Phantrel Springleaf's page

Raka clears her throat and puts a hand on the statue of Arkhoria Skywatch. "Uh... I bless this shrine in the name o' Trudd, who has for some reason decided he likes me. And in the name o' the other dwarven gods whose faiths, um, might be forgotten now, but... ya never know, could come back again. Through people like me." She pauses, feeling like the room is waiting for her to finish. "So says I."

"Wise words," Phantrel murmurs. "A little kindness and a little respect goes a long way, in the house of gods as much as anywhere else."

While the others prepare to lower Brimble and the sentient relics they have sworn to protect down the pipe, Phantrel feels, not for the first time, like a spare part. And not even a replacement cog that could make an effective substitute for one of the others, more a loose leaf, drifting in the wind and brushing up uselessly against machines of metal and gears. At least the cleaning of the shrine was something he felt his skillset, such as it is, was a suitable fit for.

With the rest of the group occupied, he removes himself slightly and steels himself for the conversation he'd promised to have. The sword at his hip has remained silent and as much as speaking with the blade has been a lesson in hectoring and humility, he must admit he was beginning to get a little worried. Figuring that now is as a good a time as any, and that demonstrating that they are carrying out their duty to the other Courageous is not going to hurt, he gently probes. :Thunder-follows-Lightning? I know you have been resting but is there anything I can help with?:

Despite his misgivings about the plan, Phantrel is glad that sufficient of the youngsters are going. Not that he doubted anyone would let Xira walk alone down here, but as a foursome they are obviously better equipped to handle any potential trouble. Having achieved as much in the alcoves as he feels likely to be able to with the now blackened and tarnished rag, he moves on to scrubbing marks on the wall.

"Actually, Raka, I think it was a dwarf." Xira's voice is just loud enough to be audible. "Specifically, the dwarf whose skeleton we found not far from here. Khaza Hammerfast."

"Literally worked to death," Phantrel comments, looking up from his scrubbing. "And hoarding anything that would likely make the job easier. We could go and retrieve some, though I'm not sure if it's worth the risk of being possessed by the unquiet spirit again."

Phantrel peers into the alcoves and begins to sweep away the charred remains. "Here," he says, taking a wet cloth from Argatha and starting to rub away at the fire-blackened stonework. This work, as much as anything which has happened in the city, is something that the half-elf understands - the simple satisfaction of labouring with his hands. From the state of the room it's not going to be a quick job, nor an easy one, but it's one that he feels up to and it will at least be short compared to the time frames for tending plants. Besides, the desecration of the shrine is clear to anyone, stoneborn or not; what happened here is a stain on the soul of Thurznchakh.

”Yeah, but anything you build up here, you gotta fit through the hatch down.”

"And that," Phantrel adds, a small smile on his lips.

"I think there are probably sufficient supplies that we could cobble something together," Phantrel replies, "though how quickly we could do so and how effective it might be are also pertinent questions. How we would propel such a craft is another. If you have any ideas I'm open to them," he says to Colin, "but in the mean time let's see if we can find another way down and get to the boat we saw. Fixing that would probably be a lot easier than starting from new shoots."

Regarding the new hallway, he points at the stairs and elevator. "We presumably don't want to go up again so maybe down that passage?" Phantrel points to the archway.

As his eyes adjust to the light, Phantrel points out the details that he can now discern. He points in the direction of the pipes that he can definitely, and possibly, see. Arguably more importantly, he replies to Colin, "You might be in luck. There looks to be something of the sort moored by the wall there. Of course someone will need to take a dip to get to it in the first place but provided it's seaworthy - or at least lake-worthy - that does expand our options."

The journey back down is no more pleasant than it was in reverse, but Phantrel nods his thanks as Em is able clean up the group by tapping her new powers.

"Bats," he says, pointing upward at the sound of their calls to anyone listening. Then, with reference to the scattering of the invertebrate carrion-eaters, he adds, "There's always more life than you might think. Better to work with it rather than master it." Exactly who he is speaking to is unclear, but there's probably some kind of lesson there for those willing to heed it.

The half-elf scans the dark water but he can see no obvious trace of the other bodies. "Case in point, I assume the rest of the bodies became fish food. Which does potentially limit our options for sinking the container unless anybody wants to risk a swim. I don't know that anybody is likely to be scouring the water at random for treasure but a simple spell from the platform would certainly find the Courageous unless the water's depth exceeds the magic's reach." Phantrel turns to Colin, figuring him the most likely to have an answer to his next question. "Is there an easy way we can gauge the depth of the water, at least approximately?"

Taking the others' assurances that they are completely fine with a pinch of, well, salt, Phantrel keeps the flame burning as long as he can and follows Brimble to back up the kobold.

The stench of blackened rat fills the corridor as Raka's blade breaks up their party. Phantrel keeps his flame burning for the moment, however, just in case the creatures regroup or there's a further group of them waiting to spill out from somewhere. He casts his eye around the bathroom at the destruction and for signs of further movement after the remainder of the rats disperse. "Is everyone alright?" he asks.

Perception: 1d20 + 5 ⇒ (5) + 5 = 10

As the first horde of rats scatter, Phantrel keeps his fire burning and follows Em in pursuit of the other mass of rodents.

Double move.

Letting the magic flow through the bone pattern on his mask, Phantrel can feel it twist and flow as he searches for a spell that will fit the occasion. The flaming projectiles some of the others have flung seem to have been fairly effective so he turns his mind to fire. Slowly clenching his fist as he intones words of divine power, he releases it at the same time as he finishes his spell. A small jet of flame now sits on his open palm. Keeping his distance for now, he backs up away from the mass of rats.

Move back away from the rats and cast produce flame using the open slot from my bonded item.

Knowledge nature: 1d20 + 5 ⇒ (14) + 5 = 19

"I suspect you all know this," Phantrel says, "but while their teeth and claws are sharp, probably the biggest concern is that rats often carry disease. Not that I think we needed an additional reason to try and keep these ones at bay," he adds.

Ordinarily Phantrel would be uncomfortable with the idea of simply slaughtering the rats, were they simply animals acting in an animalistic way. These, however, are not ordinary rats and he's seen little within the dwarven halls that fits with what he considers the natural rhythms of life. "I don't know that I have any magic that can hit a lot of creatures like that," he says, frowning, offering a prayer to the Green for a solution to this particular conundrum.

"If we can make them comfortable then we should," Phantrel says, accompanying Argatha to find a chest. "We may also need additional items to weigh it down to ensure that it sinks and remains out of sight."

Phantrel listens carefully to Thunder-follows-Lightning’s analysis of their situation. This is something he is aware he knows little about so he is happy to defer to the sword’s judgement. ::Thank you, that sounds like a good appraisal of the situation. One step at a time, then - dig, then sow, then water.::

Sense motive DC 15: 1d20 + 7 ⇒ (2) + 7 = 9

* * * * *

As Altynbekh turns to, and then approaches, Phantrel, the half-elf takes this to mean that the guardian is happy to have its duties reassigned. With a quick gesture to the others to indicate that the request has been successful, he heads towards Forgewise’s former quarters, his new mechanical follower in tow. Upon arrival, he confirms that this is the area that the guardian could best be employed.

Having been nudged towards being spokesperson for the party, Phantrel works a little magic to give his words more weight and then goes to seek the automaton. Slipping into the dwarven tongue feels both natural and surprising, his fluency with the language not commensurate with the time he has spent learning it. Because I didn't really learn it, not as such, he acknowledges to himself.

Weighing his words carefully, Phantrel decides to keep the instructions short and to the point. "Hail Altynbekh," he greets the clanker. "Your duty to the stoneborn has been admirable. In Forgewise's absence, we believe that you could most be of service if you stationed yourself as a guard for the Courageous. Please would you accompany us to your new post."

Casting guidance beforehand.
Diplomacy: 1d20 + 7 ⇒ (10) + 7 = 17

::I'm glad you approve,:: Phantrel replies honestly. ::I hope you've managed to get sufficient rest. I assume you know ours was interrupted,:: he adds lightly, though he shoots a concerned look at the two wounded members of the group. ::For now I think it is better to concentrate on tasks here, chiefly protecting the Courageous and ideally utilising Altynbekh to that end. If the goblins come again we will better be able to meet them in halls we are familiar with and with aid at hand. We will have to go up at some point so I think the wiser course is to leave them be rather than risk falling into a trap and having to come back down to the Steel level later anyway. How would you assess the situation?:: he asks, interested in the blade's thoughts as well as wanting to ensure Thunder-follows-Lightning feels involved. Not that the sword has been slow to voice an opinion when it has one.

The watch

During the watch...

"I dunno much about growin' stuff," Raka concedes. "But it always seemed ta me that mushrooms are pretty fast. All it takes is a hard rain, an' there they are." She shrugs. "I never watched 'em, though."

It occurs to Raka that, although Phantrel is a fellow Salt Spire native (Salt Spirian? Salt Sprite?), and looks much the same now as he had all her life, Raka knows very little about the man. "Have ya grown lots o' mushrooms? I never really knew whatcha were up to around town."

It does seem that way," Phantrel agrees. "The hard work happens out of sight below ground, of course, but they can come up pretty fast."

"Some," he says. "They like the dark, and the damp so they do alright round here. I've grown a lot of things over the years. It takes time and care and the soil round Salt Spire isn't the best so there's a lot of experimenting to find out what grows well and how to make the best of the conditions. It's an enjoyable challenge - mostly, anyway. Less fun in some of the hungrier years," he says solemnly. "But anyway, anything you've seen me selling around town I've grown myself."

* * * * *

Morning

Breakfast is not bad at all, the sharpness of the fish and buttery warmth of the mushrooms mix together pretty nicely. And frankly they're all hungry so it seemed unlikely to Phantrel that anybody would be complaining much.

"That is good," he says, agreeing with Raka. "He's earned his rest. And fine work he's done for us too," he adds, admiring the scabbard. "I hope you like it," he says to Thunder-follows-Lightning as he removes it from Em's handiwork and sheathes the blade into Forgewise's fine piece of craftwork.

A thought occurs to him. "What happens to Altynbekh?" Phantrel asks. "I'm not sure it's likely to take instructions from us as none of us are dwarves. So long as it doesn't now think we're invaders I suppose that's a positive. But it would be useful if it's still patrolling the corridors here."

Before bed

He crawls back out of his bunk, trying to rub the sleep from his eyes. "We're sleeping in tomorrow. You lot are crazy." he says somewhat angrily, though it's likely just lack of sleep.

"I think we'll all get a better quality of sleep if we can remove any threat from the goblins and knowing Altynbekh is looking out for us," Phantrel says emolliently.

* * * * *

During watch

Although he would happily sit in silence, Phantrel is bone-weary and trying to maintain focus is a challenge. "I don't know why," he whispers to Raka, his eyes flicking towards the box, "but I find myself strangely impatient to see what is going to happen with the mushrooms. Usually it takes weeks, months, the turn of the season for things to grow and that's fine. It's the natural way of things. And yet during a single night I find myself drawn to watching it." He is silent for a few moments, considering. "Perhaps that's it," he muses. "It's precisely because it is such a short period of time, out of sync with the natural order, that I am just genuinely curious to see what it produces." He's unsure how interested Raka might be in it - he suspects he is probably more invested in this than the others - but he's happy to voice his thoughts anyway. He knows a lot more about growing plants than he does about fighting goblins, that's for sure.

* * * * *

The morning

When the shifts are over and everyone has, finally, got some decent rest, the half-elf wakes. Nodding a polite greeting to the others he gets out of bed and steps over to the desk by his bunk. And there, just as described, is a small haul of mushrooms. "It worked," he says simply, a touch of amazement in his voice the reflects a touch of genuine wonder in what the magical box has done rather than disbelief that it has worked at all.

With sleep temporarily abandoned, Phantrel falls in with Xira and Raka. He's relatively confident that it shouldn't take too much persuasion to change the automaton's protocols to goblin-hunting, but to be on the safe side he puts himself forward to bolster the argument as necessary.

Given the circumstances, he indicates quiet would be sensible and keeps watch as they walk.

Perception: 1d20 + 5 ⇒ (4) + 5 = 9

With Brimble in good hands, Phantrel is relieved that the kobold is ok - up to a point, at least - and finds that there's little he can add to the matter.

"They know we're here," he says to Xira. "So unless someone is able to approach them without being caught in order to determine their numbers and position, which I think is highly risky in the circumstances, we should probably go in numbers."

The goblin evades the icy jet and ducks in to bite?! Brimble, sending the kobold slumping to the floor. Baring its bloody teeth at the others now assembling, Phantrel reasons that taking out the threat will give them the best chance of then getting aid to poor Brimble without getting savaged in the process. Recentring himself, he tries once more with his frosty spell. This time the ice blast catches the goblin directly in the torso.

Attack vs touch: 1d20 + 3 ⇒ (20) + 3 = 23 Better
Damage: 1d3 + 2 ⇒ (1) + 2 = 3
Confirm crit?: 1d20 + 3 ⇒ (3) + 3 = 6 Nope
Damage: 1d3 + 2 ⇒ (1) + 2 = 3

Ray of frost again

A couple of goblin corpses lie strewn in the corridor as Phantrel rounds the corner. Another, very much still alive, is squaring up to Brimble so aiding him, ideally by removing the other combatant, seems to be the chief requirement here. Focusing his powers, the half-elf chants a brief paean to the harshest of seasons and with a point of his index finger directs a wintry beam at the goblin.

Attack vs touch: 1d20 + 3 ⇒ (8) + 3 = 11
Damage: 1d3 + 2 ⇒ (3) + 2 = 5

Move, ray of frost

Given Xira's call for aid, on top of Brimble's, Phantrel assumes that the time for both subtlety and guard duties have passed. He moves as quickly as he can around the beds, taking the long way round and out of the door towards Argatha.

Double move

Phantrel wasn't slumbering deeply when Xira quietly wakes him. He shakes away any initial grogginess at the mention of goblins. "Understood. Be careful and call for help if you want me to rouse the others. Better to be cautious. Is our metal guardian about? If you can get some aid that way, do it - don't put yourself in unnecessary danger." Phantrel glances at the mushrooms but pushes away his curiosity to check on them, picks up Thunder-follows-Lightning and takes up a guard position at the doorway.

"Thank you. We will treat it with the respect such a wonder deserves," Phantrel assures the vault construct. He's able to peruse it briefly but its enchantment - and the way it interacts with the magic that is nature - is going to need proper time and care to study. For the moment he stows it carefully away.

Spellcraft to study/identify properties: 1d20 + 5 ⇒ (7) + 5 = 12

When they are in the dorm, he sets down the mushroom box on the workspace next to the bunk that for the night will be his. For the moment it refuses to give up its secrets, but the instructions at least are simple enough. Examining the five types of desiccated fungi, he settles on the button mushrooms: the others have more unique properties but in the immediate term, ensuring everybody is getting sufficient food is probably the most important thing and that's what will feed the most people. With fingers well-versed in delicate work he gently scatters the mycelium on the racks, then carefully adds a little water that he has conjured from a small vessel. He sets the control and then can't help but watch a while. Although he knows that the process, however sped up it may be, will still be too slow to be visible in any way, it's still a couple of minutes before he turns his attention elsewhere. "If I've understood correctly, we should have a bounty of mushrooms for breakfast," he informs the others. "You're welcome to take a look but if you could please refrain from touching it - I don't know how movement or other factors may affect the growing process."

He listens as the others describe their Courageous and how different they sound to the still-silent sword carefully leaning against his desk. Bastion is 'real friendly and likes to help. Brilliance-of-Heaven is 'difficult to antagonise'. With the greatest will in the world, for all that is has imparted, Phantrel would struggle to pair such words with Thunder-follows-Lightning. For now he leaves the weapon to the rest it requested, not wanting to, well, antagonise it, but its hush is starting to concern the half-elf just a little. It could be that Phantrel has done something to annoy it, but equally the sword could be tired by the work it has done for him, or for all of them by speaking with the other Courageous. The inner workings of its mind and the costs and limits to its power are unknown so all of this is pure speculation. He settles back on his bed, comfortable enough given the circumstances, and resolves to check in on it in the morning.

Exhaling in awe, Phantrel doesn’t disguise the wonder playing across his face or in his reply. ”This is incredible! Would we be able to check it out from the vault? It would go a long way to provide sustenance for a number of hungry people and I would be very interested in studying its properties to see how it works and could be made more efficient. Imagine the potential of a Mark III model,” he adds, hoping that the construct finds at least one of these arguments compelling.

Diplomacy: 1d20 + 6 ⇒ (14) + 6 = 20

Listening to the conversation with Forgewise, Phantrel is pleased to note that the group have no higher an opinion of the GMC than he himself does, and they're not afraid to say so. Of course it's much easier to do when they're well out of earshot of the company but good to know that they all seem to be aligned on the issue. So he finds it strange that he is almost, however slightly, coming to their defence. "While I agree that we shouldn't let the Courageous fall into unscrupulous hands, don't forget that they have minds and personalities of their own. They cannot prevent anybody picking them up but neither are they entirely idle bystanders. They can choose if they want to forge a partnership with somebody - Thunder-follows-Lightning did with Lord Highcliff, after all. Which is not to say that I want them to be sold off by the GMC or whisked away by goblins," he clarifies. "That's not a desirable outcome for anybody."

"Certainly we need to do something with them. I think Colin is probably right in highlighting the ideal scenario, along with its obvious issue. Could we - perhaps via one of the Courageous we are paired with, or via Master Forgewise - ask them what they would prefer? I appreciate that not all of them were willing to engage with us because we are not stoneborn. Nor are the options we may present them with particularly appealing."

To Forgewise he says, "If you are able to craft something suitable for Master Brimble that would be doing us a great service. It would also be a fitting way to help the stoneborn and protect the Courageous, as we in turn do what we can to honour them."

Diplomacy aid Brimble: 1d20 + 6 ⇒ (4) + 6 = 10

When he signs it out at the counter, the construct behind the counter says, helpfully, "I note that you are taking the last sample of that item. I will put in a request to Silver Strata for replacements!"

As Phantrel is doing this, he notices something inside the 'cage' area where the construct stands-- a shelf in the back with various items on it, including a case that has a pretty decoration of what looks for all the world like a nice red-and-white toadstool mushroom. As the most plant-like thing he's seen down here, his gaze no doubt lingers on it.

The bronze figure chirps, "The Traveller's Sporeset, Mark II! A fine piece of engineering and magic."

However, the construct does not offer to fetch it for him.

Diplomacy if you'd like to convince the 'bot to give you this item, Phantrel

"Much appreciated," Phantrel says, as he packs the frozen liquid away. As he peers at the rearmost shelf, he spies what appears to be a mushroom. "Very impressive," he replies. "Would you mind if I had a look at it? It looks very much like a toadstool and yet you describe it as a feat of engineering. I'd like to try and understand its properties. Or perhaps you could tell me more about it?"

Diplomacy: 1d20 + 6 ⇒ (7) + 6 = 13

In the Steel Vault

With a glance at the currently silent sword belted to his hip, Phantrel finds a club that is much better weighted than the cudgel he currently carries and swaps the weapon over. Nothing else on the racks looks like it will be finer than Thunder-follows-Lightning and frankly if he’s forced to draw the sword then something has probably already gone horribly wrong.
Taking a MW club.

The armoured mannequins he moves past quickly, the abundance of metal would only interfere with his ability to draw magic from the earth. And that’s if he could even bear their weight without being literally bent double. Even the boiled leather pieces, ill-fitting as they would be on his differently shaped frame, don’t look like they would provide any more protection than that of his tunic. With a tiny snort of self-amusement, he sets about looking for something more in tune with his sensibilities.

Looking for any kind of darkleaf cloth armour – yeah, I know! Order of preference for better protection, so I think lamellar leather, leather, padded.
Perception: 1d20 + 5 ⇒ (12) + 5 = 17 Luck: 1d100 ⇒ 74

Moving away from the armoury portion of the stores, Phantrel looks for any books or practical items that might help him better understand the underground environment and how to survive it – at least if he had a bit of time to read them. He's also keeping an eye outfor something he could use as a focus to improve the efficacy of his frost magic.

Looking for a vial of liquid ice and any kind of masterwork skill items/kits focused on Knowledge nature, Survival and Profession horticulturalist (whether books or anything else appropriate).
Perception, skill kit Knowledge nature: 1d20 + 5 ⇒ (14) + 5 = 19 Luck: 1d100 ⇒ 7
Perception, skill kit Survival: 1d20 + 5 ⇒ (14) + 5 = 19 Luck: 1d100 ⇒ 7
Perception, skill kit Profession horticulturalist: 1d20 + 5 ⇒ (13) + 5 = 18 Luck: 1d100 ⇒ 100
Perception, liquid ice: 1d20 + 5 ⇒ (19) + 5 = 24 Luck: 1d100 ⇒ 73

Previously, following the discussion of tactics

Phantrel acknowledges the points. It’s going to require something of a mindset shift so he starts to think of the predators he knows and whether there are any lessons or tactics that he can learn from. The sea kites, always circling around the clifftops are the first thing that spring to mind. Keeping an eye out for a long time and picking their moment to strike carefully is largely how they operate, though that is probably only useful if they are able to remain hidden and fight on their own terms, something Phantrel isn’t sure is going to be possible. Of course, he’d prefer to avoid fighting at all, but that seems an increasingly forlorn hope.

There’s only so much he can draw on too – the scant food and poor conditions in Saltspire affects the whole ecosystem, from plants through to the apex predators. Maybe there are some lessons in how he tries to remove pests from his vegetables. Where he can do so humanely he prefers to, or letting nature take its course. Creating conditions where the natural predators of pests is his preferred method. Not so different from the miller who gets a cat to catch the mice nibbling at his goods.

He notes the irony that pretty much everything within the dwarven city is likely to be some kind of invader, including of course themselves. Maybe if they can make use of any of the existing dwarven automatons or guardians to deal with threats. That’s not a terrible parallel for working in harmony with nature, looking for balance and symbiotic relationships. Not just humans and other humanoids devastating landscapes and habitats in a short-term way that does longer term harm to themselves as well as the flora and fauna that suffer as a result.

Which is of course the whole reason he’s found himself in this mess in the first place.

He sighs to himself. Phantrel doesn’t share Raka’s belief that greed was necessarily the downfall of the dwarves, but for all its marvels, nothing he’s seen here particularly looks like living in harmony with their environment as opposed to seeking dominion over it. It’s a very different world down here compared to the surface that he knows well though so he’s willing to reserve judgement. And he takes no joy in tales of hubris leading to downfall; acknowledging mistakes and learning from experience seems a much more useful course and a better way to live.

Phantrel isn’t sure how useful any of these things may be but he’s optimistic, perhaps naively so, that they will figure things out. And he’s happy to do as he’s told and get out of the way. They’re a slightly odd group, all thrown together by circumstance and he knows that he’s an outsider within it. Which is fine as far as it goes, but it’s the inability to escape, to have the space to himself that he has been accustomed to, that is beginning to wear at him already. That and the gods-forsaken cramped conditions, the lack of fresh air, sunlight, starlight, the sea, the sky, something, anything, green and growing. He shakes his head in bewilderment that anybody would choose to live in such conditions. The world may be full of all sorts of people and provided they are content with their lot and not inflicting harm on others or their environment, he’s happy for them to live as they like, but by the Green he finds these halls a struggle to relate to.

”You got lucky. Do that again and someone might get dead.”

Phantrel raises an eyebrow at the kobold's comments. As far as he could tell the group had fought bravely and effectively enough. There's always some risk involved in fighting, though perhaps that's why he has never sought out such situations. "Do you have some military training, Master Brimble?" he asks. "If you have ideas on how we might work better then please share them. I can speak only for myself but I've never found myself fighting a walking corpse before."

The half-elf glances down at his still-silent sword. For all that Thunder-follows-Lightning seemed to have a certain amount of prejudice against the kobold, given the blade's disparagement of Phantrel's martial skills - or lack thereof - he suspects that in this matter the two would be aligned.

Not used to either the number of bodies or the cramped quarters, Phantrel can't see a lot of great options. With his view obscured by the melee combatants, he enters the room and with a arcane turn of phrase, looses a jet of ice at the former dwarf.

Attack vs touch: 1d20 + 2 ⇒ (14) + 2 = 16
Damage: 1d3 + 1 ⇒ (3) + 1 = 4

Move, ray of frost.

Sighing inwardly, Phantrel adds, "If our goal has now changed from simply getting out of here to finding those dwarves who are still alive - and I think we are all in agreement that it has - we may also need to consider going back down to the level below to fully explore. It's where we found the daggers," he adds by way of rationale.

”Let’s see if we can make ‘Stick together’ an exception then,” Phantrel says lightly.

"I'm sorry I left so abruptly. It was...not the best decision." She sounds a little disappointed.

"No harm done, and hopefully lesson learned" Phantrel says, smoothing things over as there's no need for recriminations, even if things could have taken a nastier turn had they not followed Em. "The colour suits you well, by the way," he adds with a quick smile, hoping to raise Em's spirits a little.

And frankly his own could do with a boost too. The more he is learning of the sheer scale of the city, the more he is becoming aware of the increasing number of obstacles that lie between them and sunlight, starlight, fresh air and the crash of the sea. In a word, home. Submerged in these gloomy thoughts, the weight of thousands of tons of rock seeming to bear down on his slender shoulders, he listens to Brimble's report and follows the others back to the temple and the rooms beyond.

"I've got some in my pack, Em," Phantrel says, rummaging in his bag for it and producing a flask. He holds it up to show her, while returning his focus to the door.

Closing the door seems a prudent move as Phantrel judges it unlikely that the puddle will be able to open it. Whether it will somehow be able to wriggle beneath it is a different matter and he says as much. "I think we should stand back in case it can squeeze its way between the door and the frame." He doesn't follow his own advice, however, instead he prepares a spell for just such an eventuality.

Retrieve oil flask as move action, ready ray of frost if it comes through the door in some way. Readied attack rolls below in case.

Attack vs touch: 1d20 + 3 ⇒ (18) + 3 = 21
Damage: 1d3 + 1 ⇒ (1) + 1 = 2

"She had, yes. That pretty little crown." Xira considers, frowning thoughtfully. "What you suggest is certainly possible, but ... Em is pretty willful in her own right. I suspect that whatever she's doing is her own choice, though it might have been the crown's suggestion."

Phantrel smiles slightly. Yes, that much seems true from what Phantrel knows of the girl over the years, and Xira of course knows her far better. "You're probably right. Still, better to be careful and make sure."

Quick overview:
1 level of druid (halcyon archetype)
+2 hp
+2 Fort
+2 skills
Spells

I trade out a lot of the standard druid class features. I lose nature bond (so no animal companion, domain or herbalism), nature sense, wild empathy, and spontaneous SNA.

In return I get a bonded item, Diplomacy and all Knowledges as class skills, bonuses to Diplomacy and Knowledge local, all spells from the Good domain added to my list and can spontaneously cast them.

I will also not gain wild shape at later levels, but instead can add wizard spells to my list. So it's very much a caster-focused archetype.

Might be worth coordinating on spells? I'm initially thinking Druid: entangle, snowball, open slot (bonded item); Adept: bless, sleep. Very much open to suggestions though.

For cantrips between the two classes I've gone: create water, guidance, light, purify food and drink, ray of frost (via Two World Magic trait), stabilise. I'm assuming at least one, if not both, of Em and Xira will be taking detect magic and read magic.

"Coming," Phantrel replies to Raka and Xira, shaking his head out of his internal musings. "She didn't give any indication of where she was going?" He treads carefully as he voices a potential concern. "I assume she picked up one of the Courageous? Do we know if she is... acting fully of her own volition?" he asks tentatively. "It might be a coincidence but to go running off alone at this particular time..." He lets the thought hang, assuming the others will catch his drift.

Relieved primarily that they somehow managed to find the right words to soothe Forgewise's mind and prevent him from... spontaneously combusting? literally falling apart? something bad, anyway, Phantrel exhales, letting out the tension that had been building inside him. His head is throbbing a little from the numerous strands of the dialogue and the pressure of translation, trying to avoid missteps, and the revelation that some of the dwarves are still alive. Once Forgewise opens up the hidden chamber, he takes himself away to a quiet corner to reflect and recover. His work here is done, for the moment at least, and he doesn't feel the need to crowd out the others while they examine the Courageous.

He has said as much as he was comfortable saying in terms of that bearing such an item is not without cost. As each item is unique and possesses a mind and personality of its own, Phantrel doesn't want to presume that how each will behave, or that the deal each may strike will manifest in the same way as his did with Thunder-follows-Lightning. Nor does he want to colour what the others do with his own opinions on the matter, or indeed offend his new blade. He's said his piece and he watches carefully the different reactions - and different levels of willingness - of his companions to strike up a partnership with one of the dwarfcrafted items.

"Thank you," he mentally says to Thunder-follows-Lightning. "That means a lot for you to vouch for us in such a way. And unless I am mistaken - which is entirely possible -" he adds drily, "I do not think that was an easy thing for you to do given we are none of us stoneborn. I know the decisions of each of the Courageous are their own to make but I am sure that your words will have helped. I will leave you to your rest," he finishes, "but I wanted to know that you have my thanks."

Fielding questions from half a dozen people and being the sole point of translation is exhausting and Phantrel is beginning to feel the strain. He remains diplomatic and polite but he's struggling to be able to do much in the way of processing his own thoughts. He's usually competent at social niceties and smoothing things over but he is also struck by how unusual the situation is, how used he is to the company of nobody but himself the majority of the time. While he would dearly love to be back above ground, tending his garden, he suspects time to himself is going to be in short supply for a while. Not least because of Forgewise's revelation that some of the dwarves are still alive. This changes things completely. The dead can rest and he's happy to leave mysteries to remain. But living souls? His conscience is never going to let him abandon them to their fate if there's a chance they can help them.

Whether they'll get the chance to find out more from the firebeard is a different matter, however, as Forgewise seems to be combusting. "Yes," he agrees with Colin. "This is a great opportunity to fulfil your duty to the stoneborn who remain."

Diplomacy aid Colin: 1d20 + 6 ⇒ (5) + 6 = 11

"Whether or not he will help us," Xira sighs, "should probably be beside the point." She directs a scowl at the toes of her boots. "And Brimble's right, I should certainly amend my assumption of the dwarves are gone to the dwarves appear to be gone from Thurznchakh. An honest point to start from, anyway."

Sense motive DC 15: 1d20 + 7 ⇒ (9) + 7 = 16

"It should be irrelevant," Phantrel replies, "but whether it is probably depends on whether not helping means hindering us. I think he'll let us go on our way fine, but will he let us do that should we find the weapons we are looking for, for instance? I'm sure you've noticed that he changes the subject or doesn't answer when certain topics are raised. I can't honestly tell but to some extent I don't suppose it matters whether he does or does not truly knows whether the dwarves have gone."

He looks in the direction of the departed Brimble. "He may also be right, we don't know what happened to the dwarves in general. It's also not something that I think really matters either, that's a question for historians or philosophers or officials. We - at least as far as I'm concerned - are interested in what happened to them here and how this knowledge may help us to get out of here and prepare for what may lie ahead."

It's a practical viewpoint but to the half-elf the focus should be on staying alive and their escape from Thurznchakh. He is also, when it comes down to it, just a lot less interested in what became of the dwarves, here and elsewhere, than the rest of the group appear to be. To Phantrel, if they went back to the stone they were hewn from one way or another, well that is just the way of all things in the great cycle. All things are born, all things die, and nature remains the constant. It is what you do with your life, how you spend the time allotted that is what truly matters.

He feels likewise about their works. While they are undeniably impressive, they are not really to his simpler tastes. The dwarven city may be a feat of incredible engineering but is it really more beautiful, more complex, more worthy of awe than a single leaf? Phantrel thinks not, though he keeps his opinions on the matter to himself as he recognises that might be a view that he alone shares.

Rolling a diplomacy check in case Em does want to take a look at the book. It wouldn't occur to Phantrel to ask.

Diplomacy: 1d20 + 6 ⇒ (16) + 6 = 22

SM DC 5: 1d20 + 7 ⇒ (11) + 7 = 18
SM DC 10: 1d20 + 7 ⇒ (4) + 7 = 11
SM DC 15: 1d20 + 7 ⇒ (20) + 7 = 27

Puffing out his cheeks, Phantrel meets Argatha’s eye. From the look on the young man’s face, the half-elf is not the only who seems convinced that their host has been alone a long, long time. Decades? he wonders. Centuries? Regardless, it is clear to Phantrel that Forgewise’s grasp of reality is somewhat strained. Where his answers to this point had been fairly straightforward, the firebeard is trying, and failing, to deflect and dissemble the questions about the whereabouts of both weapons and their long-departed makers. What he is less sure of is whether the celedon is genuinely unaware that the dwarves vanished many years ago or if he is in denial, perhaps as Xira says because it would directly contradict his fundamental tenets.

He's torn about what the right course of action is, so before things move in one direction or another without forethought, he quickly calls the others to attention in Taldane. ”I doubt it has escaped your notice that our friend is being evasive regarding the stoneborn,” he says in a hushed voice. ”Maybe he doesn’t know what happened, maybe he’s pretending that whatever it was didn’t happen at all. Perhaps it doesn’t matter. What does matter is whether, or what, we tell him.” He looks to Brimble. ”Ordinarily, I would always prefer the truth, though that isn’t always a truth stripped bare like a tree in winter. How he may react, indeed whether he even believes us, I would judge to be pretty uncertain. Xira raises a good point on that count,” Phantrel shoots her an appreciative nod.

”However, skirting around it could potentially be risky too. I don’t believe this to be a test,” he clarifies, ”but I’m not sure it would be looked kindly upon to be caught out in a falsehood. That said, there can sometimes be a kindness in omission. My questions would be what do we stand to gain – or lose – from either course? Which way will help us get the answers we seek, balanced against which is the kinder for our host? Thus far he has been helpful, if not helpful enough to direct us an armoury. On which note,” he adds, ”the weapons Thunder-follows-Lightning has been sensing are in a different direction, so I assume they may be close by. They are now pretty much the directly opposite way to the shrine.” After a second he says, ”That was the case since we’ve been here, before he took the sword,” to pre-empt any potential questions about whether Forgewise had tampered with the blade in order to misdirect them.

After the firebeard finishes making its adjustments to Thunder-follows-Lightning, Phantrel receives the sword back graciously from its rather ostentatious presentation. ”My thanks, Master Forgewise. I only hope that I can do it some measure of justice while it is in my keeping.” He makes a show of inspecting Forgewise’s handiwork. ”Most impressive,” he says. He may not know much of swords, but the fresh gleam of the blade does not need an expert eye to know that it is a fine piece of workmanship. Indeed, Phantrel knows all too well that there is rather more to the sword than meets the eye. He re-sheathes it in Em’s hand-stitched scabbard.

Noting Argatha’s question, he asks nods at the young man in recognition before asking, ”We are somewhat poorly equipped for navigating the rest of Thurznchakh. Do you know of a place where we might fight tools or weapons that we might borrow until we return to the surface? We will obviously treat them with the respect due to the works of the stoneborn.” He considers for a second, before adding, ”We are not looking for trouble but should we run into the thief’s companions, blades would also be useful to dispense further justice should Altynbekh be elsewhere.”

Thanks for keeping everything moving, much appreciated.

Earlier
Who would have thought it, me and Lord Highcliff were very different people? Phantrel thinks to himself, smiling. The comment about “low-caste labourers” removes it quickly enough, however. That bore an arrogance of a slightly different sort to that which the sword’s not inconsiderate ego had demonstrated up to this point. The half-elf would lay a handful of rare orchid seeds that Thunder-follows-Lightning had picked view that up from their deceased employer, though he knows nothing of how the dwarves organised their society, whether it was rigidly structured or more egalitarian. For now he says nothing though. The sword had taken his words rather better than he had anticipated and was giving them some thought. Nor was it wrong that they had other more urgent matters to attend to.

* * * * *

Present
At the mention of the “Courageous”, Phantrel glances to the sword-cane belted to his hip. This is probably what Forgewise was referring to, and if not it seemed like a good way of bringing up Thunder-follows-Lightning anyway as it would be an honest mistake.

”I take it by the Courageous you were referring to this weapon?” He glances at the divine servant's face for confirmation, before taking the sword from his hip and removes it from its newly-fashioned scabbard, laying it carefully down so the firebeard can inspect it should he wish to do so. ”We chanced across it and I have been carrying it until we can discern where it belongs. Such a fine weapon should not be left abandoned but instead should return to its rightful hearth.”

"And appreciating beauty and artistry is not the same as being covetous about such things," Phantrel adds gently. "None of us know what happened to the dwarves and given the contradictory nature of many of the stories and rumours, they can't all be true." Implicit in his words is that presumably Thunder-follows-Lightning does know what happened to them and perhaps at some point in the future may share what it knows.

Phantrel mentally chides himself for not having corrected the record. My apologies, he says, biting his tongue for the moment, at least until he gets the information he is hoping for. He suspects that Thunder-follows-Lightning is not going to be particularly happy about what else he has to say.

”Raka,” he says quietly. ”I appreciate this isn’t the ideal time but I meant to say this last night. Those stories about dwarves and their lust for gold? They aren’t true. Thunder-follows-Lightning feels strongly that I mention this and I can only apologise for my oversight at the time.”

The sword is quiet for a while but does then speak up. To Phantrel’s mind the words are somewhat grudging but they are undoubtedly useful.

”I have some advice about how we might approach the servant of Torag,” he says to the group in a hushed voice. ”Thunder-follows-Lightning does not believe it would attack without just cause so let’s try not to give it one.” His mouth quirks up in a slight smile. ”I’m not sure if that should be our first course of action but it is on the table at least. And I think we should still try and avoid the metal walker,” he adds.

He does not voice his concerns that they are placing an awful lot of trust in the sword’s information and beliefs. In this instance it would almost certainly mean putting his life in the hands of blade. That has been true the entire time, however, and so far Thunder-follows-Lightning has not led them astray. Phantrel is fairly confident that at least some of the others will also have the same concerns, but from a diplomatic perspective it may be easier if someone other than him voices them. Although he didn’t do a great job of refuting the previous besmirching of the good name of the dwarves, and that is certainly a sore point for the sword.

Speaking of which, while it may have been something of an oversight on his part not to tell Raka, Phantrel hadn’t been particularly minded to either. Generally he prefers to smooth things over and keep everybody happy, at least as far as he can, his attempts to be polite with the sword seem to achieved little so he feels that now he has the information he was after, it is time for the sword to hear a few home truths.

"Incidentally,” he begins, "I don’t disbelieve you about the stoneborn. You know far more than the rest of us combined and have first-hand knowledge of them. I have no reason to doubt you. But what you take for granted is a mystery to almost everybody else. Nobody knows what happened to the dwarves. Very few people know anything about them and so they remain a source of fascination. I am no expert but what scholars and archaeologists may have learned, I imagine is still probably based on piecing things together and conjecture. Everything we have seen in the course of the past day," he makes a small gesture with his hand to signal their location, "is likely far more than all but a handful of people have seen. Lord Highcliff – Auric – is probably an outlier in what he knew and I would imagine that much of what he knew of the stoneborn he learned from you." A little flattery can’t hurt, he supposes, before continuing.

"However foolish or misguided you may believe Raka’s beliefs to be, such stories are not uncommon. When people know nothing, they fill the void. The heavy use of gold and other precious metals, whether for practical purposes or otherwise, it is not difficult to see how somebody comes to the conclusion that the stoneborn liked them. Stories get told and retold and twist over the years. Again, it is not much of a leap to turn this into a tale of hubris leading to their downfall. Such tales are probably as old as all peoples, the stoneborn included. You may know otherwise but I reiterate, few people know anything about them. What you would consider to have the obvious ring of truth or be complete nonsense is nothing of the sort to almost everybody else."

Diplomacy: 1d20 + 6 ⇒ (20) + 6 = 26 There's the natural 20 that's been eluding me!

Phantrel pauses, weighing up whether to say what he would like to even though he knows Thunder-follows-Lightning is unlikely to take too kindly to the words. But his patience has been tested and respect cuts both ways. "I, too, am largely ignorant of the truth of these matters. While I appreciate the guidance and the knowledge you have imparted, I do not particularly enjoy being spoken to in that manner." He keeps his tone firmly neutral. "I have been polite and respectful and have not always been greeted with the same. Screaming and shouting, periods of sullenness, “instructing” me rather than asking: perhaps it is you that has been around humans for too long. These are not qualities that I would have associated with the stoneborn from the little I have heard." He finishes, unsure if the sword is going to berate him or fall silent again, but given his attempts at diplomacy have so far not gone well, he prepares for the worst.

"I think all of our options carry an element of risk, probably a sizeable one. If we could find another route - quietly - I think that would be my preferred option. But I don't know how feasible that is, when opening doors is noisy and we may find ourselves trapped in a dead end." Phantrel looks to Argatha. "Your courage is commendable and I think there is something to be said for trying to approach as friends rather than being caught and perceived as invaders."

He looks curiously at Em. The young woman has a plan but as he tries to parse her words, the half-elf isn't quite sure what she's intending. She's trying to flatter its ego, that much he grasps, and he can't argue with that. Thunder-follows-Lightning is also a weapon while Phantrel is obviously no swordsman, an odd couple come together by chance and circumstance rather than design on the part of either. But he's not quite sure what she's trying to propose.

Phantrel engages himself mentally and speaks to the sword. He prays to the Green that the sword is more amenable than it has been since they rested.

Belatedly realised that now I have memorised guidance after resting I should cast it so I'm doing that.
Diplomacy: 1d20 + 7 ⇒ (2) + 7 = 9 HAHAHAHA for the love of...

If we were to speak to this divine servant, do you think it would hear us out? he asks. I assume that an automaton would simply follows its instructions and would likely attack. He carefully formulates his next words. If it were me acting as our representative, would bearing a weapon clearly of the stoneborn be a boon or a hinderance? Bluntly, would I be perceived as on some level worthy to hold such a blade, or presumed to be a thief? I won't ask you to intervene on my behalf but you have seen inside my heart so I'll leave that in your gift.