He can only hope his allies escaped, or that the camp will seek him out. If that does not work, he will have to take his chances with the mage alone.
'Great. Now everyone is dying of heatstroke...by Kols, why must everything be so bloody...Somebody get some lights up and we'll try waiting out the tide. I don't want to take our chances with these waters with everyone as tired as they are. Also, where the hell did we put those potions of lesser restoration, I'm not holding out so well...' 'And could someone please hurry up and toss that cube some food so it can stop...whatever the hell it's doing?'
Skill Checks
Spoiler:
Heat saving throws:
Survival check 1st 2nd
'We should probably ignore the ship for now. We've got enough troubles on our hands than to go plundering, and frankly, the tide would make it near impossible to reach that thing anyway. We'll continue onto the Silent Island.'
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