Varrren chuckles from the rear of the group, "But we are having an underground adventure, Pyrrha. It is most intriguing."
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Varrren looks into the room to the west, a thought nagging the back of his mind. For a moment he just looks before recollection clicks into place. Once it does he turns back to the others and speaks softly, "Didn't we hear a rumor that Grozz has ghouls to guard his lair?"
Varrren nods at the tiefling newcomer and replies to Pyrrha, "That is why I dragged it up here. It was, perhaps, a clue."
Varrren shrugs at Mephiston, "I will follow your lead."
Varrren looks down into the pit, retching a bit and suddenly grateful that he has missed dinner this day.
After a moment, he gives a small sound of surprise, "Aren't we hunting for an orc?" With a few words of magic, a ghostly hand withdraws a green-skinned arm from the pit. It follows Varrren out of the building and holds the arm up for the others to see, "This seems a bit fresher than the rest; the water around it was still stained red."
I am still here, Varrren is just not directly involved in this exchange as he is standing around outside the building keeping watch.
Since Mephiston did not seem alarmed, Varrren keeps a watch for any approaching foes.
Varren calmly assists in claiming the treasure for their own, "Indeed, haste seems to be the word of the day."
Varrren looks up sharply, "Where is he headed?"
Varrren follows the others, content to let Mephiston and Ahto determine their path for now. He keeps his own senses alert for any approaching threat.
Varrren walks over to the edge of the chasm, leaning on his cane to peer over the edge. When he straightens he shakes his head slightly, "Acrobatic, I am not. Not on the ground anyway."
Varrren smiles grimly and advances up the northern passage, letting Mephiston have enough of a lead to remain, hopefully, undetected.
A little further back in the line, For I am not a subtle .. person, Varrren winces at the Chelaxian's injury. He looks down at his own pouches. Knowing their contents precisely, he is about to drop his pack to extract his own antitoxin from it when he sees the devil worshiper down the necessary vials. Instead, he simply waits for the group to overcome this next door.
Varrren looks around, distaste clear on his face, "This is a lovely part of the city. Shall we get this over with?"
That works...
Varrren straightens, taking his hand from the hilt of his rapier, and smiles in a kindly fashion, "Excellent. My name is Varst. My companions and I are seeking information regarding the whereabouts of a certain person with a less than wholesome reputation. A nasty piece of work named Grozz. Perhaps you can help us find him?"
"Quite the contrary, my dear boy. We do not want your 'turf'," Varren says, making the air quotation gesture with the hand not holding the vial, "we simply desire information regarding a resident here in the Puddles. You will, I trust, forgive the impetuous nature of my young friend here; he gets a bit jumpy when he is being stalked." He offers the half-elf a harmless smile as he adjusts his spectacles, "Perhaps you could be of assistance? The sooner we find the information we seek, the sooner we stop disrupting the normal order of business on your turf."
Varrren mutters under his breath, "And so we will advertise that we have gold, and threaten and challenge them all at once. Well done, Variel. I see you are still nearly as impetuous as a human..." Withdrawing a small vial from his waistcoat, Varrren takes a defensive posture, but directs his attention to the opposite flank to ensure they will not be encircled unawares.
Varrren grimaces slightly, "While I am not averse to bringing violence to those who prey on others, we do need information from them. Perhaps we should try a non-violent initial approach first?"
Take care of yourselves, Jon and Ahto. You will be in my thoughts and prayers, and if there is a way someone in Wisconsin can help, let me know. Stay safe, and we will be here when you have time...
I will be out of reach from friday night to tuesday afternoon. I am going to my sister's house and then on to watch the eclipse from inside the path of totality. I may have occasional access on saturday, but I am not planning on posting anything.
Varrren grins at Pyrrha, "I do like the way your mind works, Miss."
Varrren speaks softly, not so much to keep Johnny from hearing but more as an indication the he is not part of this conversation, "I do recall that Gozz is a example of sentient life, but he is at least peripherally associated with the powerful in Absalom's underbelly. Who, I cannot say. Regardless, if this will help with our inquisition, I am in favor of bringing this Gozz to justice."
Varrren does not respond to the question of wet work, quickly discovering that most of these new allies of his are of a similar mindset. He does glance over the papers as Mephiston looks at them, trying to place the alleged criminal.
Having apparently communicated to the rest of the group that there are bodies in the alley, Varren says in a quiet voice, "I am going to warn the others; they are not alone inside. Keep a watch out here." If there is a back door in the alley, he will try to use it, otherwise he will sprint back around to the front. When he gets inside to the others, he speaks quietly, "Someone threw a dead body out the window into the alley just now; Tosguld is out there watching. I saw a window close on the second floor. Someone is inside with us."
While he is behind the building, Varrren will search for any clues in the alleys.
Varrren nods to Pyrrha, "I will go watch around the back." Suiting actions to words, he moves off around the side of the building toward the rear.
Varrren nods to Pyrrha seriously, "A good thought. Your warning was well received last time."
Inside, Varrren smiles a warm and grandfatherly smile at the bartender, "Ah, yes, my boy. An ale would be just the thing," laying a couple of coins on the bar as he speaks.
Though he needs no guide to Coins, Varrren walks beside Ahto with a friendly smile, lagging slightly and following the hotspur's lead.
Varrren nods to Mephiston, "I am fine. Sometimes it is an advantage to be an old man. It makes young people underestimate you," he finishes with a wink.
I am not sure where to go with trying to identify the scroll. From your description we have only the tiniest bit of it...
Before they start moving, Varrren brings a small vial out of his pouch and drinks the contents with a grimace for the odd flavor of the extract. He trails Variel, Pyrrha, and Ahto, effectively forming a rear guard. Senses alert for any possible danger or clue, he moves easily despite his apparent age.
Varrren smiles at his old friend, "I will happily accompany you, Variel. It has been a long time since we tackled a problem together."
Varrren watches the demise of the assassin as if trying to extract every bit of data from it. Indeed, he also pulls out a journal and begins taking notes, going so far as to crouch and examine the powder that is all that remains of the magical creation.
Varrren glances up when Variel mentions tracking the fugitive, "I would also offer my skills to the hunt. This reeks of religious fanaticism and strange magic."
Varrren looks at the construct with great interest, speaking absent-mindedly, "I should very much like to know how this was created. It is magic I have not heard of." He raises his voice, speaking to the assassin, "I do not suppose you would be willing to divulge the knowledge of how you where made?"
Varrren watches the proceedings, wracking his mind for any clue about what this creature might be.
When the darkness fills the room, Varrren growls in frustration moving through the doorway and hoping that neither his allies nor the enemies he is sure are still there will not stick sharp things into him. Once he clears the darkness, he sees Pyrrha injured and fighting one of the foe alone, "You who brought a warning will not be left to fight alone!" Closing in rapidly, Varrren studies his new target, gauging its weaknesses. He completes his movement with a lunging attack at the assassin. Rolls:
Varrren growls in frustration as he draws a wickedly sharp rapier from its place at his belt, "The worst part about fighting in a light-damned basement, is that you're fighting in a light-damned basement." He studies the unexpected gunmen for a brief moment, sizing them up and finding their weaknesses, before stepping in with a lunging thrust and following it up with a swift cut.
Varrren nods in agreement with the others, but does not speak.
Varrren shrugs, "I will stick with you, Variel, if that is alright. I am not keen to lose track of an old friend, now that I know you are still alive."
Take care of your studies, Jon. We appreciate you and all you do for us, and we will be here when you have time.
Cool! Let's go with the 'on my way to meet up with you' option, since it is more believable.
Varrren finally drifts closer to Ahto, Pyrrha, and Varien. The elderly human speaks in slightly accented elven; an odd accent that will be somewhat familiar to Varien, "Pardon the intrusion, but I wanted a moment to say hello to an old friend. How are you doing Varien? I did not expect to see you here in Absalom. The last time I saw you was after pulling your feet out of the black's fire, so to speak."
GRRR!! Stupid Paizo killed my response.... So, I was thinking we could do a combination of the first and last ideas. Variel saved Varrren's life when Varrren was being hunted as a juvenile dragon, and some decades later, Varrren was able to return the favor when Variel was at the mercy of a hostile dragon. Varrren was fleeing a group of dragon hunters who had injured his wings, grounding him. When he had made enough distance from them to change his shape, he took the form of a hound, not noticing Variel standing nearby in the shade of a tree, watching him. When the hunters caught up, Variel pretended that the hound belonged to him and that he had seen no dragons. Variel's actions saved Varrren's life, since he was outmatched by the hunters at the time. Some decades later, after Variel had left his now-unbearable home, he ran afoul of a young adult black dragon. By lucky coincidence, Varrren was on his way to meet up with Variel (or perhaps just happened to be passing by the area for a more happenstance situation), and spotted the elf in dire straits on the ground below. Much larger than the black, Varrren dove in and injured the black sufficiently to drive it off.
Variel, we never did iron out how we know each other.
Variel's voice and name and terrible elven vocabulary finally snag Varrren's attention, bringing forward memories nearly seven decades old. Looking aside from the events unfolding in the open space in front of him, he spots Variel, Ahto, and Pyrrha. Now, if only I could remember who I was when last I saw Variel. Does he know my true form? Though he is eager to renew an old friendship, Varrren approaches cautiously, drifting closer but not yet addressing the group.
Varrren pops the last of the bubbly pie in his mouth and pushes his way through the crowd. Surprisingly strong for an older human, he easily reaches the edge of the onlookers. Seeing the two healers already tending the wounded, he simply observes. He does attune his eyes to the magical spectrum with a few short arcane words, looking over the scene for any lingering magical auras.
In his latest, favorite disguise as an older human scholar, Varrren stands quietly near the back of the crowd listening to Last Disciple's follower. His hearing is good enough that if he concentrates, he can just make out the man's words. The ebb and flow of mortal religions is interesting to him, and the rebirth of a dead religion particularly so. He has been following the rumors of the Last Disciple closely of late, and has yet to decide if the Disciple is genuine or a clever fraud. As Varst, his dark hair is shot through with streaks of grey, and one hand rests casually on top of an exquisite cane. Though he seems to be in late middle age for a human, his posture and dress are those of a scholar that has spent no small amount of time out in the world, and the glint of very fine chain mail can be seen beneath his tunic. His other hand holds a half-eaten berry tart, what the locals have taken to calling a 'bubbly-pie', and he occasionally nibbles on it as he listens.
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