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Unable to reach the were bat whilst it is on the outcrop of rocks, Skilgannon holds the strange yellow-wood Spear in one hand whilst draeing forth the Javelin and taking a step forwards. With a roar, the Gladiator hurls the Javelin at the corrupted creature. for Unfortunately, his anger spoils the shot as it clatters off the rock. He then grips his spear and readies for the bat-creature's charge. for
"The Warriors tell us the beast is their friend who has been changed." Skilgannon states flatly, clearly uncaring. Seeing the headless warrior in faded res, the Gladiator lets his sacred rage flow through him with an almighty roar, echoing through the cavern. Kicking off into a run, Skilgannon draws his Longspear and charges across the cavern, stabbing out at red. for
Grabbing the rope, Skilgannon hauls on it to help the less physically trained agents to clamber up the side of the cliff before donning his armour once more and cleaning the gore from his Javelin. The Gladiator turns to Ryan and chuckles. "These wooden sticks work better than I expected. Sure you don't want one?"
As he looks at the cave mouth, Skilgannon frowns as they are attacked by the moving heads. Drawing forth his borrowed longspear, the gladiator thrusts at the cyan tinted skull should it still stand, else he steps forwards and stabs at the one with a purple flame for eyes. "Floating skulls? How cliche." he sighs, not feeling his foe is worth his holy rage. for attack of opportunity if they come close: for
Smiling wryly at Fola and patting Zephyr on the shoulder with knowing grin, "Your tale worked wonders friend, maybe you should consider a different vocation." he laughs, hoping to tease his kin as he winks at Fola. Skilgannon takes the chance to doff his backpack and stretch as the look around the village, his muscled skin becoming tanned under the rays of the harsh Mwangi sun. Keeping his mask on his hip, the Gladiator decides to spin no more tales and leave Zephyr to his fate with the Ekujae speaker. His father had spoken about his time with a similar clan but not extensively and it was interesting to see how his people lived in the wilds. When before the elders, Skilgannon bows low and recites the proper greeting in elvish, remembering that at least from his father's stories. Listening to the speech he nods as others accept the task. "Sharrowsmith's debt has been passed to us should it seem within out power and this evil of which you speak seems indeed to be within out grasp to accomplish. I swear it upon my honour as a warrior of the sands." he says gravely, "and on my Father's love for his kin." Seeing Polanco take the Terbutje, Skilgannon takes the great club and longspear, asking permission to leave his glaive here for the time being. Once they are ready to leave, Skilgannon removes his leather and ritually cleanses and oils his body before donning his breastplate, metal greaves and gauntlets of his trade and affixing his mask.
Taking a deep breath and slowly exhaling, Skilgannon feels his sacred rage leave him, with the usual draining feeling it leaves behind. Breathing heavily whilst the others search the bodies he rolls his shoulders to release much of the tension that had built up. Turning to the Elves and removing his War-Mask he nods and draws forth his Ivory wand and hands it to the historian. "I have no need of it, but if you would heal our new friends?" he asks the man.
Feeling fine despite the heat, Skilgannon starts as his companions rush off into the surrounding jungle. Rushing forwards with Ranseur drawn, the Gladiator makes use of the easier range of movement afforded by his leather armour by moving at a blinding pace. In the centre of the clearing he points his Ranseur at the Agent in red and narrows his eyes. "I would back off now..."
Spying the quicksand before him just as the Dwarf calls out, Skilgannon swiftly pulls his feet back as he release the catch on his wicked Ranseur, bringing it to bear. Focusing the righteous anger of Gorum, Skilgannon can feel his muscles bulge and his fighting spirit heighten. Swinging quickly, he aims to cut the closest Sturge in half. for for
"I am not sure I trust a blind druid. Did you not just see me purchase leather and place my armour in my pack? I hope your Jungle sense is better than your eyes." Skilgannon snorts, taking off at pace, his long legs and powerful stride easily eating the miles now he was free of the restriction of his normal armour. As they march, the heat beats down on their group and Skilgannon finds himself swatting insects as much as often as low hanging branches. Making sure to use the Insect repellent purchased from Aya each morning, he feels confident.
Skilgannon noda in agreement with Ryan. For all the man's whining he had a good head on him and obviously a soldier's instincts. With his purchases done, he dona his new armour and shrugs on his pack, breastplate and Ranseur secured to it. "Aye, let us be off. At 100 miles we will need to march if we are going to get anywhere fast. A scholar's stroll will get us nowhere!" he states seriously, waiting for the rest to be ready.
Agreeing to the Druid's price as it seems fair, Skilgannon takes five gold coins and adds it to the groups purse, happy to pay his fair share. Without many funds left, the Gladiator decides to keep his current armament. Debating on it, he decides to get his gauntlets and sandals reinforced with thick leather, as well has getting a light moulded leather breastplate, with matching reinforced skirt. The idea of him marching for weeks in the jungle in his steel plate filled him with dread. "I am ready whenever Master Druid. I will make it my duty to keep you from harm as long as I am able." he says solemnly, holding out his arm for the druid should he wish, though taking no offence if it is avoided.
Heading into the Market place with the others, Skilgannon uses his hard stare and large physique to scare off the charlatans before the group are able to settle on three of the better candidates. Whilst all three had merits, having a guide that knew of their quarry was a great asset, especially when they had protections against poison and disease. "Agree, Mitarat seems to be a good choice, but please scrutinise more."
"I have some Acid with me, that usually melts them." Skilgannon replies to the Historian as they consider their options for Jungle travel. The gladiator was certain he was as prepared as he could be for the quest ahead, as long as he did not sink in sand or was torn apart by angry tribal elves. "Well, we come to the point where talking will achieve little more here and actions will have to speak for us." Skilgannon states, buckling on his breastplate and gauntlets whilst grabbing his pack. "Aya, which Guide do you suggest?"
"The humidity also brings biting insects and long travels as it saps your strength." Skilgannon informs, knowing little about jungles but having studied on the way over here. The Gladiator takes the elf's chalk-like solution with a nod of gratitude and places it in his belt pouch with his Anti-toxin. Considering it, he reaches into his pouch and purchases the insect repellent from Aya, placing the jar in his pack for later application. "My clothes are light as you can see, but armour can be a burden. Am I able to purchase scrolls to protect against the intense heat from your store? Or from a local sage?" he asks, writing out a promissory note from the Grand Lodge to cover the expense.
Joining the companions in the heat of the Mwangi is a tall, heavily built half-elf with sun-kissed skin and copper coloured hair tied into a warrior's braid. Due to the heat, his Breastplate is tied to his backpack and the Gladiator of Tymon wears a simple war skirt of leather strips and his high armoured sandals, a thin linen tunic protecting his skin from the unforgiving heat of the Jungle sun. A wicked Ranseur is strapped to his back with a silvered flail on one hip, the other hip having a simple polished steel mask strapped to his belt, engraved with the symbol of a mountain with a sword plunged into it. Gratefully stepping into the cooler office and dropping his pack into a corner Skilgannon takes a drink of water from his skin, frowning at how warm it is. "Greetings, I am Skilgannon of Tymon. As that suggests I am a trained Gladiator and a devotee of the Lord in iron." he introduces, his voice deep and powerful. "In battle I allow the rage of Gorum to flow through me. I do have some skill in hunting and surviving in the wilds, yet I am no expert."
Blood cooling as the Bird is eviscerated by his vicious swing, Skilgannon spins to set his sights upon the rogue greycloak before realising his allies had already taken her down. Taking a deep breath to calm his anger and shaking his head to clear his mind, the Gladiator looks around. "Well done my friends! It seems I saw red on that, glad we have our prize and can be on our way. Let us get this traitor to the Greycloaks shall we?" he says glad that they had completed their mission. With the brief interrogation at the watch house passing by in a blur, Skilgannon retires to the bar for a well deserved drink, inviting his allies to join him in celebrations!
Skilgannon's eyes widen in appreciation behind his mask as Tatiana rummages through the seemingly chaotic wiring and is able to render the fire traps inert. Then, joining the others in ransacking the Greycloak's stash they smile slightly. Realising the half-plate to be no good to them, they take the cure potion and offer their pack for the religious icons should they need to be carried. "Most impressive friend! Quite the haul here indeed! Now, we have evidence of the Pure Legion's fall from grace but not of her crimes in Absalom. Where next?"
Shaking his head at the number of petty criminals running amok in the this 'Ascendant Court', SKilgannon wonders if the Absalom judiciary just aren't harsh enough to face the realities of this pit of a city. With the threat of being torn apart by exotic beasts in warm up performances for the true sport of Gladiatorial combat, Tymon saw very few small time crooks. "I have a feeling those sisters would have preferred to be arrested. That or Torch has taken them for recruitment." he states as the thugs lead the sisters away. Shrugging, he follows Tatiana and the others to the indicated Warehouse and gives it a suspicious eye, his hand going to his back to unbuckle the wicked Ranseur attached there. Feeling better with it in hand, he keeps his eyes peeled.
Seeing his companions have this under control, Skilgannon spins in his seat to observe their cart and ensure no-one is trying to use this as a distraction to pilfer their goods. H cares little for the sister's plight, knowing that in Gorum's world only the strong and truly brae survive. "Tidy work! Can we move on now?"
Skilgannon listens to the preparations and nods, checking the sap he purchased earlier is still on his belt and cinching his Ranseur to his back, unwilling to kill their source of information here. On the note of magical protections he shakes his head. "Your way is your own, but to negate my foe's strategy makes my fight less interesting and I will choose to face them with my own merits." he replies deciding to enjoy the bathhouse for a time to soak his muscles whilst they still have time till the drop.
Following the hired thug into Torch's personal bath chamber Skilgannon immediately feels over dressed in his armour due to the steam. Listening to Torch's report he nods after his allies breakdown of the situation for the mysterious 'benefactor' of the society. "It is as they say. Now we have shared, and you state you have intelligence of relevance. We have wasted some time here already if you don't mind?" he asks testily due to the cloying heat.
Placing a heavy hand on Bernaol's shoulder, SKilgannon leans down to the small man and merely shakes his head. "We know you were involved of the sale of an artefact stolen from one of our friends." he begins darkly as he digs his hands into Bernal's shoulder. "Now, what do you know about the gang that set upon him?"
Frustrated by the searching, Skilgannon is glad to receive a missive ot the bathhouse, eager to soothe his aching muscles from all of the walking. Seeing the bedraggled man hop out he is puzzled, before hearing the name and bursting into action. Shaking his head at the guards, the gladiator immediately dashes forwards and goes for one of the windows to the bathhouse.
Getting his Ransuer stuck, he tries again, this time hurling the spear through the glass first.
Keeping up the bodyguard facade, for it had served him well before and gladiator had to admit that he did look the part. Nodding at the merchant and eyeing up the relics on the stall he shakes his head slightly. How the gullible falls for such obvious ploys is beyond me... he thinks inwardly. Away from the merchant he shrugs. "I have little intimate knowledge of Absalom or its denizens. Though we have not come across Runewulf and none of our recent leads have mentioned him. Mayhaps he knows more than he says."
Thanking the man, Skilgannon indicates the rooftop where he stated the sniper was positioned in the attack. "I shall have a look up there, I will be back shortly." he says, heading over to the ladder and stowing his wicked Ranseur. Easily making the climb, the Gladiator peers at the roof space before stepping over and then gives the place a thorough search.
Thanking the barstaff for the information, Skilgannon tries to peer over the heads of the crowd, interested in seeing the kind of person willing to tackle the Starstone test and ascend to godhood. Shrugging he moves around the tradesman's entrance and ducks through the entrance, giving the man a smile. "Our apologies, we have been instructed to speak with Friar Horace, and as your Bar is doing well, we were directed to the tradesman's entrance." he replies, enjoying Durland's straightforward approach.
Skilgannon listens to the Halfling intently, frowning at the mention of the female Graycloak and thinking out loud. "Perhaps the same person that hired those thugs in the alley." Seeing nothing more to be gained her he thanks the Gnome and promises to visit if he is in need of more alchemical supplies. "I agree, the second attack site, we may as well follow this in order. Our shopkeeper states they have seen no more Gray cloaks since the incident which suggests Runewulf has not been here."
Skilgannon helps hoist the prisoners and drags them to the nearest Greycloaks, despositing them with a brief account, declaring they are on business alongside the greycloaks and would file reports later. "I suggest the witness first," he offers as they deliberate their next step. "It makes sense to begin at the first robbery."
Skilgannon scowls at the cowardly display from one of the thugs and rolls his eyes at the tale from the other. "A job doing what? Be glad we are not in my city, criminals like you would end up being torn apart by exotic beasts as a warm up for the crowds." he snarls, his face alight with anger. "I find no use from you and so prison is the place for you."
Hearing Tatiana's deciphering of the book, Skilgannon frowns. "The Pure Legion? From Rahadoum?"
Helping strip the thugs of potential weapons, Skilgannong is careful around the coated crossbow, moving it with the butt of his spear. Kneeling, the Gladiator then ties up the Leader of the gang in preparation of capturing them. "Anyone know what the book states? I don't read the dialect I'm afraid." he comments.
Skilgannon rolls his eyes and goes to step out of the room, turning to Durland with a nod. "It was a clever deception, it was all in how the corners were thumbed. I don't doubt he has a head start on us, but he will also be obvious." Turning to the desk clerk, he adds. "I just hope your investigations are for the good of all..." Dashing out of the guard post, the towering Gladiator peers around to try and see a hint of where the Commander had gone. "Tatania my friend, you seem to know this Market, can you lead us to the places of our witnesses?"
Skilgannon flicks through the reports, and then places them down before flicking through them backwards and eyeing the corners of the pages, as if looking for something. After a few moments, he peers at the pencil pusher and narrows his eyes. "You are aware this evidence has been tampered with? By yourself, or another perhaps?" he growls softly, not wishing to raise too much of a scene by shouting. "Who is working on this case?"
As the Commander steps in, Skilgannon immediately finds himself taking the measure of the man, fairly impressed by his commanding presence and his obvious confidence. Taking a liking to the stern man, even if their own beliefs do not match, Skilgannon nods and offers his hand if the man will take it. Unperturbed either way, he adds to the groups statements. "Aye, whilst our investigations look into your crimes, we wish to work alongside you and do not seek lawlessness in your courts. Do you have any leads we could follow up? We will of course share what we find to help your own investigations"
Skilgannon nods at the Master of Scroll's somewhat surprisingly helpful answer, masking his surprise by focusing on Maulaxe's knowledge of their hunting grounds. Unsure on the Gods Market purpose in Absalom, the outsider waits for the others to inform him. "Ahh the law enforcers. Who funds them then if they do not follow a church?"
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