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"No? Well then." Bart frowns, crosses the Dwarf's arms and prepares him for what seems to be a Heironean warrior's burial. Drawing a long thin rod, he lets a sliver of healing magic loose from the wand, stows it, and gives the prophet another jab with his boot.
"Ha! That'll learn 'im!" Bart cheers, moving his way over to the unconcious dwarf, nudging him with a steel-capped toe. "This our Garmundi?"
"CHAAARGE! CHARGE LIKE YEW'VE A HOST OF MEN AT YER HEELS!"
Bart gingerly skirts his way around the ice, eyes fixed on their spidery foe. He spares a glance at Fuzzy and the modron. "Jes' don't stick me with that thing."
Bart will lunge headlong toward the fray, ensuring his compatriots stay safely behind him and meeting the spider head-on.
"Right. Well. That clears that up. CHAAAARGE!"
"By 'Not alone', do you perchance mean that inna metaphysical sense in that our deeds an' words are being judged by extraplanar figures beyond our mortal reasoning?" Bart asks, a glimmer of hope in his voice. "Or that some great big toothy bugger is going to come and try an' bite our faces off?"
"At em, lads!"
"Demons? Devils!?" barks Bart, detecting evil in his surroundings with his swordarm at the ready.
"His own blade, eh? Well how's'it we're supposed to get that, huh?"
"Steel yerselves!"
"Take'at! 'noneofthese!" he barks, with a grin. "Aye. Them's what is a bit mad always went far in our order. Learn to leave fear at the door, you do."
"Gods have some very specific things to say about necromancy. 'm going to enjoy this far more than I bloody well should." he says, charging the nearest skeleton and barreling into him with his fist, which ripples with positive energy for a moment as it strikes.
"Er... Garmundi? That you?" Bart ventures, perhaps a little optimistically.
"I'd hoped we might find a clue to our dwarf. Just smoke an' mirrors, this is."
"Hwa?... What in ther..."
"Good riddance to bad rubbish."
Nor Bart it would seem.
Bart will delay, confident Lun Tsu has his skeleton in hand. He peers cautiously in the gloom for more trouble.
"Yer gonna need more than that!" he barks, breaking through to Cedric's side and ploughing into the skeleton with his shield.
Bart mutters to himself almost indistinguishably. Far from the mad ramblings of an old man, his words are in fact holy writ. Holy writ laced with profanity as the Modron nearly brings the cave down onto their heads. "Never die easy; strive always sonofabaatzu ... STRIVE ALWAYS FER A VALOROUS END. HAVE AT YER, YE DUSTY OL' BONEBAGS! I'LL PUT YER BACK IN THE DIRT!"
Bart lunges forward, clutching the nearest skeleton in his mailed fist and letting loose a blast of holy light. He motions to the leftmost skeleton. "Lun! Cut 'im off!"
"Well bugger me to Baator. Who turned out the lights?"
"To the shattered temple, then?" he says, a little unnerved by the silent creature's gaze.
"I says we poke around this temple now that the heat's died down. Once we get our hands on a gate key o'course, but our wizard's given us the clue we need." "But first, I ain't slept in a feather bed since that incident with the Barbazu and the brothel." he says, rising to his feet. "Best be abed soon. We've a big day ahead. Hope you find yer mate, Modron."
"We don't know where this Garmundi feller dissapeared to after his preachin'. But at least we know what Beardy looks like and which portal he took. We don't know where this Origax is neither, but at least we have a motive..." Bart scratches his head, and swears. "My head hurts. I remember a time when do-gooding meant saddling up and riding down some orc chief or banishing some fiend. I don't hold with this private investigating." he grumbles.
Bart cleans out his ears in clear view of the tavern's patrons, straining to listen to the sylphs. He has a fairly sparse meal of bread and water, murmuring to himself before tucking in. After a while, he begins to look distant and pensive, retreating into the dusty corridors of his mind.
Bart will clap two mouldy loaves of bread, his rusty old (non-magical) longsword and a half drunk wineskin onto the table. "Not a coin on me, m'afraid. Used to rely on charity back 'ome, but the Cagers are more like ter rob you than feed you in my experience."
"Hear hear. Don't suppose one of yew fellers has a place to stay? Doubt the three of us would fit in my rickshaw."
"Guvner?" Bart hisses to the mimir, still eyeing it warily as it answers. "Thanks for the tip, ma'am. Fallen Dabus huh? The stories of folk that mess around with the Lady's servants ain't pretty, but if it's one o' them we got to deal with then so be it."
"Better." Bart says, holding out the journal, his mailed fists creasing the pages. "We 'ave yer friends research on the portals. An' we know what this Origax feller is up to. It'll be trouble, yew mark my words."
At the grim reminder of the importance of faith, Bart traces his gauntlet along the spine of his holy-text and sets his jaw. "Don't bother me none who that feller wants to worship, but if it means more brawls in the streets we ought ta' put a stop to it. Make sure noone else gets hurt an' all." Bart fixes his mind on the Mercykiller he had to put down, and falls silent.
"Ask me twenty years ago and I'd've asked you to get me home. But I can hardly picture it now..." the old man says, rheumy eyed. "Jes' point me in whatever direction I might do a bit of good, and I'm content." "Listen to me ramble. We're lookin' fer a feller by the name of Origax. Ringin' any bells?"
Old Bart nods along, but comprehension is slow to dawn across his weathered face. "Grey waste is a no, and poke our noses into Geartown. Got it." he says, shouldering his rucksack. "Well, it's a start. We did come a long way to get here, if yer catch my meaning. We'd be mighty appreciative if there's any more aid yer can be giving us. Sooner we can get after this Signer feller the sooner we might get some answers."
Agreed! I feel like we've finally hit our stride.
Bart shudders. "'ad enough of the cage fer a lifetime, I 'ave. But ain't a damned thing fer me here, either. Let's get to the bottom of this portal nonsense." he grunts, shouldering his shield and beginning the march out of the village.
Bart lends his voices to the others. "... and if either party don't 'old up their side of the bargain, then they'll have me to answer to."
Old Bart turns toward Lun Tsu, then back to Rule-of-Three. "Or not. Feller seems to have it covered."
Bart scratches his head, comprehension slow to dawn on him. "Sure. Guess you could look at it that way." he adds, a little perplexed. "Now how are we gonna make peace between the village and the beaver-folk? Looks like we're gonna have our work cut out for us."
Bart scratches his head. "I don't know if I agree, stranger. Don't much see how no bystanders will profit if the lower planes conquer the multiverse." he says, grimly. "But aye. No time for philosophizing when there are folk need helping."
The beginnings of remorse begin to creep over Bart's face. With a grimace, he maintains his grip on the rescued wizard and whispers in his ear. "'ow'd you get yerself captured, anyhow?"
"You heard the man! Leg it!"
Bart will wait a few seconds before attempting to creep out. Stepping on a tree-branch, he opts to bolt into the cave instead.
"Eh heh heh, that might just work." the coot says, rubbing his hands together. "'o course, if it don't, you be ready to fall behind me."
"He done kidnapped a feller now, didn't he? That's evil intent enough fer me."
"A frontal assault and a rescue then eh?" Bart says, stroking his wiry beard with a mailed fist. "Things in Sigil are rarely that simple." Drawing his magic blade, Bart signals his readiness.
"bugger sure is taking his time." he grimaces, folding his arms and settling into his hiding place.
Bart nearly bites his tongue in shock, managing to silence himself before he gives up their position. He watches Lun Tsu with bated breath.
"Well I'll be. What'dyew reckon? Think he's the talkin' type?" Bart crouches down, waiting for the others to make their move.
Bart seems at a loss, scratching his beard in silence. "A, a wizard ter be rescuing! Now that there's more like it! We'll be on our way now. Be it upon yer heads if ye find trouble with the villagers." Bart stomps forward, jabbing the beaver-man with his forefinger to punctuate his last point. Turning on his heel, he begins to make his way up the trail. "Let's be movin' on, fellers. We can come back thisaways once we've gotten ter the bottom of this."
"We've our mark, then. What'd'yew know? Progress." Bart says, seeming surprised. "What do you know about these here fey, feller? I was always taught ter' be prepared as possible in circumstances such as these."
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