Officially, no. Aladdin won't get much from rolling this knowledge untrained. Might be worth putting a skill point into next time!
The extraplanar sommersaults that rendered his mind a little jumbled left behind a memory or two. The Ethereal Plane is a ghostly copy of the Material Plane, layered over top of the original. Objects are never solid and it takes a small act of will to not fall through the floor, which might explain Aladdin's fall through the log not moments ago!
Tynn marches onward, enunciating the archaic language of his magic spell. He holds up the forked twig ahead of him, slowly swinging his arm left to right, right to left. This goes on for a few minutes, until the observant catch a flickering glow from the twig held aloft!
Without skipping a beat in his incantation, Tynn unexpectedly steps in the direction his arm was pointing. He rotates his arm again, and walks a little further away from the ravine. The old, greasy dwarf appears to be following a clue.
Tolsbaer:
Tolsbaer's idea of the forest was much more teeming and full of life. This forest seems awfully quiet, and any sound of wildlife is welcomed to ears piqued to hear it. Tolsbaer can hear the sound of himself and his companions carry through the trees. In truth, it might be a relief to the dwarf: to not hear the filthy beasts of the forest must mean they are not nearby.
In no time, his thoughts return to home. Clean, pristine, and with no expense spared for quality goods and furnishings. His daydream takes him to his morning exercises: the mild scraping sound of calloused feet on the smooth flagstone, the practiced rhythm of his breaths, and swish and snap of his flowing robes with every maneuver at full speed. The sounds are so clear in his memory, they tickle his ear. Did he really hear the soft flapping of cloth, this deep into the wilderness?
Of course not. Looking around, very little has changed. His companions trudge onward through the forest, following Tynn, who seems to deviate his course slightly away from the ravine. Tynn's gaze seems fixed on the glowing twig between his fingers -his spell must finally be working! Beyond the group, there is no cause for concern. The trees stand tall and indifferent, their branches still in the windless day. Broad, green leaves float downward in a swaying, meandering path to the ground.
Tolsbaer suddenly realizes that the season is late spring, and leaves shouldn't be falling from trees this time of year! One of the leaves swoops right past his head, and his eyes notice six antennae and a wide flat mouth sticking out where the leaf stem should be, and a nettle-thin stinger floating off the point of the leaf.
Tolsbaer should roll Knowledge Nature if he can.
Tolsbaer realizes these are not normal leaves, but stinging creatures of some sort! To his horror, he sees that Tynn is heading right towards a whole flock of these flying, stinging leaves. The old wizard appears to be oblivious, fixated on the completion of his spell. A handful of the flying leaves swoop down, directly towards Tynn!
The Borderguard seems to have noticed about a dozen broad leaves drifting down from the tops of the tall trees. Logan looks up and squints, "Is there something up in those trees? Knocking free all of these big leaves?"
"No one is wholly useless, Master Stormcall," Tynn punctuates his interjection with a heavy thump of his thick tome. He grunts as he ambles to his feet. "One needs only three seconds of imagination, if one finds a block in the road." He glances over his glasses to the younger dwarf with a kindly smile and taps his temple with a knobby knuckled finger. If he wants, Tolsbaer could roll Sense Motive.
"Now!" the old dwarf announces, tucking his large book into his pack, "I have researched the proper incantation, and with a little luck, the location of our lost priest will be known to us very soon! I am going to walk along this ravine, which appears to run north to south, for the duration of the spell. By my estimation, Bolgrith has the sense to continue north, that is, uphill. This will be my best chance of finding him... Aha!" Tynn rises from his stooped position, holding up a forked twig he plucked from the forest floor.
"I appreciate everyone's patience while I studied my notes. Ah, Aladdin, I’m glad to see that you are mostly with us. Lost yourself in the Ethereal Plane it seems, hm? We shall have to sort that out later, just follow along as best you can. I strongly suggest we remain close together from this point forward. Logan, Aladdin, Master Stormcall: are we all ready to proceed?" Without waiting for an answer, the old wizard takes a hobbling gait a safe distance from the edge of the ravine, moving steadily northward. He holds up the twig and intones a long chant in a strange language unfamiliar to many. Aladdin the Azlanti recognizes some of the syllables as an archaic version of the Draconic tongue, but the exact meaning of the words are not plain to his ear.
Spellcraft DC 17:
Tynn is casting the spell Locate Object.
For his hour of research, the affair is over rather quickly. The chanting seemed to last about five minutes, after which the old dwarf stops and sighs heavily. He pauses silently, deep in thought. At last, he looks up to make sure the others are still with him and holds up the tiny twig once more. Tynn renews his incantation and strides onward, as best his old joints can manage in the underbrush.
I need Perception checks from Aladdin and Tolsbaer.
"You could walk along the edge a reasonable distance in either direction to find an easy crossing before trying anything..." Tynn glances from his tome to Tolsbaer's rope tied to the tree nearby, "...strenuous."
His gaze returns to his book. The wizard turns a page and continues his study.
Y'all failed a Perception check awhile ago. Try it again!
"Whatever you think is best. I still won't be ready to search for Bolgrith and Aladdin for one hour..." he turns and finds a place to sit closer to the edge of the drop. He looks up at Logan, and adds in a lower tone, "I'll stay closer so that you don't have to worry about us both, hm?"
After a sly glance of self-deprecation, he lowers his greasy head back into his enormous tome.
"Nothing a little sleep won't cure!" Tynn calls across the chasm, hobbling up to Logan's side. The Borderguard can see dark bruises blotching his old dwarven skin, despite the elderly wizard's brave face.
"My study was interrupted, so you still have time to clean up," he adds. "After which we can worry about you getting across, yes?"
Everything happened so quickly, Tynn is quite beside himself. Correction, I am inside something else. Time is of the essence, if he did not want to be this giant frog's next meal.
concentration DC 23:1d20 + 5 + 4 ⇒ (10) + 5 + 4 = 19
All the bumping and jostling around the amphibian's belly disrupts the spell mid-cast. The old smelly dwarf takes a small comfort in that his last bath was a month ago, and he hoped the creature that ate him did not enjoy the taste.
Tynn raises a look that seems pleasantly surprised to Logan. He adjusts his bifocals and runs his gnarled old hand over a page covered in illegible handwriting.
“Those of us in the scholarly community call this spell, ‘Locate Object’. This spell will tell me, within a very wide range, where a specific object is located. With it, I can track down the Key of Honfogalas, that brass staff topped with a purple crystal, and hopefully, Bolgrith and Aladdin-” The old wizard stops short, his eyes darting to a certain part of the forest ahead of him. His old thin form tenses as he peers into the underbrush, suddenly aware of something not apparent.
"Well, f@#%." The elderly dwarf runs a hand through his greasy hair anxiously.
"Bolgrith carried with him the Key of Honfogalas. Now we have no way to open the lock in the Oldkeep!" Tynn kicks a clod of dark soil and it rolls down the incline.
After a moment, he catches his breath and seems to collect his thoughts. "No sense in ourselves getting further lost. That artifact and its carrier is still in this forest, they can't have gone far, which means my magic might be of aid."
The old muddy dwarf scan the forest floor for just a moment before picking up a forked twig. "This ought to do." He turns a wan smile to Tolsbaer.
"Well, we are here at the source of water. I will need one hour to brush up on the specifics of this spell. Can you find a way down to the stream, wash up, and be back to me by that time? After you return, we can use my spell to find the staff and the Hamonrelders as well."
The prospect of climbing straight down to the river could be successful, but certainly dangerous. The earth that forms the drop-off is soft, and easy to dig hand and footholds as one climbs. However, in areas the dirt is too soft and slippery, and cannot be trusted to hold the full weight of a climber.
Climb DC 20 to move at one-quarter your move speed up or down the cliff. Failure by 5 means you slip and fall. The mud cliff is fifty feet high off the river bank.
Perception 15:
Searching along the edge of the sheer drop, through the mist you find a fallen, decaying log that lays across the high place. Even if you cannot see the other side of the ravine, presumably the other end of the log is held up by something. It does not offer a way down to the small river, but it does provide a crossing, if you can brave the slippery mossy bark.
"Must we?" wheezes Tynn. He gestures to his own trousers, which are all mud from just above the knees and down. "The rest of us are muddy too. And we will just get muddy again not long after cleaning!"
He takes many heaving breaths and licks his dry lips. "If we go, remember to be quiet and wary. All wild animals frequent bodies of water, and the predators of the wood know this too..."
"But," he pants, "I, for one, would welcome a rest. I am bushed." Tynn Hiloxiet steps over some leavy undergrowth to follow Tolsbaer to the right.
The old dwarf smirks. "Well if no one has a strong opinion either way..." He takes one of his small flat stones, and points at the rune inscribed on one face. "This is the rune for Tree. If it faces up, we avoid the road and make our way through the wood." Tynn flips the stone high over his head.
Rolling (1) means Forest and rolling (2) means Road. 1d2 ⇒ 1
The runecaster catches the stone and closes his hand around it. He holds his fist up for all to see, and slowly opens his fingers.
"There we have it." He says with finality. "Rest well, and prepare yourself for a rougher path tomorrow. Perhaps the forest floor will be gentler on my feet than this hard-packed road," he adds with an unconvincing smile.
"May I trust you four to keep watch? I do not think I could stay up for a full watch shift. But I do have a spell that can help us, whenever we are ready to turn in for the night. It will wake me up if anyone or anything passes an invisible boundary I can form around our camp."
Roleplay as you like, but if you don't have any plans, roll a Perception check for your watch.
When Logan turns to the eldest of their group, the old dwarf is already bent over a flat stone in the ground, casting runes again and again while muttering to himself.
"Hm? Oh, no, no cannibals..." Tynn answers absent-mindedly. "At least, not to my knowledge. Such abominable acts are detestable even among the common criminals here. This news is quite disturbing."
He shakes the runic bones and stones in his hand, and they rattle as he casts them onto the flat rock. He tries to explain himself. "I am poking around to search out our best course of action." The old, smelly dwarf pauses and looks up. "Apologies, I am used to working alone. What would you lot like to do? Right now, the options I can conjure are, go back to Saltstack and inform the authorities, and wait for their intervention. Or, brave the road, and hope our passing goes unnoticed. Thirdly, we could stay off the road and travel into the forest. Through the wood we could better hide from dangers, but the going will be slower. I have a general idea of how to get to the Oldkeep without the road and footpath, and I trust my runecasting will reveal the finer details as we go. What say you?"
Tynn snaps his fingers at the wood just as the group approaches. A trail of steam dies out as some of the wood proves to be a little wet. He snaps again with a grunt and the kindling ignites into small crackling flames.
He lifts smile to the dwarves and pushes his long greasy hair out of his face.
Tynn's annoyance vanishes with Tolsbaer's apology. He shrugs and is quiet for a moment. Seated, he stretches forward to massage his own feet.
"I can help light the fire once wood is gathered," he offers.
Survival checks for camp things like a fire or foraging for food.
The three dwarves traveling from the forest draw near as Tynn's companions set up camp beside the road. The foremost dwarf thoroughly scans the open land, pointedly ignoring the five who are off the road. The second dwarf uses a spear as a walking stick, and watches the five with great suspicion. Their trailing companion is a she-dwarf with long golden braids and strong jawline, stooped under a great and heavy pack. She does not pay the campers any special attention, but it would be absurd to think that she has not noticed them at this point.
The three dwarves will pass the camp in 1 minute.
The old dwarf frowns, glancing at Logan, Bolgrith, and Aladdin with a slightly confused expression. "I think you are mistaken, Master Stormcall. Did we not discuss this as we left Thunderstone? I met these three by happenstance, and they have their own reasons to visit the Oldkeep. What is more, they carry an artifact that I need to continue my research. The fates have their own sense of humor -this is not some grand design of mine!"
"If you are so interested about what seems out of place here, what about you, Tolsbaer? You did not travel with these three from Ytramond, nor are you an assistant to my research. Do you think yourself a mercenary, Tolsbaer Stormcall? Pah! You ought to have guessed by now that I am too poor to pay you!" Tynn laughs bitterly. He adds in a patronizing tone, "Let us make this an exercise of the mind, shall we? Master Stormcall, why are you here?" A hundred cracks show over his weathered face as he smiles widely at the younger dwarf.
Sense Motive DC 18:
Tynn seems to be the type with little patience for dumb questions, and his patience appears to be wearing thin.
Both Logan and Tolsbaer that two of the three bear light leather armor under traveling cloaks. Those two appear to be male, and the third has no beard and long blonde braids trailing down her sides. The unarmored dwarf trails behind, and her pack appears much bigger and heavier than her two dwarf companions. The foremost dwarf has a heavy crossbow on a sling. He holds the weapon as he walks but he does not appear to be on alert. The other armored dwarf keeps pace with a walking stick.
Tolsbaer:
A chance glint of metal from the top of the walking stick has the Stormcall suspect it to be a spear. The swinging cloaks do not fully obscure the short swords sheathed at their sides. The dwarf armed with a crossbow seems to have noticed Tolsbaer and his companions, and briefly turns to say something to the lady among them. Pace unchanged, they continue closer, watchful but not aggressive.
Tynn sighs gratefully as he sits on the ground just off the road, relieving his shoulders of his small pack. He kicks off his threadbare shoes, and flexes his toes. "Well since you offered," he says to Tolsbaer, "a foot massage would be nice." With an eager smile he wiggles his crusty, stinky old toes at the young dwarf.
If Tolsbaer wants, pass a Heal check DC 10 to soothe the terrible condition of Sore Feet, along with a Fortitude save DC 11 to resist being sickened for 1d4 minutes by the smell.
"A specific question! Very good, Stonebit. Yes, in fact, I have a fair familiarity with the creatures of the forest. Not as familiar as a woodsman perhaps, but well enough."
"Let's see, there is the usual forest critters: squirrels, rabbits, birds, maybe a hardy tree frog. But I think you are asking over the more dangerous creatures? Of those there are wild boars, wolves, and bears. Predatory mammals aside, some of the flora can be rather aggressive -but they are rarely near the road. There is a myth that the trees here can walk and move like us, but I have not seen one or evidence of one. Another rumor says that the forest is infested with brigands. but I do not think that necessarily is true. I only encountered highwaymen once in my frequent travels of that road, and they did not bother me much after discovering my destitution." He grins good-naturedly again.
He lifts a look to Tolsbaer, his bifocals enlarging his eyes. "What do you not remember from my lecture on the boat ride? I am not sure what kind of information about the Oldkeep you would like."
Tynn gives Bolgrith a sympathetic look and nods understandingly. "I admire your tenacity for truth, Bolgrith the Faithful. The mind is a tricky thing, and persuading it from lazy thinking is even trickier."
He stamps his feet to warm up his legs and says a bit louder for everyone else to hear, "Well, if we are all ready, let us not waste another moment. This road will take us most of the way to the Oldkeep, after which we will have to use an overgrown footpath for the rest of the way. This road circuits through a dozen small towns, but the nearest one to Saltstack is on the other side of that mountain." He gestures up at the single mount. A carpet of evergreen trees wrap around its base, thinning out to grey rock face capped with white snow and mist. The mountaintop nearly blends in with the overcast clouds above the island.
"And our footpath diverges in that wooded slope. While in the open as we stand now, I expect little trouble. But keep your ears and eyes sharp once the road enters the trees."
With his stooped halting pace, the smelly old dwarf starts on the southerly road. The packed earth makes a narrow brown ribbon over the grassy fields leading to the green forest.
A few hours later, the group stops for a midday break for water and food. Tynn lowers himself onto a low stone. "My feet," he winces self-consciously, seeing his younger traveling companions seem no worse for wear. Before long, the travelers are back on the road. The forest draws nearer, but it is looking doubtful that they will enter it today -not at the pace they go.
The sun is beginning to set when the two men and three dwarves catch sight of three travelers on the road, exiting the wood. All three strangers are short and stout, presumably dwarves, and while they are still too far to discern too many features, they might pass the adventurers in about twenty minutes. Tynn appears unconcerned with them.
"Shall we make camp soon, and leave the forest for tomorrow?" he asks without masking the hope of getting off his feet for the day.
Slowly, achingly, he pushes himself off the stump and shakes his knees in anticipation of continuing the journey. "Well, I wonder what could be stalling Bolgrith? We cannot make any progress without the staff he carries..."
He gives a look to Logan, unsure if he should be worried or if the Irori priest was known to be especially ponderous for a dwarf.
The wizened dwarf raises his eyebrows at Tolsbaer's guess. "The legendary artifact... interesting answer, no hinges or key... but if the legends are true, it contained something decidedly more precious than gold. Try again. The answer is not as esoteric. And here I worried that this riddle was going to be over-easy." He offers a good-natured smile.
Logan:
Logan wonders if he is focusing on the wrong part of the riddle. The "box" might be a metaphor for a container of any shape (without hinges, key, or lid). The "gold treasure" might also be a metaphor, for something yellow in color, and implies that the "box" protects the "treasure" in some way.
Your Wisdom check was so close, feel free to try it again!
"Ah," the ancient dwarf nods in satisfaction to Tolsbaer's correct answer. But his pleasure is cut short by surprise at Aladdin, who seems to appear from nowhere. "AH!"
Regaining his composure, he adjusts his seat on the old stump with a harrumph. "Thank you for joining us, Azlanti. How long shall we wait for our Faithful companion?" He looks up at the sun's position in the sky and frowns.
"One more riddle, to pass the time. Then I am afraid we must go on and Bolgrith will have to follow after. Our time is ever shorter..." he trails off cryptically.
He pauses until the three are listening.
"A box without hinges, key, or lid,
Yet golden treasure inside is hid."
As the silence persists, Tynn anxiously runs a hand through his long greasy white hair. He leans an inquisitive gaze back toward the town, clearly wondering what could be keeping Bolgrith and Aladdin.
At length, he quietly offers, "Shall I offer a hint?"
The old, smelly dwarf harrumphs, and then adds, "A human fascination for the most part, I find."
He is otherwise quiet for any guesses at the riddle's answer.
"Ah!" Tynn clasps his hands once. "He's done it! The answer is indeed a mountain." He turns to quiet Tolsbaer. "It appears that you are ready as well, Stormcall. While we wait for the two Hamonrelders, shall I offer another riddle?"
"Thirty white horses on a red hill,
First they champ,
Then they stamp,
Then they stand still."
"Worth is in the eye of the beholder," the old dwarf mumbles.
Tynn harrumphs and then pauses, making sure Logan can hear him clearly.
"What has roots as nobody sees,
Is taller than trees,
Up, up it goes,
And yet never grows?"
The tall warrior approaches the old stump to find Tynn stooped over its flat top, wearing a troubled expression over a handful of runestones that lay scattered over the wood. "That can't be right..." he mutters as a weathered old hand gathers up the runes.
He starts to shake the runestones, to cast them again when he notices Logan approach. The old dwarf stops and adjusts his bifocals, making his eyes look comically huge to the Borderguard Lieutenant.
"I see that you are ready, Stonebit. Very good. Let us pass the time until the others get here. Do you enjoy riddles?"
"Well, that was a peaceful sail," states the ancient dwarf, as he hobbles down the main road. Wrinkled, knob-knuckled fingers gesture to the general store, and the nearby establishments of Saltstack.
"The Oldkeep is a few days away from the convenience of civilization, so it may be best to resupply if you need to. When you are ready to go, meet me at the old stump just beyond town, when you follow this southerly road..."
The old, unkempt scholar takes his teetering gait a southern direction, mumbling to himself.
Just pausing here in case any of the EXPOSITION on the boat ride made you realize your character needed something. Otherwise, please meet the old dwarf at the old stump.
“Little more than superstition, unfortunately.” he continues, after a sideways look to Aladdin’s enthusiasm. “But I studied the sites on Ytramond island all the same. Acquiring scholastic permits from Hagglesport was more arduous than the research, I tell you. Like on Anvil, the stone of the Oldkeeps on Ytramond is enchanted to stand against any weather or device made by dwarf or man. And, likewise, the trend of misfortune. At last, however, I discovered a new detail: the thick stone floors of these towers had an open space below them. But, with impenetrable masonry, there was no way to force open whatever lay beneath.” Tynn pauses when a spray of seawater sprinkles the lot of them.
“It was no surprise to find animals, or hermits, taken up residence in these ruins. One of creatures would not turn away, despite my efforts. After its dogged persistence, I relented, and found myself with an oddity I had only read of: a construct. One so cleverly built, seamless in design, that it was easy to mistake as a common raven. A fine example of artisanship, surpassing even dwarfish skill.” He smiles wanly at a dwarf sailor who frowned at the comment. “It seemed to operate on complex orders, detailed enough to simulate a rudimentary personality. I wondered if the object was, like the Oldkeeps, a remnant of the civilizations passed. After another year on the main island, I concluded there was nothing else for me to find at that time, so I returned to the Oldkeep on Anvil island. My new companion, Belshazzar, I learned it was called after some divining, came with me.”
“When we arrived, the construct’s behavior became erratic inside the stone tower. Its frenzied flaps, scratches, clicks, and squawks led me to... “ Tynn frowns, searching for a word. He waves his hand dismissively. “I will show you when we get there. My next clue was to search for an ancient key, the one I spotted in the hands of Bolgrith the Faithful. I can say with some certainty, that the staff you found will allow us to explore the Oldkeep further.”
“Well.” Tynn runs an old, knobby knuckled hand through his long white greasy hair. His watery eyes blink, and he wheezes a cough before clearing his voice.
“Let;s begin with what you know. Everyone here knows, is about to learn, that dwarves were not borne of the rock on these islands. They arrived on ships, three thousand years ago -enough generations for most dwarves to conveniently forget, and pile mythical falsehoods onto their ancestors. Two leaders arose from the fledgling colonies as they scrounged the islands for sustenance and protection, their names Anvilhart and Fivestone -names they gave themselves when it was decided to settle here. As you may know, young Stormcall, your noble line did not begin until some thousand years later. There is very little that survived the eons about the lands from which we disembarked, but I digress. A single stone tower on the island now called Anvil was found -evidence that someone, or something, intelligent inhabited that island before it was claimed by our kin. Explorers in that time took to calling it ‘The Oldkeep’. In the beginning, the ruling lord Anvilhart held court in that tower, but it was rumored that strange, small accidents would befall any who lived in the Oldkeep. Slipping on even ground, collapsing furniture, the rearranging of unattended items… the holy dwarves of the time would consecrate the stone again and again, to no effect…” Tynn trails off, smacking his dry, wrinkled lips. “A moment.”
He unslings his bag and pulls out a waterskin. He drinks deep and takes a few slow breaths. “Alright.” The waterskin reenters the bag. “The Oldkeep was abandoned when a king suffered a particular moment of terrible luck, and went tumbling down the stairs to break his neck at the bottom. The crown and throne passed to his young son, who decreed the tower off-limits to any and all persons. Laws are very slow to change in these lands. When I was finally allowed access to the Oldkeep ten years ago, it seemed some cultists had managed to maintain a low profile inside, illegally.” Tynn touches his forehead with a weathered look, as though experiencing a headache. “It was such a bother, to see them out…”
“The religious squatters had soiled the grounds with their stay: unholy figures, sooty altars stained in ichor, and went so far as to paint the walls with their foul iconography. The time it took for me to clean it all without damaging the site was the worst offense. But again, I digress. My first year proved quite fruitless, scratching at stone that could not be damaged, tapping at masonry that would not budge, studying the movements of the surrounding lands… all it would tell me is this -the Oldkeep was made to stand for age after age. The stone that made it was enchanted, and yet, not magical. The records of unluck from generations passed was the only clue I had, though I could never locate a source or cause, I did observe the ill happenstance time and time again. With that clue, I took passage to Ytramond to study the other Oldkeeps there, and what humans and hobgoblins had learned from them over the last few centuries…”
Tynn drones on in his monotone, making somewhat difficult for his listeners to maintain interest.
I need Will saves DC 13 to resist boredom. Boredom is a new condition in this scenario that imposes a -2 penalty to saves to resist sleep.
Tynn shakes his head and looks to Tolsbaer. He answers the latter questions. "It is not my priority, young noble. If it is yours, I fear you are on the wrong ship. It may be that the invasion is related to my research in some way -it may not be. We will find out together, if your uncle did indeed task you to keep an eye on us."
"Mission." Tynn adjusts the bifocals on his nose with a small smile. "A 'research expedition' is more accurate. You remember the Oldkeep that stands on Anvil island? That ancient stone tower was on that hunk of rock before a dwarven foot ever touched its shores. Perhaps you do not know, but there are more Oldkeeps on the main island of Ytramond. Four more, to be exact."
"I spent many years exploring, studying, and researching the Oldkeep on this island. There is much I can tell you about it, but it all may sound very boring for one so young." He offers a knowing smile. "Suffice to say, the fates have smiled on my efforts and guided Bolgrith the Faithful and his friends into my path. What's more, they carry an artifact that belongs at my site of research. We are going there now to see what we might learn." With his last sentence, Tynn fidgets excitedly in anticipation, but just for a moment. He regains his composure and turns Bolgrith.
"You never did tell me of your business with that staff, or what brought you and the addled one across a perilous ocean..."
The priest couldn’t point out their location on a map, but he knows the sky well enough to look eastward. Noticing one or two gulls drifting lazily in the pale blue overhead, Bolgrith senses that their destination is close, less than a day away.
“No more than few hours.” Tynn replies, leaning up against the railing and looking down at an open book in his hands. How long he had been quietly reading there is unknown. Without looking up, he waves vaguely east with one hand. “Should be able to see it, in this weather. No mountain-statue to greet you like Thunderstone, just lumps of rock and iron. The trees are nice...” he adds absent-mindedly. The wind tugs at the pages he holds down, and flings his greasy long white hair this way and that.
At length, he gives up and closes the book. His old, lined face crinkles further as he squints in the sun. "Employer? I hope I did not mislead you, Bolgrith the Faithful. I haven't a gold piece to my name to pay you by."
Tynn nods in understanding and digs into a pocket, producing a handful of silver pieces and pocket lint. He grins sheepishly at his traveling companions. "Nearly enough. Care to spare a gold coin?"
Tynn turns a stone face to Stormcall, but after a quiet minute it gives way to the tired expression worn to tedious affairs. He glances up at Logan, and then to Bolgrith.
“To the Anvil island. Since we are already at the docks, we should make good use of our time and find passage there tonight. I hope you’ve learned to sleep at sea,” he says to the two men among the dwarves.
I need Perception and Diplomacy or Knowledge (local) checks to find a ship disembarking tonight, going to Anvil island.
“I don’t like this,” grumbles Tynn to Bolgrith’s ear, “We are wasting time. The Irkei Stones are a coveted item among all merchants and nobles who wish to curry favor with the kings. There are probably hundreds attempts to acquire them in a year and rarely have they succeeded -why does this failed attempt matter?”
Tynn adjusts the bifocals that seem to intensify his annoyed look. “Is this really necessary? Whoever wanted that stone will not get it. I would prefer your assistance on my research sooner, rather than later…”
The old dwarf sputters at the violence, and as quickly as his achy joints would allow, he gets out of his chair and holds up his arms to defend himself, even though no one attacks him at the moment. “Stop this fighting, ruffians! We have not what you are looking for!”Total defense.
Tynn’s expression does not change at the sudden violence. Rather, aside from the tired sigh he lets out, the very old dwarf scarcely moves at all as his eyes slowly scan the sudden movements around him. Still seated, a subtle gesture of his hand and strange word easily lost in the noisy scuffle, he slowly blinks rheumy eyes at Bolgrith.
“What’s going on?” he asks cluelessly. It seems a sudden and horribly-timed moment of senility has set in on old Hiloxiet.
Sense Motive DC 19:
The cluelessness is a ruse, to discourage the ruffians from attacking a feeble old man.
The traveled and learned dwarf listens to the man and kinsman. The Faithful’s question prompts a subtle point to the jagged purple crystal that tops the magical staff. “Firstly, that form of crystal is quite rare, and is known to grow in but one place in the Sunderlands. It was first discovered in an iron mine on Anvil, one hundred thirty-five years… no, apologies, one hundred fifty-three years ago. Geomancers have since searched for more deposits throughout the Hammertide Isles, to find none. Moreover...” he frowns uncomfortably as the tavern fills with more patrons. He leans in so his tablemates can hear his soft voice. “Moreover, the clues I gathered in my research suggested that a specific possession of the Oldkeep’s masters would open a disguised keyhole. These clues also hinted that this ‘key’ could ‘keep stride with Honfogalas’.”
He pauses to take his cup that still holds a sip of cider. Tynn swills it in a circle once but does not drink it, and then stares at the ounce of drink until it calms. After a single blink he smiles up at Bolgrith. “So I did not know that it was a staff, until the answer was right in front of my failing eyes.”
Hiloxiet adjusts his eyeglasses and peers at a group of dwarves just entering the tavern. They appear to be looking for some of their associates, though nothing about their common dress stands out to Bolgrith and Logan. Tynn sighs and a rueful smiles takes his ancient face. “Goodness me…”
Draining his cup, he leans in again to the pair and whispers. “Things might get a bit rowdy in the next few moments…”
Bolgrith and Logan do not need to roll Sense Motive to figure out what Tynn means: a tavern fight is imminent. Thanks to his warning, go ahead and take a standard action before the following happens:
"Oh..." The bibliophile leafs through the pages of Bolgrith's holy text as he listens to Logan.
Then he is quiet for several more minutes, bent over the thick tome.
At last, he looks up, seeming to just now realize he was ignoring those around the table. "Apologies. This is an interesting read! Reminds me of someone I happened across in the wilds of Ytramond, decades ago..." He gestures dismissively before reaching for his glass. Before taking a sip, he swirls it and then stares into the bottom again. After a few moments he shrugs and swigs, leaving just a sip in the cup on the table. "I'll have to read more of this later, if you do not mind, Bolgrith the Faithful."
He looks over his bifocals across the table to the soldier. "A Borderguard lieutenant?" Tynn's gaze narrows in calculation. Then a small smile breaks over his face. "No doubt you are in a constant hustle; surely much of your learning takes place on the field, starting with the practical application. And I'm sure such busyness might be a frenzy now, with the threat of invasion at hand."
At that moment, a steaming dish of beef, shredded into a mound and seasoned wonderfully, is set at the table. Tynn takes a piece of bread and parts it to fill with meat, but indicates that Logan should get first pick of the beef.
"Go ahead, lad. You're paying, after all." A sideways look goes to Bolgrith. "I don't like to make assumptions about the future, but I think you and I are going to get along quite well. I've read of Hamonreld, though it was some work to decipher the fact from fiction. Peoples and customs strange to these islands. 'Orcs', for example, I understand to be as savage as goblins, as tall as men, and strong as bulls?"
The ancient dwarf nods with a small smile. "Fair. I suppose there is little you know of me..."
He pauses when he sees the barmaid return with drinks and a basket of bread. She says the meat will be along in a few minutes. Before Tynn takes puts the cider to his mouth, he leers one eye down the mouth of the glass. Satisfied at whatever he was inspecting, Tynn drinks deep of the golden, apple beverage and sighs heavily afterward. The glass rests on the table as he raises a look to Logan. "Thank you. One forgets how fine the finer things can be when subsisting on water for years." He turns to his fellow dwarf. "I enjoy books, always have. Heh, it is possible that I've read every book in the Hammertide Isles," he smiles half-jokingly, "That is one thing that has remained constant since my youth: I love learning. Not all knowledge is found in books, though, and I am fascinated by the secrets locked in the past and future. That is why I poke around the carved stone left by those who lived on these islands before we dwarves came to these lands." He reaches and pulls a handful of bread from the basket, and takes a big bite. Tynn raises his bushy eyebrows as he chews, indicating that he wants to hear Bolgrith or Logan to tell more about themselves.
The old, destitute dwarf smiles widely as he hobbles into the establishment and the smell of warm food washes over him.
When asked what he will have for food and drink, Tynn glances uncertainly at Logan, who offered to pay for the first round, and then requests a hot spiced tea with some bread. As the barmaid takes orders from the others, he glances around at the other patrons, but keeps his thoughts to himself.
The old bent dwarf nods at Bolgrith's discretion, and remains silent during the exchange between the two traveling companions.
"Well, a pub is a good place to gather, and consult," Hiloxiet adds, smiling. He turns a hobbling gait toward the tavern that serves Aladdin and Coral. "I'll answer as many questions as I can, Master Bolgrith, from you and your friends... just know that I will expect some answers in return. Or a warm meal..." By the look of him, the studious dwarf has probably not had a full belly in years.
His stooped and narrow frame struggles down the road.
Tynn Hiloxiet raises a caterpillar eyebrow at Bolgrith’s unease.
A rueful smile breaks over his old and cracked face at the mention of Anvil’s distinguished history, and he answers politely. “Funding, for a ship. The Anvilharts are not quite as interested in lending gold toward something that does not have direct battle application. It had been decades since my last expedition to Ytramond, when I studied the Oldkeeps of that island. Since then, my research here progressed significantly. But I found myself needing to return, to track down what my findings referred to as the ’Key of Honfogalas’.” He pauses, watching the priest’s expressions. “I have studied these ruins for most of my academic career. I am not worried about eavesdroppers, because I know most dwarves here care little for my work. Else a less-destitute dwarf would stand before you today,” he smiles. Reaching into a pocket, he produces a leather pouch and a blackened smoking pipe. He packs a few pinches of tobacco into the basket. Rather than use flint or a tindertwig, Hiloxiet utters a strange word and a spark burns into orange embers as he puffs blue smoke.
“But fate has played her hand,” he pats Bolgrith’s armored shoulder, “and it seems that I need not travel and scour Ytramond for the artifact…” His gaze grows serious, like one studying an opponent in a card game. His pipe glows orange again, and blue smoke escapes from dry lips as he continues, “I do not know your purpose among the Hammertides, but I suspect it is related to mine. Nor would I presume that my work should take precedence over yours. Regardless, I hope that I might persuade you, Bolgrith called The Faithful, and your companions, to accompany me back to Anvil island? I will show you the Oldkeep from whence I base my studies. Perhaps we both have answers to each other’s questions...”
The hobbling dwarf squints at The Faithful’s brief prayer for guidance. “The Anvil,” he answers.
He nods up at tall Logan leading the way to the rookery. “Fjorheim’s ought to be private enough. If you don’t mind the smell…” Tynn turns a sideways look to the stormborn.
Bolgrith:
The Irori priest detects no ulterior motive. It seems that Tynn has not been around other people in a long while.
The dwarf priest senses that his motives are being sought out!
“Hiloxiet,” answers the old dwarf. “Tynn Hiloxiet is my name.”
He turns a frown up to the Azlanti. “Do you mock me? I don’t take kindly to insults,” he says flatly.
Tynn Hiloxiet walks beside Bolgrith as everyone follows the Stonebit to the edge of the city. “The buildings on these isles that predate the dwarves have always been of great interest to me. I’ve spent my last decade or so in a tower that shows promise for my studies, but my progress has come to a standstill.”
The old dwarf digs through his bag of stuffed and wrinkled papers, eventually retrieving and straightening out a hastily drawn map of Ytramond. He points to a large triangle marked as Mt. Fireblood. “Did you, by any chance, find that staff there?”
Bolgrith’s answer receives a slow, unhappy blink. The old dwarf’s watery eyes trace from the priest’s boots to the exit of the waiting hall. Turning back to the doors manned by the chief administrator and guards, leading to the antechamber, he winces and many lines crease over his weathered face.
“Bah,” he waves a knobby hand at antechamber doors dismissively, “Only got a few years left, no sense in spending them wait-” The unwashed dwarf pauses to listen to the booming order.
As the surge of complaints recedes, he levels a knowing look to his fellow dwarf. “Perilous, you say?” He pats Irori’s worshiper on the shoulder and takes a friendly tone. “Come. I will walk with you, as long as I can keep up...”
He turns and hobbles along with the tide of dwarves that nudges the adventurers closer to the doors.
“Excuse me,” strains his elderly voice, resting a hand on the Irori priest and leaning uncomfortably close. “But where are you going, and do you know what you carry?”
His breath smells strongly of herbs, and his eyes are bloodshot and watery for want of sleep. Pushing long white greasy hair from his gaunt face, the old, smelly dwarf peers at Bolgrith under thick, bushy eyebrows.
