Song of Chiroptera's page

Glad you're both ok. Take you're time, we'll be here.

I'll try and get a post in today as well. Bacarov doesn't have anything which which to hit the swarm, so he will most likely call for a retreat.

What if I let you borrow the bow from time to time? One must not retrain the urge to do one's empryeal lord's calling.

You can have it every other Tuesday and holidays.

HP Rolls...

Level 1 = 10
Level 2: 1d10 ⇒ 10
Level 3: 1d10 ⇒ 10
Level 4: 1d10 ⇒ 1 5
Level 5: 1d10 ⇒ 2 5
Level 6: 1d10 ⇒ 5

45+CON

Not terrible I suppose...

Heh heh, loopholes. That's where I put my arrow...I mean arrows!

Nice, Vidar! I just updated my character with that possibility!

$ is a good motivation for this guy. Cash & Honor

DM Devon, would a +3 bow and no pants be out of the question? ;)

I'll get to work on his write up. Probably get done tomorrow.

Hey there DM Devon, it's Artemis from the Kassen game. I wouldn't mind throwing my hat into the ring. I'm thinking of keeping it simple. Perhaps either a mercenary looking to sell his services to Fort Rannick or perhaps one of the surviving rangers. (You're moving into book 3 right?)

Brief concept would be a straight up Fighter focusing his feats on archery. Half-orc.

Personality-wise, he'd be a mix of Hawkeye (I like Renner's take) put of the fight while focused and merciless in the fight. He'd be in for the chaotic banter and cynicism, especially if I go with the mercenary angle. Perhaps there's an "idealistic remnant" within him seeking to join the Ode of the Black Arrow?

Is the start up build info at the top of the recruitment thread? Should I be at 6th or 7th level? What sort of coin am I playing with for equipment?

If the basic concept works, let me know and I'll write him up.

Of course it's in the obvious place! *hangs head in shame*

Thanks guys!

This might be a rookie question, but I've tried searching for the calculation of the Gift of Madness DC and been unsuccessful.

How is it determined? Is it 10 + lvl + Cha modifier?

Gotta take advantage when the juices are flowing!

Hey, Mohktar has ancestry there but he doesn't speak the language. ;) Hells, had I not given him a higher diplomacy for social engagements, I was even going with him having the monk vow of silence. But it doesn't work too well in PbP. I'm having him coming off the vow recently after observing a time period serving in the Absalom monestary.

Ok, here's my first pass on my Monk. Just making sure the selections look good. I've still got some regular gear to buy. ..

As far as backgroud, Mohktar is named after his grandfather, a native of the Isle. Over the next generations his family found themselves in service to the monastery in Absalom. Over the years Mohktar has been influenced by the various disciples of Irori who called the City home at one point or another. But his heritage and his name calls him home to the Isle. To learn why his father loved the place so, and to make pilgrimage to the home of Irori, Mohktar sets sail southward.

Just a beginning, I'll finalize in the next day or so...

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@Niles: Did you pass thru Absalom? Is that where we want to have met? The connection is easy enough with a shared Vudran ancestry, but I wanted to flesh out a few details on the introduction.

I can build him a bit tanky, sure. But like the boss said, battles will be tough too. But nothing I'm sure solid coordination can't solve.

Sorry, Boss, missed adding the link and my phone auto corrected the term. It's the Latent Psion.

Niles: I don't mind picking up the life debt. I'm leaning towards the monk and he'll be LN and honorable, so he won't be abusing the connection. He's a strict adherent to Irori and (as I'm shaping his back story) traveling to the Isle of Jalmeray on pilgrimage and to honor his grandfather who was born there. (Hence the Latent Psion trait) What do you think?

I'm curious too. How's the group fixed for healers? I can go wit the pally so we have offense and healing, plus his design has decent diplomacy. Otherwise I'll go with the monk because he'll dish out some better damage. My character concept (personality and background) can fit either class.

plus, I'm looking the Indian vibe. Now I'm getting a better image in mind.

Mr Fang, any objections to picking up the Last Psion trait for vudra? Tossing it around as part of the pc's ancestry.

Hal here...

I've got two cooking up in Hero Lab
》Paladin of Irori, specializing in the Temple Sword
》Monk of Irori

Both called by the monastery in Absalom to travel to the Isle of Jalmeray with the mission to uncover a rotting evil and lend an outside perspective.

More to come...

Not sure if this is still running or not, but good luck to the hopefuls. I am regretfully dropping out as I've been picked up on another campaign. Good luck, guys and gals!

Corbould Portos, out.

Hope the GM is ok. He's not posted since Sunday.

That is an intimidating number...but what a cast!

Question to GM and all: For my monk character; I'd like to get my hands on the more exotic weapons (like the double chain kama | nine-ringed sword) but concerned that it would be out of place or just not available in Westcrown. For my background going for training in Absalom, could it be I acquired such weapons there? Or could I get creative and have a Cheliax version of said weapons?

Thanks for the list, Dax. Super awesome. I'm definitely looking forward to the results. Good luck everyone!

Just reaffirming my interest and verifying if I need to add anything to his concept. Thanks!
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I like the look and feel so far, so Mr. Budd has my interest. So much so that I'm brushing up on my Magnimar districts so I can flesh out my Legate Bacarov.

As to that, with him being a detective type, I was writing up a scene and had him investigating a corpse. For the anatomy portion and/or identifying wounds, would you consider that a Heal Check? Or another skill? I want to make sure his stats lineup with mmy the fluff I'm writing.

Thanks again!

So my idea is for a detective archetype for the Bard. A person who works with the city watch researching crimes and developing profiles. I've geared his spell selection and skill set in that direction. He's currently working on a case with similar traits as the one involving the missing tax collector. Certain officials heading outside of the city coming up missing. But in the other cases those investigations involved properties owned by various nobility in the city. This is different, but may benefit from his expertise.

Let me know if this idea appeals to you, and I'll start fleshing out his background further and developing contacts and perhaps cover one of his cases.

Dotting for interest. The theme and nature of game play described sounds great. I'll cogitate on a bard-type, maybe a brawler/fighter detached to escort the investigator(s) sent to the village...

How many days before you make your decision?

@Shadow of Westcown - I just know what's in the player's guide at this point. The blurb on how monks might find themselves in Westcrown was intriguing, and the Exile campaign trait appealed the most to what I had in mind for the pc. Why? What sort of bed am I making for poor Corbould?

If things look good so far, I'll flesh out the two or three contacts I mentioned in the write up and maybe clean up a few things in the piece. (I wrote it pretty late, heh)

Also, forgot to include my first pass on stats...

Here's my submission - fluff first as it were.

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Let me know what you think.

Any chance that with that level of gold we're okay to purchase masterwork and/or special material items?

Interested in this one for sure. Contemplating a LE Monk or perhaps a Brawler... I'll think on it and start cracking.

Thanks for the in depth GM guidelines post.

I'm about 70% of the way there with regards to crunch, 25% on the History/Personality. If you have time, let me know what you think so far. I'll keep cracking...

Okay, here's the hp rolls for my Investigator, Marcum Xavier Allbridge...

9 Levels of HP: 9d8 + 9 ⇒ (3, 8, 8, 8, 3, 5, 2, 5, 7) + 9 = 58 Con 12

...ok, not too shabby. It'll take more than a strong wind to kill him. That's a bonus!

Cracking the crunch manually, didn't realize how pampered I was with HeroLab... no ACG add-on yet.

But I'll focus on his personality first.

Quick question, shall we roll HP for those levels or do you have something in mind tbd if we get selected?

Thinking of an Investigator for this one. Someone who's been involved with solving criminal enterprises ranging from the mundane to cultist activity in Absalom. Then the news of this island reaches his ears not more than a few weeks after investigating a blood cult from Osirion...

Don't know, still working on the theory and background. I've only heard vague tales of woe regarding the Tomb of Horrors, and your direction sounds awesome.

I'll set to work tomorrow on a back story and build.

Checking in if there's still room in the recruitment for one more... I've been running in a couple of long term campaigns and am running one of my own. I'm really interested in an RP heavy take on the AP, so I'd like to toss my hat in the ring.

The basic concept is a Barbarian (Sea Reaver), an Ulfen from the north with war in his heart and piracy in his veins. He's a character I've had around for awhile and would like to develop.

Here are the concept notes, let me know if he works and I'll put together the crunch:

Hit me too under an alias. What an underhanded way to hit up for advertising.

Will do. I was actually get to go some material put together for this over the Friday holiday.

"Merfolk, you say?" Tabir leaps to one of the other laboratory tables and begins looking inside ceramic jars with beeswax stoppers and even a porcelain bowl where he splashes some water about. "None of those jellyfish chasing squid heads here..."

"Master," Fir'umil says, trying his best to not be frustrated by the eccentricities of the powerful archmage. The elven spellslinger grips his staff and takes a breath that barely stops short of another of his coughing fits. "They are part of the story, not actually here."

Tabir blows out his mustaches and crosses his arms. "Of course they aren't. I was seeing if you knew they were here. A lesson for all of you, no merfolk or gillmen allowed in my lab!"

The room grows quiet, the sounds of strange mechanics whirring and hissing about the room to go along with the boiling and bubbling. Then the rumbling of a stomach.

"My apololgies," the Chaplain-Protector holds a hand to her midsection and rose touches her porcelain cheeks. "I've not eaten in a while and the aroma..."

For the first time since having to corner the little Gib-Gib the rest of the group notices the intoxicating aroma of baking pastries and grilled meats that permeates the lab. Tabir just grins under the whites and grays of his facial hair. "I cook when I'm bored," the archmage responds, a light of mischief in his eyes more at home on a precocious halfling than a wizard of his venerable age. He whirls and begins striding towards the back of the lab, giving the brace-reinforced aquarium with Gib-Gib and his brethren a tap. "Cook, cook, cook!"

Fir'umil shrugs, giving up on trying to keep Tabir on task as he follows the elder to the back of the lab. Olivia smiles a bit and follows suit along with Zandra and her tiger companion.

"So this jumped up blaggard of Ragathiel wants me to leave behind the most useful tools in Absalom so I can traipse over to a temple to look at the bodies?" Tabir passes through a set of open double doors and into a stone-walled kitchen area where a group the oddest gathering of creatures is hard at work chopping vegetables and cranking the wheel of a rotisserie.

"You have elementals running your kitchen?" Fir'umil mutters, eyes wide in shock.

Tabir finishes running a finger along the pig being rotated on the spit by what looks to be a fire elemental holding the shape of a rotund chef. "Of course I do! Why are their gillmen about that need killing?" the wizard queries, casting a weather eye over the kitchen. "Can't trust those water-breathing fish-heads. They don't think like us..."

Over at the chopping table across the room, an ice elemental uses humanoid hands with keen edges to chop away at assorted vegetables. The area around the elemental emits vapors of cold and the table on which it works has a thin sheen of ice.

"Come, come...eat!" He claps is hands and over in the far corner a heavy oak table thumps its way across the room and plants itself near the large stone fireplace, clattering chairs scrambling to get into place.

"Tell me of these foul demon you faced and the contraption in which it was trapped." He says and plops himself down at the head of the table. The chair underneath him trembles and protests with a slewing of the ladder back, but Tabir gives it a thumping with his wand and all arguments are terminated. He eyes the chair with a burning hatred but nods satisfaction and glares at the group. "Sit down, sit down. Let's eat and talk of your adventure on the high seas. Did I ever tell you the time I was sank off the southern coast of Mediogalti Island? That's why I don't trust ships..." He reaches to the table and grabs up a napkin to afix about his neck and drape down his front. "...and it's also why I don't eat shrimp!"

"After our meal we'll travel to this little temple of yours, Olive."

"Bah, adventures are for adventurers. I was promised bodies. The stern fellow, where is he?" Tabir slams his fist on a nearby table.

"Master, do you refer to Sacerdos? The Inquisitor of Ragathiel?" Fir'umil inquires, a look of concern at seeing the sweeping mood shifts in such a powerful wizard.

Tabir extends his arms out and interlaces his fingers to cracked all his knuckles. It's like several twigs snapping. "Where is he? Shall I go and collect him and the bodies I was promised?" He coughs into his hand and begins searching all over his person, muttering to himself. "Now where is that confounded wand...Herbert...where are you?"

The archmage's wand appears before him, bobbing in the air as the old man continues to fumble for it. Strangely enough, therei is the sound of ghostly laughter echoing faintly in the lab.

Referring to a post from several months go, looks like the agreement was to bring the comatose priests to the wizard's lab for research and a solution. I missed it too, been si long since i wrote it.

Zandra peers into the creatures prison, watching as it slips back and forth through a golden-hued ichor the consistency of a thickened tar. The things little feelers appear as adept at moving it about in the container as they did moving it along the polished stone floor of the lab.

"Create?" Tabir asks, bare feet flapping along as he took up a position next to the elven druid. He scratches at his bearded chin and taps the thick casement glass with his other hand. "By the 7 hells I didn't create little Gib-Gib! I..."

"...made him bigger." Zandra mutters in completion of the wizard's sentence. Her observation of the creature has revealed something in her experience with spells.

Tabir thrusts his index finger into the air and shouts "No!" But he quickly does the same gesture again and shouts, "Exactly!"

She can't help but grin at the old man's enthusiasm, but her eyes go back to the creature dubbed Gib-Gib. The swimming thing is like nothing she's seen in nature. On the docks of Greengold, the neutral port town serving as a connection between the outside world and Kyonin, there had been fishermen selling things call sea cucumbers, but they had different size and articulations and skin... Zandra shakes her head, no, nothing closer in proximity to anything she'd seen before.

But what had drawn her attention a moment ago were the ephemeral traces of magical workings, powerful spell weaving and control being channeled into the wormy being. Something akin to an Enlarge spell but exponentially more complex.

Over her shoulder, she feels the feverish warmth that is a constant aura surrounding her cousin. Fir'umil studies the creature for long moments before stepping back and drawing conclusions that he elects to hold for the time being.

Olivia, for her part, remains on the periphery resisting the urge to draw a weapon and end the slimy creatures unnatural existence.

"Never fear, my little olive, it's not as fearsome as you'd like it to be." Tabir whirls on the paladin as though sensing her concern. Then abruptly he claps his hands to his face and sneezes so powerfully it lifts him off his feet an inch. Settling down he slowly withdraws his hands from his face and eyes the palms and fingers in rapt fascination. "Ha ha!! Gib-Gib!!" The old man shouts and jumps for the container to jam his goobered hands into the rubberized aperture.

"Widdy and I posited there's an entire world within our world, just so small we couldn't see it." After wiggling his gnarled but dexterous fingers in the ichor sludge, he withdraws them and - dripping the substance everywhere - moves his hands to the side of the brass container and brings around an apparatus with multiple lenses. It was like a dizzying array of spectacles placed on spindly arms to be aligned in a row. "Come look, come look!" Tabir says excitedly after positioning a set of 4 lenses in alignment.

Interestingly enough, Fir'umil is first to the strange contraption and peers through the lenses in line. His eyes widen and he jerks his head back in marvel. "Like a spyglass..." he mutters, then looks again. A grin that dances the line between learned student and a devious nature plays across his thin lips. Fir steps back and waves Zandra forward.

She views through the aligned lenses and is struck by the similarity with a ship's spyglass. But this combination of lenses looks inwards versus outwards. Getting over the initial appreciation of the contraption, her vision settles on the things swimming around in the ichor. Dozens of creatures just like Gib-Gib swam about in rapid motion. It isn't until she steps back from the sight and compares the regular view of the container with the view through the lenses that she sees the tiny motes in the ichor. "Tiny Gib-Gibs..."

Tabir claps his hands together. "Tiny Gib-Gibs!! These are the things that make us sneeze!!" He stares off into space for a moment, consciousness disconnected from the room. But as quickly as he drifts away, his mind returns and he leaps into motion. On the side of the container he grabs a hose and connects it to the side of the brass machine, a polished brass and copper socket accepting the nozzle. The other end of the hose is already feeding into another brass container, this one empty.

"Watch...watch!" Tabir says gleefully. After a few moments, the ichor begins to glow, like dawnlight shining through it. Then golden ichor flows into the other container...equal in speed to the growth of the dozen or so tiny Gib-Gibs. "Ha ha, see? Can you imagine if someone drank that before they grew?"

"You'd kill the host, master!" Olivia says in horror and anger.

The wizard's thin shoulders sag and he sighs. "Precisely why Widdy and I stopped the experiment. There was a chance others could find it and use it. So I hid our notes and didn't think of it again...*AAACHHEEWWWW!*...until I sneezed..."

Something occurs to the archmage and he whips his head around to study those who'd just arrived on the lift. He counts each person, including Thor, muttering to himself. "Feedmill, Sandrawing...where is the Ragathalian? I was promised bodies."

The little oblong critter slips and slides along the floor leaving behind a viscus trail as it zigs and zags. An accompanying sound of slurping and slopping causes the gorge to rise in the back of their throats.

But the druidess is quick to respond, summoning forth an elemental of mud to lumber forward and slam itself over Tabir's fleeing creation. The elemental stands up, rudimentary arms like pillars holding its middle in a strange pantomime of a stomach ache. Bulging lumps form along its torso as the beastie attempts to escape its sludge prison.

"Ha haaaa!" Tabir shouts and dances back and forth, flipping his little crate around. "Quick thinking Zando-zan!!" The old wizard steps right up to the elemental, the summoned being looming over him as it continued to keep its enemy engulfed. "Okay, you, bring it over to my containment vessel and you can go back to the swamp dimension where you belong!"

The wizard spins on his heels, Zandra and the others noticing that he is indeed bare foot, and heads towards the middle of the laboratory and a large, heavy workbench littered with vials and alchemical devices and other unknown apparatuses. "In here, in here, place little Gib-Gib in here." He points to a riveted brass box with a cloudy window on one side and a circular opening the size of a man's arm on the top. The aperture of the opening is sealed with a rubber access flap where an arm could be pushed through and pulled out.

As for the lab itself, it's a wonder of mismatched worktables and shelves of books and strange mechanical devices that would be more at home in a gnomish workshop of the fabled Clockwork Academy.

The trio makes their way from the Ascendant Court and into the Wise Quarter, the measureless throngs of the faithful giving way to the students of various institutions of learning. They pass the Library of Kortos and its shining walls and the Learned Guard - armed men with the light of intelligence in their eyes. ”They only accept those who know their letters and in multiple languages,” Olivia offers to Zandra. ”Otherwise, how would they know the importance of what they protect?”

”The only place I’ve experienced in my travels that takes the protection of knowledge seriously.” Fir’umil puts in, his tone a bit more agitated than normal. But he takes a deep breath and it seems to set him right as he continues. ”Assuming we can gain permission, this would be an excellent place to do so research should Master Tabir’s own materials not bear fruit.”

On they go, past the Silk Castle with its endless supplies of kites and kite materials, past the low-slung bulk of a metallurgy school where a group of dwarves sat on barrels and benches out front smoking pipes and discussing the importance of a flash cooling versus a steady cool.

Soon enough, as the sun continues its climb to noonday, they arrive at the Arcanamirium. The guardsman out front, satisfied with the turtle talisman Fir’umil provides waves the group forward. ”Good midday to you, Arcanscenti.” the guard says formally. He nods respect to Olivia as well. ”Chaplain-Protector.”

The pass the solid stone bulk of the magical library with its crafted dragons and griffins standing eternal guard. The practice yards where wizard and warrior combine their might to learn new tactics in battle. Then to the main tower with its dizzying heights, the center of the magic school.

”I should think Master Beleg has had time to reopen the lab.” Fir’umil puts in, tapping his heel impatiently against his camel’s shoulder. ”Down you fool of a beast!”

Olivia swings down easily enough and leads the reins of her camel over to assist the elven wizard. ”Penelope, remember?”

”Oh how I wish the coddling of these smelly beasts of burden would end!” But the camel responds well to the paladin’s touch and lowers to her knees. Fir’umil quickly gets to the ground and gathers his bags, half expecting the camel to retaliate for his ill will towards it. ”My thanks, Chaplain-Protector,” he rasps after getting a few paces away. He coughs into his sleeve, that old sound the others had grown to know. After a few minutes of milling about, a servant arrives to see to the two camels. But the short human with well-groomed, black hair balks at handling Thorendel. Fir’umil simply shoos him off, thankful to be rid of the camels.

Up the stairs they walk, entering the titanic double-doors at the front and the immensity of the inner atrium within. Across the way, the lifts open and close then raise and lower passengers upon the lines of magic and machinery that seemed so alien to Zandra on a few short weeks prior. The magics that govern the cacophony of sound generated by student and teacher and servant dwindles to more manageable level, descend like delicate gauze over their senses. As Fir’umil had explained on their first visit, without the enchantment, the resonance of the stones used to built the structure would mean little conversation could take place.

”We can start at the middle lift, it will take us where we need to go.” Fir leads the way and awaits the doors to the lift to open. Once inside the carved turtle is used to operate the lift, the room rising this time instead of lowering to the asylum level they’d visited before. In short order the doors open and the carved turtle floats back to Fir’umil’s hand.

”AHH, YOU FOOLS, DON’T LET IT GET AWAY!!!” Shouts the reedy, old voice of Tabir the Gray. The old man, garbed in thin cotton robes of blue and gray comes bounding towards the elevator, a small crate uplifted in his hands with the opening pointed downward, white hair and beard cast all about his head like a nimbus cloud.

But something else draws the attention of the arriving four. The slimy and sloping creature to which Tabir gives noisome chase. Along the floor a foot-long oblong shape of undulating flesh and dozens of extending feelers is weaving its way rapidly towards the open doors of the elevator. To say it resembles a slug of prodigious speed would not be far from the mark, save for the feelers rapidly carrying it.

Over to you Zandra, you’ve got a 1 foot slug with myriad of feelers scrambling along the marble floor towards the lift. Effective speed is 40 ft.

Zandra studies the throngs, feeling the separate lives becoming one as they flow through the Ascendant Court. But the coweled figure of her cousin draws her eye briefly. His own attention - though he tries to hide it - is drawn to a peculiar temple whose stone bulk resides in the Northside of the Starstone Chasm. In its midst are black-robed figures moving to and fro, clerics or caretakers of some sort.

The temple itself seems to have a core structure to which other areas and rooms have been added. As though the years have given need for more and more room. More interesting is how the different styles of architecture still maintain a semblance of unity.

The siblings look to the gate and just as Fir'umil has indicated, Oliva Duneheim is walking her camel into the courtyard, a two more armored figures flanking her. The others look to be younger, perhaps paladins in training. Both defer to the Chaplain-Protector as she gives speaks to them.

From this distance, Olivia does look acutely aware and not tired from her time on patrol.

Moments later, safely ensconced in Caleb's carriage, the adventurers make their way up the dock and out on the streets of the district. Sacerdos elects to sit atop the driver's seat with Hindre in order to keep an eye on the covered wagon holding his priestly charges.

In the carriage, Karthan and Zandra and Fir and Mal find their comfort with Thor lounging upon the floor between them to take advantage of a few blankets Hindre had ensured were placed there just for the purpose.

"I will continue on to the Arcanamirium once things are settled at the temple," Fir'umil climbs into the relaxed silence between them. "I wish to confer with Masters Beleg and Tabir as soon as possible regarding our research into the glass daggers." he nods thanks to Zandra who'd been his research partner during their journey on the ship. "The information we've uncovered points to an individual or group who also knew this information and managed to create these daggers. If we take into consideration the mad cleric Lamech's actions, it could be said the daggers' purpose was to feed life energies to his deity. Our next step here would to be somehow ascertain who was doing this research and who could have create the daggers in the first place."

"Then we got this Wendell character." Mal offers. "Ain't gonna take long for word to come back to him that his brother's ship went down. Unless he knows already because of the candle or some other magic."

Food for thought for the group as the carriage and covered wagon wind there way through the streets and into the Ascendant Court. It's not long before they find themselves before the closed gates of the Iomedae Temple. Guardsmen descend upon the vehicles, inspecting them closely, but one of them recognizes the group and signals for the group to be admitted at once.

It's a stark contrast to the first time they encountered grounds what seemed like a year prior - but in fact was only two weeks. Back then, the gates had been open during the day with few if any guards placed on the constant watch. Now, things felt differently in the temple grounds. Nearly all were armed with the priests and young acolytes even carrying the longsword of their faith.

As the group disembarks, Sacerdos finds himself surrounded by a few of the younger paladins and clerics with whom he'd shared words of training and encouragement. All are willing to aid in getting the wagon unloaded. Before long, the venerable Father Aegius arrives, his face as friendly as ever and begins directing the group to see the sarcophagi to his own private chapel in order to begin the rites to free their souls of the kukri.

"I must go and prepare my soul for this endeavor," Sacerdos speaks to the group. He bows formally, fist to his chest. "My honor to have served. I will see you soon." And the Inquisitor spins with military precision to follow the group of acolytes managing his fallen comrades.

Father Aegius has a hug for Zandra and a friendly grip of the shoulder for both Karthan and Mal'undil and even a nod of respect for Fir'umil. "I believe Chaplain-Protector Duneheim is on patrol now but will be back in a few hours." Aegius says, leaning upon an ash cane and the dutiful eyes of his assistant Percival upon him, ever ready to support the aged cleric. "She will be most pleased of your safe return. Come, let's get you inside before the weather becomes something all together dreadful. I'll see to comfortable lodgings and warm meals for you all. I must beg your patience and forgiveness as I'll not be able to join you this day. My prayers and preparations for Inquisitor Sacerdos' friends must be at the center of my efforts."

"Father, if I may," Fir'umil interjects, coughing briefly into his fist and continuing. "I'd like to be on my way to the Arcanamirium immediately to make my report to my master. Could I have use of one of your camels?" The last couldn't help but elicit a subtle sneer. By now, the young wizard's dislike of riding beasts was well known in the group.

"Of course, young man. Of course." Aegius gestures to Percival. "Go on, now squire, see to Fir'umil's request...now, don't give me that look. I know my cane shall be sufficient whilst you do so. Go on, go on."

Fir'umil pauses long enough to see if others in the group would care to join, or opt to remain and rest and view the outcome of rite to restore Sacerdos' priests.

Let me know how the siblings want to go. Either way I'm prepared.

The next days finds the Lucky Slip living up to her reputation as one of the fastest ships in the region as her captain keeps all souls aboard a step ahead of the storm coming in from the west. There are few minutes where Onura cannot be found standing the wheelhouse alongside Cendrik or whomever is set to the wheel, her senses cast in all directions and her commands short and precise to keep the ship under all possible speed.

On the first evening, between a rested Sacerdos, Zandra, Fir'umil and the ship's doctor, it is determined that the Druidess' quick thinking in shifting Thor to a figurine saved the tiger's life. He is reverted back to his natural form, a thorough examination - medical and spiritual and arcane - concludes that the tiger is free of the dangerous slime mold or any spores.

A few nights of rest, gambling and research give the party a much deserved rest. And in fact, Onura makes sure that they're given just that and doesn't allow any to lift a finger in the aid of the ship's operations. The normal response always leads back to 'the captain thinks otherwise' or 'the captain frowns upon guests being sucked into service'.

On the dawn of the 3rd day, heavy clouds all around and rain beginning to dampen her sails, the Lucky Slip weaves her way through the Flotsam Graveyard and past Pilot Island and into the docks of Absalom.

"Get those planks set and get us tied off before we float into the Puddles!" Onura calls to her deckhands. She's changed her outfit, a more ritzy affair of reds and greens and thread of gold. The hilt of her rapier appears freshly polished and despite the fresh rain, the deep red feather coming from her hat is no less jaunty. "I'll have your guts in a sack for oiling the decks if my ship even kisses those docks, Mr Cendrik!"

"Aye, Captain!" But both Onura and Cendrik are wearing slight grins.

All part of a general buoying of crew morale since the battle 3 days prior. The more distance they put between the sinking of the Lydia's Wake and their stern, the better all concerned felt. The mood spurs the crew on as one being, ropes and sails and gear and pins and boot all moving to a singular rhythm Karthan and the others had learned to appreciate over the past 6 days. In a matter of a half hour, the ship is lashed tight to the dock and the gangway set and dock cranes already at work fishing the precious cargo of Ragathiel's faithful from her hold.

On the dock, Sacerdos watches intently the goings on, though he seems more at ease than is the norm. Perhaps knowing that a conclusion - for good or for ill - is in the offing of his mission.

A few deckhands are tasked with getting the adventurer's gear settled on dock underneath an overhang crafted from wood and canvas tarpaulin to keep them dry. Amazingly enough, as Karthan and Zandra and Fir'umil and Mal descend the gangway to join Sacerdos, they see Caleb's faithful assistant Hindre, grizzled visage and all awaiting them. The old man is ready with a grunted greeting to the group and quickly sets about pushing a pair of youths to the task of loading gear onto Caleb's carriage. He points to a second vehicle, a buckboard wagon with covering and drawn by a pair of camels with a dwarven coachman sitting the driver's seat, booted feet resting on the dashboard. Then Hindre crooks a crooked finger towards the first of the sarcophagus being offloaded from the ship.

"I'm estimating a visit to the Temple of Iomedae first?" Hindre inquires.

"Yes, good sir." Sacerdos answers for the group. Fir'umil looks to argue but instead nods affirmative also.

Hindre shouts to the dwarf to back the wagon into position. The dwarf blows out his moustaches and gives his dark brown beard a tug but complies.

"Best get a move on, then. We may have to spend the evening in the Ascendant Court if things take long. The coming storm may prevent clear travel through the streets." Hindre tells the group. His voice is a bit rougher than normal, and upon closer inspection it appears the old assistant may have a malady of some sort. He waves off Zandra's look of concern. "A bit of croup, that's all. I'll ask a cleric at the temple to see to it."

Soon, the sarcophaguses are rested in place on the wagon and the group's gear is properly dispersed amongst the wagon and carriage. The group stands before Onura and crew to say their farewells.

"I'll say this for you," Onura says with a grin, Jack seated on her shoulder with what is curiously a grin of his own. "You make my life interesting. I have a good report to give the Gilmen and Captain Stoneanchor with regards to our findings. I'm sure patrols will be stepped up in the area with regular reports for your people at the Temple and Master Beleg I'm sure."

Valryssa is seated atop a stack of crates, looking down on the gathering and working at her nail with a dirk. "And look me up should you decide to pursue the dead captain's brother. My services are at yours...for a good price of course."

"Of course," Onura shrugs, as if saying there's no changing the fixer's nature, and looks back to Karthan. "As for you, Dawnsetter. I recall mention of visiting the embassy to Kyonin here in the city. See to it I go along with you, I want to make sure your sails are properly leaned to the wind."

I'll pause here to see if there's anything you'd like to discuss with her or Valryssa before departing with Hindre to the Iomedae Temple.

Karthan is greeted by another salvo from the canons add they treat into the Lydia Wake.

Sacerdos is seeing to the dispensation of the caskets in the cargo hold, Fir aiding him by verifying the wards that they did not alter with the change in location.

Interestingly enough, Mal is standing starboard to catch a glimpse of the cannons add they fire.