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Spoiler:
"I don't care if your magic comes from your talking donkey, it hasn't served you well here," Zurladew says. He considers casting another spell, but can feel the fatigue from his magic-using thus far. Cursing his own weakness, he calls out for help.
"The caster is over here!," the gnome yells to alert the knights.
ProfPotts: "Then I'm sure she'll completely outclass me when she finds out how badly you botched this ambush,"[b] Zurladew says in a sneering tone. He puts the wand away and picks up the punching dagger from the ground. [b]"Especially when she finds out that you've lost all the pretty toys she gave you. An expensive mistake, Master Sorceror."
"As much as I'd like to take credit for the mist, Sir Jaymin, that is the doing of someone else. On guard, men. Spread out and we'll see what we can find in there." Zurladew purses his lips in an irritated fashion and casts a quick cantrip. As his spell takes effect, the sound of jangling mail, clanging armor, and heavy footsteps begins to fill the area. He begins to tread as quietly as he can, eyes open for any signs of movement.
Clinging to the back of Jaymin's horse, Zurladew tries his best to maintain his concentration on the illusion, not the rising nausea the horse's motion is giving him.
The illusory knights keep pace with the party for a little over half the distance, mimicking the real knights, before Zurladew loses his focus riding over a particularly large bump. He literally leaves the seat of the saddle, landing heavily and cursing bitterly. The illusory knights flicker and vanish, and the gnome groans.
Zurladew takes a moment to size up the horses available to climb on. He rules out Argos almost immediately, remembering the ill-fated incident in the swamp, and takes another moment before deciding upon hiding behind Jaymin's plate-covered form. He scrambles up onto the horse uninvited, working to maintain the illusion he's created. "In case I need to provide some aid close-up," the jester says, in way of explanation. "If I'm jostled too much, the illusion may cease - but we'll worry about that if we come to it."
Zurladew tumbles off of Aydan's horse, where he lies inert for a moment while the last clattering of arrows dies down. Taking a deep breath, Zurladew casts a second Ghost Sound for the clanging of armour and the thunder of hooves, then a Silent Image of the horses and men. He takes a moment to peer between the illusions and the real men, nodding decisively. "Ready?," he asks his companions. "I'll stay here and maintain the illusions as long as they're useful - get out there, and best of luck, you foolish knights, you."
Zurladew casts a quick spell as he clings to Aydan's back, praying that the horse doesn't buck him as happened in the moors.
The sound of far-off horns seems to sound out in the distance as Zurladew finishes his spell. He takes a deep breath and shouts towards the archers. "Put your arrows away, fools, and surrender, before our main force arrives. You've been discovered, bandits, and those that continue to fight will feel the gallows!"
At the sound of his own jarring tone and Aydan's barb, Zurladew's face flushes, in embarassment more than anger. "'Spymaster' is a bit of a strong word, Master Crow," he mutters abashedly. "I might choose 'Nosy Jester' instead. And in that regard, I'm fine at professionally offending people, it's this 'not offending them' that I'm finding so troubling."
Attention drawn by Aydan's outburst, Zurladew eyes are drawn to Jaymin. While he doesn't quite understand what the knight was getting at, he doesn't think that Aydan has the right of it. However, Zurladew was never one to let the truth get in the way of a jest. "Well, Florencia, I back my former statements - apparently our Strong Man is capable of ribald jests that cause even our worldly forester to blush, even if it's only from a lack of understanding. Perhaps Sir Jaymin has other untapped potential that I simply haven't seen evidence of." He throws a roguish wink at poor flustered Jaymin. "Now, let us away and prepare for the hunt - assuming that one of you won't mind a small jester to ride on the back of your horse. I'd rather not take another impromptu bath for a while."
Sir Jaymin, slightly irked, makes his way out the door and towards the ladies' chambers. Seeing Zurladew innocently on guard where he and Garrett would be unable to go, he smiles. "I trust that you will keep the watch and sound the alarm at anything amiss, Master Jester." The jester had been nearly sound asleep when Jaymin gave his rounds, but awakes with a snort and a start. "'Course I will," the little man says sleepily. "Raise the'larm and all that. To arms, foes at the gate..." He rolls back over, muttering fitfully. ------------------------------------------------------------------------- Between Jaymin waking him during the night and the pages waking him in the morning, the poor lads really had no chance against the ireful sleep-deprived gnome. Rising ponderously from his hard nest on the ground, the gnome turns to bear on the pages with fire in his eyes. "Perhaps," he says in a dangerously calm voice, "perhaps you all have missed a few pointers in etiquette. Let me give you a quick reminder that frequently, when a lord has guests, that the guests would rather not be woken up by a pack of clumsy louts playing Bounce-The-Armor upon the floors of the halls, particularly when they've been hounded all the way across the fens from bloody Redwyrm!" Though his voice is quiet, the peevish anger in it rises through his monologue. "If I have one word of what a racket was raised in the hallway from a single lord or lady in my company, I promise that I will track each of you down and turn you into the foulest excuses for worms I can find!" Threat delivered, the cranky jester storms down towards the kitchens to ingratiate himself with the cooks. It certainly wasn't fair, but mornings were never Zurladew's strong suit. ------------------------------------------------------------------------- Zurladew wanders out from the kitchens a little later, where he attempted to redeem his past night's ineptitude with a few jokes with the kitchen staff. His temper has quickly replenished from the goblet of wine that he has brought with him, and he swallows the last of the sizable lump of cheese that he liberated from the larders. He listens to the talk of the knights and Everard's daughters, eyes narrowed thoughtfully at the girl's cryptic warnings.
Zurladew takes his leave from the ladies, ingratiating himself amongst the help - joking with the maids, cooks, and assorted servants about the place. As he does, he keeps a careful ear out for any snatches of conversation that may interest him - it seems a good idea for him to information-gather, even if only to keep his ability to do so well-exercised.
However, the rigors of the road have clearly strained on the little jester, and his jokes come across as a little too loud, a few of his barbs being a little too close to home. What he does hear is negligible , and before the night is too old the jester beds down in the hallway outside of Lady Rebecca's room.
"I'm sure you will present as much of a a challenge to poor Sir Jaymin as I suspect he will prove to you, though not of the kind either of you mean, good ladies," the jester says. "on these fields his might in arms will serve him naught, and that will be quite confusing to our paragon of chivalry." "I feel I've intruded upon you ladies for too long though - perhaps you would care to continue your lascivious discussions without the prying ears of a jester about. Can I trust the three of you to keep good care of our Lady in my absence, while I see about where a man of my stature may find a place to sleep?"
"Then I'm quite certain poor Sir Jaymin would hardly stand a chance, trapped between a pair of beauties like yourselves," the jester says. "I wonder whether he would be a challenge or a headache for you poor ladies. I imagine that at some point in the conversation his unfortunate tendency for blushing and stammering may get repetitive and much less amusing."
As the two girls enter the room, Zurladew gives a significant look at Rebecca, to impress upon her the need for silence. He then immediately shifts into his performer's smile, bowing low. "Yes, my dears, it appears you've caught me in the act. Nothing earth-shattering, just little tricks to fool the senses and amuse the mind." A pair of pale yellow roses appear in each of the jester's hands, and he hands one to each of the twins. "Zurladew, miladies, known by those who find my antics amusing as the Wit, and known by those who find them less amusing... well, known as a dizzying array of less polite monikers," he says lightly. "So you've notice both our strong man of the Strong Man and our Master Hunter, hmm?," the gnome says, grinning wickedly. "Master Aydan, I'm sure, would be happy to engage you in a sporting hunt, whether that were in the woods or in the walls of this fine castle - though your father, I'm certain, would be very alert as to which sort of quarry our forester pursued. Good Sir Jaymin, on the other hand, would differ if faced with such a proposition - so hot would his face burn that you'd think him channeling the fires Saranrae. Take care on approaching Sir Jaymin, lest the friction between his manhood and his virtue singe you!" Zurladew makes a mock noble pose, a parody of the paladinic virtue that Jaymin embodies.
Zurladew listens for a little bit to the talk of the Iron Maiden before he slips away after Rebecca and Beatrix. Navigating his way through the chambers, he eventually stumbles across the guest room. 'That wasn't a dream last night, was it? Maybe I do have some power in me...' she looks up at Beatrix again, '... all the wrong sort, of course - the gods wouldn't have it any other way - but power none-the-less. Tell me, Beatrix, how much do you know about magic?'
Zurladew enters into the room quietly, trying not to startle the two ladies. "Actually, milady, I may have something to say on the topic," the jester says seriously. He walks towards the two of them. "Magic comes in many forms, Rebecca. It may be little, the creation of a small bit of influence upon the world..." The jester creates a flower out of thin air, handing it to Rebecca. "...or large and earth-shattering, the sort of magic that destroys kingdoms and dries seas. Furthermore, magic can come from one of two places - either a tool given by the gods to their faithful, or a self-contained ability to wring the fabric of reality to suit the user’s needs.” Zurladew vanishes from sight, his voice still echoing around the chamber as he continues speaking. ”Amongst the self-contained magic users, two other camps arise,” the disembodied voice continues. ”Those who scrounge for esoteric knowledge, teaching themselves the methods that the cosmos can be rearranged... or those who simply can, through sheer force of personality.” He appears in front of the ladies again, bowing low. ”Like myself.” Unbowing, he continues speaking, now gesturing to illustrate his points. ”Now amongst sorcerors, as such spontaneous magicians are called, the power inherent in us can take a number of forms, depending on where the power originally came from. I possess my magic, I believe, as a lingering echo of an ancestor who learned much of the ways of arcane magic - an old gnome who tried to escape back to the First World. Yours... well, where your magic comes from is really the least of our concerns, but it appears from what I have seen that your magical aptitude has some link to the red dragons that your family combated in their past.” He holds up his hands to halt any questions. ”Only a hypothesis, mind you, but rest assured that your draconic magics should be firmly under your control - once you have learned how to control them, of course.” He gives Rebecca a long, almost pitying look. ”I don’t know how useful that is to you, milady - but there it all is, as much as I can think of at this moment. A lot to hear, I know, but...” The little jester shrugs sadly. ”I simply worry that we don’t have much time for me to be gentle about this.”
ProfPotts:
Zurladew gives a good-natured wave to the ladies in the window as the party rides on in - better to make a good impression than none at all. "Oh gods, we are masters of subtlety...," Zurladew mutters under his breath as Garrett and Jaymin dive into the tale head-first. He winds his way to the front of the pack, before anything else can be said. "Sir Everard, clearly we only traveled here so quickly as we were the bearers of bad news," the jester says. "The Baron, we fear, is dead - and the dragon seeks to wed Lady Rebecca to consolidate his claim over the barony. Our lady here has other plans, though they are yet in flux - and we are here to ensure that the lady survives long enough to bring those plans to fruition." His mouth twists wryly. "We also fear that we may be bringing the forces of the dragon to your doorstep - only the labyrinthine passageways of the moors held his men behind us long enough to get here. He brings giant-blooded barbarians, winter wolves, and Galtan mercenaries to bear." "We understand if your own sense of self-preservation means you'd rather see us off, so that you may protect your family and lands from this menace as best you can. But our lady, your liege lord's daughter, still years younger than your own Florencia and Giliana, flees from a monstrous foe who would possess her for his own machinations. Please, Sir Everard. We need a night or two to regroup - and when Lady Rebecca reclaims her place, your kindness would be remembered."
Watching Aydan leave, Zurladew releases a deep breath he didn't know he was holding. When he looks back at Clarius, his eyes are empty of the angry fire they'd held a moment ago, just reflecting an empty exhaustion. "Get some rest, Clarius," the gnome says tiredly. "I'm sure we will all need it in the morning." The gnome heads to the door as well, taking a blanket with him to wrap about himself as he helps Jaymin and Garrett take watch. The next day... Zurladew goes through the motions of packing woodenly, the loss of a night's sleep clearly not agreeing with the little gnome. He shoulders his pack and wordlessly waits for the party to move out.
Zurladew rushes in between the two men, fire leaping from his eyes. "Sir Clarius, bite your tongue and take yourself to bed before you wreak any more havoc upon what fragile peace we have here. I would sooner be able to spend all my energies upon thwarting our foes without having to keep any magic in reserve should I need to suddenly prevent my allies from slaughtering each other," the little man says, his voice the model of fury restrained. "Furthermore, it would behoove you to recall that this is not the court, and the laws of vassalage and fiefdom may need to be bent, if not broken entirely," the jester continues, straining to poke his finger into Clarius' chest. "This fool has given away his honour to the the proven companions whom he is forced to rely on in a dangerous place during dangerous times, and the young lady who is doing her best to lead us. If you truly feel the need to hold onto your bond to an occupied castle and a dead man, then by all means, continue to act as you are. In this swamp, with the hosts of the white dragon in pursuit, your vassalage and oaths are next to useless. What we have are the people at our backs, the swords at our hips, and the brains in our heads. If you shall be only choosing to use one of those resources, I would suggest perhaps not picking your sword, Sir," the jester says venomously.
Just to clarify, because I'm not sure which parting shot Zurd's speaking of; the line in italics is Aydan's thought, he didn't say it aloud. The last part was meant. To read more as resigns fact then intimidation, though I see why I could be read that way. The last part would be what Zurladew was referring to - he's simply getting frustrated with what appears to him to be quite a lot of bluster and bravado. There have been a few moments where he keeps considering leveling a color spray to simply brute-force his way through the arguments, but I think having him continue debate might be more his style - at least until the pressure cracks him any further. :P I have Clarius following the standard medieval system of vassalage where oaths were made anew when an heir took power. Should that not be the case, let me know. This would probably be a good thing for Zurladew to know too - I can't imagine that a jester wouldn't know this, and would probably have changed his approach here. Hindsight being 20-20, I suppose... but now he's just going to run with it. I really like the verbal banter! Zurladew is rapidly pulling ahead as one of my favorite characters to RP, due to the high quality of other personalities that he's interacting with.
Zurladew throws up his hands in frustration at Aydan's parting shot. "Gentlemen, I'm sure both of your longswords are very magnificent, but could you please stop waggling them about in order to intimidate each other? There are ladies about," he says in an mocking, exasperated tone. "I believe we all agree that there is nothing more to be done about this tonight, and so I suggest that all of us tuck in and find what sleep we can. You two -" he says, indicating Aydan and Clarius, "consider yourselves relieved from watch, so that you can have a night's sleep to replenish your tempers. Sir Jaymin and Sir Garret, I will help you on watch tonight, to allow our firebrands here to collect themselves. Lady Beatrix, if you could see that Lady Rebecca is kept comfortable and has a good night's sleep herself? I'd rather she face her struggles, internal and external, well-rested." The little gnome gives them all a steely gaze. "Any objections?"
Aydan's grimaces, his mouth etching a thin line across his face, "Your words border on treason, I'll not entertain any notion of killing her. but if you're worried of what this untapped power could become, then perhaps you should train her." Zurladew's mouth turns wryly, a dark humour apparent on his face. "Spoken like one without a touch of magic, Master Crow. This is not your classroom lessons on the magic within all things or the academic methods of harnessing the arcane energies of the world - this is magic embedded deep in our Lady Rebecca, that is only now emerging. I can no more train her in it's use than you might train a cat how to hunt - for this will be instinct and intuition, more than any learning." He shrugs resignedly. [b]"I will tell her what I can, so she might teach herself to better control it, but ultimately, this magic and the path it will lead her on is hers and hers alone. I can be nothing more than a voice of advice." Once Clarius speaks, Zurladew looks at him with his own narrowed eyes. "Sir Clarius, no one doubts your dedication to the Baron or to the ideals you have given unto him. However, I do believe that your obligation extends to his daughter as well, as she is the heir apparent of Redwyrm, and your fealty should be to the house, not the Baron. Furthermore, right now our lady is a mystery and an enigma - not yet a threat. She needs support and supervision, not suspicion and certainly not steel... not yet." The fool pulls himself to his full but diminutive height. "So... I'm afraid I must insist, Sir Clarius. Sword away. Now.
Clarius listens to the words of the minstrel and paladin. His sword still drawn, he counters. "So you are both insinuating that she is some kind of red dragon? How many times did we hear the tales of the Red Wyrm and the evil it laid upon the land before Gustav of the Many Quests defeated it? Now his descendants are sprouting claws, red scales and spouting fireballs while another who takes on the form of a white dragon knew to expect this from her. What evil is this?" Taking a breath, Aydan heeds Zurdalew's warning and Slips his sword back into it's sheath. Forcing himself to calm down he answers Clarius, "We don't know what evil is this or any other of the countless evils we've seen this day. But we know that girl," he nods to the young, hopefully sleeping baroness, "Is Rebecca of House Redwyrm, daughter of Baron Otto , our liege lord, and a child that we've known for years. Do you remember how she was when you arrived at the castle the first time Clarius? She's the same girl, the same innocent, sweet and utterly courageous girl. She's not evil, that can't be evil. We can't let our fears tear us apart, either of us." he says, acknowledging his own shortcomings in the matter, "We stand by each other and we'll get through it." "As much as it pains me to say this," Zurladew says, "I agree that we should be cautious. This is something that we don't quite know the truth of. For now, Sir Clarius, your duty is to protect your liege lady, not stand over her considering finishing the job of her most assuredly evil usurper - and all of us need to be wary of the danger of untamed and unknown magic." His mouth becomes a grim line. "For the sake of the Barony, we need to protect Lady Rebecca for as long as she remains the same 'innocent, sweet and utterly courageous girl' that we have all seen. But if... if this magic turns her, we must be prepared." He looks grimly at each of the others in turn, looking them square in the face.
"Jaymin, that is probably the first sensible thing I have heard said since those little... things started flitting about here. Our usurping foe may know a little more about this game than we can even guess yet. Now, everyone put down their swords, yourself included, Mr. Crow, before I begin to flex my own muscles in the name of pacifism," the jester says waspishly. "I would rather not allow our nerves to finish the job that the barbarians failed."
"Pull yourself together, Clarius," Zurladew says urgently, his expression rather pained from the simultaneous state of affairs with the tiny fey, the Lady Rebecca, and the other men. "It's magic that has a hold on her, but it's her own. It appears that our lady fits the moniker Redwyrm more than we knew... Now put your sword down, you plum fool, before I magic you myself for losing your head." Mind racing, he tries to make sense of everything else going on around him.
The exchange between Jaymin and Aydan completely flabbergasts the overwhelmed gnome. Zurladew stares at the pair, jaw agape in awe. "Has everyone in this place lost their minds?," he asks incredulously.
Zurladew, leveled: +0 BAB, CMD, CMB
Skills (4 Ranks + 1 Rank for favored class) 1 - Bluff
Abilities - Metamagic Adept (1/day) Spells - 1st Level: Identify (Bloodline spell) and Vanish 3rd Level Feat = Taunt
As the Strong Man's strongman lifts Zurladew out of the water, the little gnome breathes a silent prayer to Chaldira Zuzaristan that he'd learned from the halfling staff of the castle, thanking the Halfling deity for the timely aid of others. Landing on his feet, he quickly brings his hands to bear, weaving the familiar motions of illusory magic. After a few seconds, coming over the bog, a pair of large glowing orbs of light begin silently moving towards the party.
If Zurladew is out of the water...:
Zurladew nods in exhaustion at Aydan's words, and begins to cast prone from the ground, working his magic through his exhaustion. After a moment, large globes of marsh-gas appear to the side of the mercenaries, floating eerily over the water towards them...
If Zurladew is still in the water...:
The little jester's head sucks in air mightily as his legs continue to churn under the water, trying to keep free of the watery grave he'd been under a moment before. He reaches for the edge, trying to heave himself up with the strength of desperation.
"Someone!" the sorceror yells as he feels himself slipping under again. "Help me!"
Zurladew tries his best to cling to the lance, but the slipperiness of the bog and the frailty of the little man's arms quickly conspire to break his feeble grip. A mere 5 feet from the shore, he plunges back into the water.
With a bubbling sound, the jester slips under the water, the momentum of his fall taking him below the muck.
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