T'larryo Aiwe's page

"...kaw?"

Meanwhile, upstairs, the evening dusk completed...

*cough*
*cough*
*wheeze*

The smell of something burning wafts in through the window of Caladwhen's study.

*cough*
a smoking ball of feathers lands crudely on Cala's table, moving notes and papers everywhere.

"*cough*, Caw! *cough* Evening, lady Aldimae..."

Lars looks around for something to dip his smoking tail feathers in, finally settling for Cala's wine - ruining a perfect glass of "The Blood", Jeggarian 4683.

"Your minion Gabriel sends his regards; he wishes to inform you that he believes Elise is completely fooled by our little ruse."

He pats his tail with his left wing, finally dousing the smoke, but he gets wine all over his feathers. " Furthermore, Gabriel plans to lead the 7th on a guided tour around the Horn tomorrow at noon. That's about all he had time to say - Elise is clinging by Gabriel's side, trying to win him over to join her cause. *grin* Failing miserably, of course."

Lars catches the deep red of the wine drops. Suddenly he looks up in shock, searching for the bottle...
"I...I...My apologies, mistress. I spilled The Blood. This is inexcusable. I just barely escaped, you see; two vicious, dark witches are approaching from the southwest, and one of them nearly took my life." with a tear in his eye, Lars carresses the bottle, and mumbles "What a waste... An excellent vintage...."

The 'dark witches' are probably Melinoe and Tisaera having a bit of sport on the way here.

"Kaw! Well now, compliments from the blackbird?! Ans here I was thinking I'd seen it all...tsk, tsk... "

Meet Caladwhen's familiar. He's not nice.

We indeed have 2 extra skill points per level.
I'm sure I have forgotten soms other minor changes but to be honest, I'm more easily impressed by character than stats.

Kaw! I guess we need a rogue. Or an assassin. Or a ranger.

"Kaw! You should've seen the look on her face, mistress! She was absolutely sure they'd be taking over your assignment within the next few days. This...This..."
It's quite obvious the familiar is about to explode from joy.
"this Trickery is so masterfully executed - so perfect...complete..."

I guess this answers the un-asked question 'do Crows every cry?', because yes, they do. At least, this one does.
Wether that has anything to do with features he retains from his previous life - before he got turned into a bird - will remain a question, but right now he's spilling his guts.

"Mistress, I...I envy you.."

Gabriel has been gone for almost a full week now.
In the afternoon of the 7th day, his party of would-be-heroes comes back.
Lars is with them - happily hopping up and down on Gabriel's saddle. You've never seen him like this before, he is the very image of barely contained joy.

Gabriel reports:

"What an interesting development this morning. We were approached by
a so-called holy man, full of talk about visions and angels and so
forth. He claimed these spirits had driven him to stop the wickedness
going on in the Horn, and to rally us to our “destiny”. Mentioned us
almost by name these angels did! I’m flattered."

"He delivered us his pitch and then gave to us an immense pile of
information including maps, names, guard counts and so much more. Really
he did everything but give us the keys to the front door."

"Of course I didn’t accept such gifts without a fair degree of
skepticism. I had Vethia trail the “Holy Man”, and our fears turned out
to be justified. She saw this angel-speaker slip into a side alley and
transform into a dark haired -and much younger- human ."

"My tracker followed the human through the streets of Farholde. She
saw the young man rendezvous with a white haired woman, a white raven on
her shoulder. The man called her “Z”."

"They didn’t say much to each other. She asked him “Well? Were they
strong enough?” and all he said was “It is done. The Ninth is finished.”
Clearly they assume to use us in a double-cross."

"Vethia is sure that the woman in white must be staying in the nearby
inn -- “The Auld Briarhall” in Auld’Irey. "

"I'd like to take the opportunity to commend my elven tracker. She
tracked a shapechanger through almost a half mile of city, managed to
eavesdrop on a private guarded conversation and reported back without
even a ripple of trouble."

"Send Gabriel back in, we need to discuss the implementation of this grand design."

"Kaw, kaw! I can't wait to see the look on that witch's pale pokerface! I just want -"

Lars flies over to where Gabriel is waiting. Quietly humming a tune, he pecks at the Elf's foot.
"Oi! She's waiting for you. You don't want to keep her waiting."

Cala, Sindran; You can give lend the party up to 10 magic items; 2 per party member. Each one will add a +2 to their disguise roll. I'll roll once I know what you plan on giving them.

panting theatrically, Lars reaches the Horn and wipes his brow with a wing. He waits until he has at least some folks' attention before complaining loudly:
"Oh dear me, I'm too old for this Lemure-turd* homing pigeon duty."
He takes a deap breath.
"AHHH it's good to be home. Oh! By the way, master Sindran; your buffoons managed to kill the dwarven smithy, before they bothered to listen to my notification. But, I am told, they will make it up to you."

--Having perfected Complacency, Lars just struts off.

Cala, can Sindran borrow Lars for a moment as a messager? Thanks, luv
Having just returned, Larry clearly balks at the prospect of flying all the way to Farholde and back again.

In a carefully rehearsed, passive-aggressive manner, he voices his discontent towards Sindran. "Oh, Don’t feel bad: Even the greatest leaders suffer from indecision. What distinguishes the best from the rest is the ability to get at the fundamental cause of their mental roadblock — and then set fire to it. Trust your gut - although in this case, perhaps you should ask Morvius to find you some that are more trustworthy."

Not waiting around for your feedback, Lars casually flies off towards Farholde.
Again.

visibly relieved that Sparky has powered down, Lars chats happily.
"Well, that's the last blocking issue taken care of - now there's nothing preventing you from starting the ritual."

Since you lot are quite INTelligent, you'll probably realize the annoying bird is right.
Except for creature comforts and defenses - both of which will often require your attention for the entire duration of your stay in the Horn - delaying much longer could very likely be interpreted as stalling or sabotaging the operation by infernal law.

There was absolutely no need for him to rub your face in it, though...

"did lightning just strike twice in the same place...? Haw! They'll never believe that back home in the Petal District"

looks at Halthus in utter disbelief.

face-wings.

"This will only get worse. I say we cut his tongue. Those in favor?"

*raises wing*

"caw - stone cold, that priest. using a mere acolyte as a human shield. tsk. tsk. tsk." shaking his head slowly in mock tut-tut-tut, Lars appears happy to have a new target he can bully.

"*gulp*"
Lars anxiously looks around, trying to find the exits to the room.

"Ice. Queen. To. See. Two. *rasp*"

"*caw* - yes Rygat; perhaps the black pawn should be sacrificed for better position? *caw,aw,caw*", the raven nods ever-so-slightly at Talon.

I just love obnoxious familiars. Can you tell?

"oooooh I find divination soooo terribly soppy. For instance :
'I pluck this lock of hair off my head
To tell whence comes the one I shall wed.
Fly, silken hair, fly all the world around
Until you reach the spot where my true love is found.'
Yich. Just Yich! *shivers* This school of magic makes me want to peck some random child's eyes out. Blerg. Ptoooei."

After either Cala or Sindran endures the blatantly inauthentic magic for an hour (success is automatic with their use magic device scores), the results are well worth the effort. I'm sure there's a crayon and a parchment, and skill available to account for this mapmaking.

con check: 1d20 - 1 ⇒ (9) - 1 = 8
"M..*rasp*..Mistress, a word *rasp*, if you please.."
Lars' wings are absolutely shot from the intense exercise.

Assuming Cala takes a moment to listen to her familiar's counsel...

"this is an outrage! do you not know who I am, cursed monstrosities!"
Lars is fleeing for his life, racing all through the caverns, until he finally settles in the far northeast corner of C8. All the while he is squawking insults at the collection of goblins that are chasing him, throwing sharp sticks, stones, unmentionable brown clots at the 'lunchy bird say-many-words'.

The raven looks down from its tree. Wide-eyed, with sincere, deep respect, he mutters: "Aglareb baelnorn...!"

More and more, Caladwhen seems getting her willful familiar under control!

Eager to regain favor with his mistress, Lars hangs around Talon's inn. As soon as he spots Talon coming back, he flies back to the baron's mansion where our villains are resting. He urgently taps Caladwhen's window: " misstress Aldimae? I have news."

":-X !!!"
After a stunned, disgruntled, baffled silence...T'larryo walks over to the window, and leaves. But not before obnoxiouly and noisily leaving droppings all over the window sill.

"Yes! Send the green man instead of me! He even blends in nicely with the trees! Besides, it won't be a big loss if he doesn't return."

"caw?!"
Lars suddenly wakes from his lazy daydream, clearly not looking forward to the prospect of having tot find and fetch the arrogant magus in the teeming wild of the caer bryr...
"er, no...?"

with obviously exaggerated enthusiasm
"oooh, cute! look, mistress! Now you don't even have to read your own books anymore! We should remember to thank the Cardinal for sending us such useful minions."
Lars tilts its head, like one would when watching a cute labrador puppy discover its tail.

*is already halfway through the guard's second eyeball, and very much not listening to his mistres*
"shhhloooorp"

Displaying his extreme disinterest in Aldencross with a huge yawn, Lars comments on the day ahead.
"caw! I'm getting aggrevated by this holier-than-thou nonsense of this rabble. I may actually prefer the company of the bugbears over these mindless drones."

The thundering, near deafening crackling of a *really close* lightning strike makes every single person in the fortress look up to the rookery in surprise.
A few dead ravens tumble down the tower, and then, silence.

Lars interrupts his report to look outside at the tower for a moment.
"Ah. Yes." When he speaks again, he looks somewhat annoyed. "Forgive my earlier interruption, mylady. Your...esteemed colleague is not in any difficulty."

Yeah. A 5hd commoner doesn't have 30 hitpoints.

"open the portcullis and gates at the predesignated time."

that should be a little more specific...

While Cala finishes up with the Ice Golem, Lars flies out the hole in wall, amusing himself terribly at being able to exit through what was supposed to be a solid structure.

Moments later, he returns, looking not so amused.
"Lady Caladwhen - It seems the Stryx is in conflict."

The squeal of Mad Martin's signal horn sounds over the fortress.

Lars casually flies in through the new 'window' of the laboratory.
After a quick assessment of the extensive damage to the room, he snickers "I like what you've done with the place, My Lord...(!)"

But, to his credit, he eagerly goes to work, nosing through the bookshelves.
"Hmm. This material is infinitely superior to the refuse next door", he says, hinting at the pulp fiction on the magister's bedstand.
Before long, the two find a couple of intact books related to constructs, and gather what remains of the magister's notes from the surrounding area.

Caladwhen spends an intense hour in preparation of taking control of the Golem, and making sure it is no longer a threat to our villains.

the wand is minimum level; 5th

Lars quickly flies into the tower. Seeing niether guards nor trouble, he continues up the stairwell, to finally land on the sargeant's corpse, and starts casually eating his eyes.

"Oooh, eyes... <slobber, suckle> mmhm-mmhmm-MMHM! delicious. Aerent, *caw* you really must restrain yourself when you use that peasant's pitchfork - you completely ruined the other one's eyes. Shameful, really. Oh - you should know that your superior will be arriving soon : Lady Caladwhen is currently climbing the stairs."

yeah, he talks like that.

Above, a foul "Caw!" is heard, and a shadow sweeps over the garden.

Lars flies past the Magister's window to inspect it, and finds it a weak affair of wood and thin glass. A few firm taps from his beak would certainly dislodge it.
He flies past the laboratory to get the flying equivalent of a running start, and pushes against the window - which indeed gives way rather easily.

Lars looks around the well-furnished room, and notices a strongbox under the Magister's bed (but it's too heavy for him to open).
Looking further, he finds something shiny placed on a specially made stand. It seems the Magister thinks this is important; so Lars takes it in his beak.
There's a bookcase here, containing disappointing amounts of pulp fiction, forcing a surprised "really??" from the arrogant raven. That's clearly not the sort of literature Lars was hoping for, or -in his opinion- anything a self-respecting wizard should own in such great numbers. Pah...

He makes his way back to the window, but before he leaves, almost as an afterthought, he takes a peak into the laboratory (the door is propped open). Lars stops in his tracks, as he spots something that sincerely tickles his interest.
In the poorly lit and crowded chamber, full of tables laden with strange equipment and apparatuses, a stone slab supports a large form, seemingly made of ice - though it is not melting...!

Confident in having accomplished the task set by his mistress, he swoops back down.

As he spots Caladwhen below, he speaks with his mind's voice: "Oooh girl, have I got news for you...!"

Later that week, both Kaitlynn Mott and Zack Eddarly receive a furtive note tucked under their front doors, with an invitation to meet near the picturesque, secluded spot where Talon and Svarestel had their picnic a few days before.
As the party hides a few hundred meters away, Lars is spying on the cozy couple as they arrive in the designated spot moments after eachother.

He waits until Zach storms his beloved Kaitlynn and removes some of her clothes, (nodding appreciatively at what's hidden underneath, "niiice...") before flapping off to warn his mistress Caladwhen.

Then, Lars flies up, keeping an eye out for the last player in the upcoming drama.
perception: 1d20 + 8 ⇒ (16) + 8 = 24
but it doesn't take long before he spies Franz Mott, mounted on his horse, in full armor, hand on his sword, and positively fuming with barely suppressed rage.

Lars quickly dives down, and reports to Caladwhen.
"He's almost here."
It's an odd sight, to see the raven like that - grinning with sadistic glee.

And indeed, not long after, you hear the sound of a heated argument between two men, mixed with a woman's tears.

assuming Eddarly is sincere about his wish to end the relationship, so Lisandra herself could've invited m'lady Mott to witness the burning and thus break up the relationship, as Eddarly requested. So wether Aerent lures her with one of his excellent false pretenses or wether Lisandra invites her to the meeting, Kaitlynn "Hot" Mott will be there.

Lars flies around until he finds Zack Eddarly again. He is rubbing his hair and shaking his head, and has a stressed out look on his face. What was supposed to be a quiet afternoon spent reading Kate's letters one last time, has become a disaster.

But then, Zack spots Lars, and notices the bundle of letters still in his claws and beak. The captain approaches unseen -at least, that's his own opinion- and throws a rock at Lars from directly below.
Of course, T'larry knew the rock was coming. So, all he had to do, was drop the letters, lose control of his bowels -as animals do, when they're suddenly spooked- make a fuss, and fly off squawking. And Lars is good at making a fuss.

Eddarly doesn't even mind the bird crap on his face, and is eagerly scrawling through the undergrowth to collect all letters.

"I can speak for myself, skull. By the way, I can see your brain from here. It's hard to spot, but it is there..."

that saturday, shortly after noon...

*T'larryo Aiwe spots the man he was supposed to follow*
*man is wearing casual clothing, no uniform today*
*man is carrying a bundle under his arm*

Lars sighs, and takes leave of the pretty she-raven from the rookery whom he's been chatting up for a few days now.
*follows man out into the woods*
*man sits down*
*man unfolds bundle*

The bundle turns out to be a bunch of letters wrapped in a lace shawl. (in Lars'mind, it couldn't be any other piece of clothing, there's simply not enough of it)
*man takes a deep breath*
*man picks up a random letter from the stack, and begins to read*
*man seems sad*

Then, Lars remembers his mistress' words, and he hatches an ambitious plan.

"T'larryo, follow that man. His house contains letters that will be of some use to us."

In one swoop, Lars drops out of the sky and takes a big bite out of the stack of letters, grabbing some more in each of his claws. He stares mockingly into the eyes of the surprised captain Eddarly, and flaps off, to a chorus of screams and swearwords, sticks and stones flying after him. But the captain's efforts are in vain - a nasty bird has taken his letters, and is now flying away with them.

the loot:
bite: 4d4 ⇒ (3, 4, 2, 4) = 13
claws: 2d4 ⇒ (2, 1) = 3
16 utterly shameless love letters between the lovely Kaitlynn Mott and the honorable(...ish) captain Zack Eddarly of the watch. Caladwhen, even you would end up with red ears after reading those. It would be quite entertaining to let Franz Mott walk into the couple during one of their anatomical experiments.

Also, congratulations, your familiar finally has done something useful, without being a total snob about it.

"T'larryo, follow that man. His house contains letters that will be of some use to us." With a slow simmering glare, Caladwhen shoots her pet a look that suggests no back talk on this one.

":-S"...

survival(track): 1d20 + 4 ⇒ (16) + 4 = 20

*follows man up the hill*
*follows man to the keep*
*spots a pretty she-raven* "heyyy....How you doin'...;-]"
*loses track of the man*

perception: 1d20 + 8 ⇒ (16) + 8 = 24
*spots him again in the courtyard, as soldiers salute him*

*casually flies away*

As Talon is hauling trash, Lars lazily flaps by. His face changes to one of great amusement as he spots Talon doing actual physical labor, and he perches on a rooftop nearby to watch.
:-O . . . X-D <snicker, snicker>

"ahem...Although, annoyingly, nobody ever asks me anything, I seem on occasion" - looking at Talon sideways -"to be able to provide some relevant insight. With regards to the current situation, for example; I understand that your orders require you to end the lives of the sailors? Disappointing as that may be, is it safe to assume your orders did not say anything about k e e p i n g them dead?"
Lars turns into the definition of the word Smug, and looks at Caladwhen as if he just did her a huge favor and expects to be twice repaid.

Feigning disappointment, Lars tut-tuts and shakes his head.
(Auran) "Oh, now. I thought you might be like that. But I'm having far too much fun to just tell you to look over there." From the east side of the yard, he nudges his beak ever-so-slightly in western direction. "whooops. Awwww shucks; I seem to have spoiled my evening's entertainment. *sigh*" And he casually flutters back down to Caladwhen.

It's painfully obvious that there is nothing accidental about this little message.

The obnoxious little bird is feeling so good about himself - acting so superior, he almost can't contain himself.

"...No...noooo, I do not. But you... You do..."

smug as a full-bellied shark, 'Lars' lazily flutters up to the yard above the mainsail, and sits down on the east side of the crow's nest, annoyingly-close-to-but-not-quite-in Talon's reach. It just sits there, blinking its eyes at Talon.

stares at Talon in disbelief, then shakes its head and continues muttering.

*sheesh*

*sigh*

Auran:

"Slave. I'll remember that insult Lars."

Smugly, the bird keeps pouring oil on the fire that is Caladwhen-on-Anger.

"you realize you've just let him get away with that, don't you? Rather too kind of you if you ask me. The little savage. Let's put him on ice. You DO have ice spells, don't you?"
Don't mistake the raven's comments for anything but stacking insults.

The raven flies over to short Oret - landing on top of his head, so the raven's eyes are more or less level with the rest of you.
" so this is how you two-legs see the world. No wonder you all are so shortsighted.
He flaps off before Oret can make him.

...others*

having no respect for Timeon's attempts at rethorics, the raven mutters: "well, lad, the way I see it from here, the Strix is definitely male."

truly indignified, the raven ruffles its feathers and caws at Caladwhen: "miss, do make an effort not to get any of that mess on my feathers!"
The raven points at the spattered wall. "Some of us are forced to use our beaks to groom ourselves, you know."