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Laszlo frowns slightly at Dehlia's admission but mentally shakes it off. "Kalla speaks the truth. Loudly and frequently." He shoots her a wry smile to show he means no insult, then turns to Jorsal.

"Venture Captain, in our time in Iobaria the threats have been diverse and often quite unique. I know our goal is exploring the unknown, but do we have any premonition of what creatures may be infesting the ruins? Also, clearly the Decemvirate are expecting Cyclopean ruins, but are there other ancient cultures we're likely to find out there? I wouldn't prejudice our investigation, but I don't want to miss something important out of ignorance."

Crafting: 1d20 + 11 ⇒ (17) + 11 = 28

"I'm glad you asked. I've been working a lot with the local flora and minerals and have made some excellent advances! I have an excellent smoke cloud to deter projectiles and spells being tossed around, how did Kalla say it, all catawampus. Also" Laszlo pulls one of his new Blight Bombs out of his pack and uncorks it. The sickly green brew unleashes an awful stench. "I have developed a superior bomb that exclusively attacks organic materials while leaving most structures and objects undamaged! We just wipe it off after the fight and everything is ready to study."

As he works to begin re-capping the bomb, he thinks aloud "Of course, really no fighting is actually safe around sensitive materials. You should have seen the master's laboratory after the Pathfinders came through. Broken glass everywhere, acids and bases eating through the walls and floor, there was at least one fire that I'm pretty sure is still burning because we couldn't figure out how to put it out. I think the real answer is tactics... yes... we would be best served drawing any fight away from sensitive structures and artifacts. If they are grave robbers, we may even let them go. As the master always said 'stolen body parts can be reattached, but what is cremated is lost forever.'" Turning to his companions, he says "By the way, if I were to fall, that is why I want you to recover my body if possible, the preservatives the master used should be good for another decade and I can continue to be useful to the community." Turning back to the Decemvirate representatives, he perks up remembering the meeting they're in. "Ummm... I hope that answers your question?"

Tromping through the woods near Mishkar, Laszlo stops upon reaching a large tree and turns back to his students with a crooked grin. With him are some of the local children, young enough to not have apprenticeships yet, but old enough to learn: a Centaur foal, a Human boy, a Leshy sapling and a Halfling... child? I'm still so bad at determining Halfling morphology. She could be an adult. In fact she has to be, she must be a chaperone. Really! Who would send children alone with me into the woods?

"Gather round, this is the perfect place to start your lesson! Now the Druid Cenenviel and your elders will tell you that herbalism is an art, the gentle persuasion of encouraging growth until carefully harvesting at the perfect time as told to you by each flower and berry. Alchemy, on the other hand, is a science! It is combining the correct materials at the right ratios in accordance with the determined best formula to get the same result time and again. Travelling Alchemy, however, is a bit of both. When I am in a new land, I do not always have access to the same materials that I learned to use, and I certainly can't wait to order some from afar. After all, often it is we Pathfinders who are bringing those resupplies to alchemists in distant lands. So, I instead make do with what's around me." So saying, he steps back and pats the tree behind him.

Reaching into his bag, he pulls out a book and squats so the children can get a good view of a formula covered in margin notes and crossed out and written over words. "For example, the recipe that I have for an elixir of life, most useful to any adventuring party, requires Children's Teeth- no, no, stop covering your mouths, not those teeth. It is the name of a plant native to my homeland, Ustalav. They are called that because they are white flowers that bud early in their growth and grow among the roots of trees, so they look like... well you get it." Reaching down with a free hand, he plucks a hardy blue flower from amongst the tree roots, pulling slowly to maintain a significant portion of the root structure. Holding it before the children, he spins it between his fingers so they can see all sides of it. "Importantly, they don't grow here BUT, these do. I have heard them called Striving Raindrops. Now, are they exactly the same as Children's Teeth, I don't know, probably not. But I can tell from their structure, where they grow and what grows around them, and their general mana flow, that they are probably similar. That takes much learning and practice before you will be able to make the same estimates, but there are some things you can learn much quicker." He snaps the book shut with the flower pressed between the pages and returns it to his bag before crab walking a short distance and pulling forth another flower with his bare hands.

"Look at this flower here. You see the angry red veins that culminate in ugly boils. This is a clear sign of Abyssal taint, and you should never handle a plant like this without gloves and other protection. The fine hairs that you can see on the stem are actually like splinters that try to cut your hand open, and watch this." With a little force he pushes on one of the petals. Rather than bending like a flower should, the petal snaps, the open wound beading with an ichor-like sap. "While there are... some... uses that I can make of this, you should never consume these fluids. They are very dangerous. Now the taint does not always show right away so if you taste... what was it again..." Absentmindedly, Laszlo wipes a bead of the flower with a finger and then licks the finger. "Ah, yes, cinnamon with a dash of hate- I know you don't know what hate tastes like, no child should, but be assured you cannot confuse its taste with anything else. If you taste a combination of cinnamon and hate find a responsible adult right away because bad things will happen. For example, these flowers can cause you nightmarish visions of monsters and violent men and..." Laszlo's attention drifts as his eyes track something floating in the air that none of the children can see, then he shakes his head and pointedly looks directly at the children and not anywhere else. "And ghostly spirits. And that is with the smallest of doses. Now, I want you each to check the nearby trees and bring me ten stalks of Striving Raindrops. When we get back to town I will show you how to make a simple poultice with them. You don't have the foundation for a proper elixir of life, but this should be plenty for every day use. And make sure you stay away from any tainted flowers." Instructions given, Laszlo's attention drifts back to the phantasmal apparitions flying above them.

While the children begin collecting flowers, the centaur foal leans over toward her halfling friend. "Do you think our parents will get mad about this?"

The halfling grins back manically, "Not if they don't find out. And the other kids are gonna go crazy when we tell them that we learned actual alchemy from a Pathfinder!"

Something in the unhinged Leshy triggers an instinctive response in Laszlo. "Dawn, you assist Nix and Ursula, I know what I must do."

Turning back to the Crafter, he begins walking over, digging through his pack. "Of course, master, let us see here. I unfortunately am all out of Adder Stones, please forgive this wretch, but I do have some string here. If I may be so bold as to offer, have you considered a soft wood for some trellising? We will obviously have to disentangle before they deform, but it would provide additional structure..."

Falling into old habits, he begins distracting the Crafter with as much tedious procedure and craftwork possible.

Deception: 1d20 + 0 ⇒ (1) + 0 = 1

After party discusses their findings, Laszlo walks up to the grave. Solemnly, he rests a hand on it and bows his head, intoning

"Lady Pharasma, hear our prayer.

May you aid us in completing our journeys at their natural end and may we find peace within your kingdom when we arrive."

He waits a beat in silence before turning back to the party. Holding up a crowbar, he says "Common Ustalavic gravedigger's prayer. Now let us get down to business."

Thievery: 1d20 + 5 ⇒ (1) + 5 = 6 To attempt to open it without excessively damaging the grave. Also to other players, I am happy to be interrupted if anyone objects. Laszlo is just relatively cavalier about graverobbing for... reasons

Laszlo looks on as the scarecrow passes, longing to see it burn further. Unfortunately, the centipedes present a more immediate threat. Pulling a Minor Elixir of Life from a pouch, he pierces the cork with a metal tube and shoves the straw in Ursula's face.

"Drink up, I've tuned the formula to poisons of the region, but it's still rather generic. It should help though."

With his other hand, he digs into a pouch and pulls out a Blight Bomb. "Hmmmm, this should do, let's see how they like poisons." He quickly tosses it at one of the centipedes harassing Bruit with a cackle.

Interact (Draw), Interact (Administer), Quick Bomber

Elixir of Life: 1d6 ⇒ 5 Healing, and +1 to saves against poison for 10 minutes

Blight Bomb Attack (Magenta): 1d20 + 6 + 1 ⇒ (8) + 6 + 1 = 15
Blight Bomb Damage: 1d4 + 1 ⇒ (2) + 1 = 3 1d4 persistent, 1 splash (Poison)

As his turn arrived, Laszlo seems to almost unfold as his back straightens and his shoulders pull back. His militaristic posture reveals a somewhat frightening height, normally obscured by his slouch. Marching to the dance floor, he gazes out imperiously before announcing, "Ladies, Gentlemen, and other assembled personages, I present to you the Gonchey Val's of Brevoy."

Raising his hand to the level of his eyes, he claps twice and then issues a piercing whistle. So prompted, Bruit leaps from the crowd, circling Laszlo once, then taking position opposite him. Master and mechanical hound bow to each other in unison before the two begin circling.

Society: 1d20 + 8 ⇒ (12) + 8 = 20

Their deliberate pacing segues smoothly into a form of canine dressage. The fleshwarp's actions are mirrored by his hound with impressive synchronicity, a procession of pirouettes, piaffes and levades. The clever maneuvers and fluid performances seem almost designed to draw attention to the quality workmanship of both manufactured beings.

Craft: 1d20 + 8 ⇒ (2) + 8 = 10
Craft (Hero Point): 1d20 + 8 ⇒ (10) + 8 = 18

After several cycles, the pair face each other once more in their starting positions. Laszlo stomps forcefully calls out, "Hah!" They dart at each other and begin a simulated battle of man versus beast. Compared to the refined dance so far, the violent action is far less controlled and more naturalistic. However, the choreographed savagery is still clearly a dance: blocks acting a springboards for acrobatic leaps, vital weakness presented for dramatic blows that are pulled in the last inches, showy dodges that would invite punishment in a real fight.

Survival: 1d20 + 5 ⇒ (16) + 5 = 21

Returning once more to their starting positions, Laszlo and Bruit bow again to each other, then turn together to Mimiko and bow a final time.

Noting the glint of intelligence in the statue's eye, Laszlo determines to resolve an ongoing internal dispute he'd had with a particularly odiferous author from his master's library. "Forest King Narven, I beg your attention!"

Society: 1d20 + 8 ⇒ (3) + 8 = 11

"The scholar Fusco Pulcus said- GAH! He said that your kingdom- oof! Your kingdom was in Chel- huk! Stop hitting me I'm trying to ask a- guh! I don't care anymore!"

Sighing at the predictable results of the kobold's actions, Laszlo reaches in his bag looking for an appropriate solution. "You don't just feed them because you don't want your hands near that part of their mouths, Nix." He pulls out a jar of dust labelled "STERNUTATING POWDER".

"On the upside, I've been wanting to see if this works on things that don't strictly have lungs. Don't breath this in Nixoret, we don't want you caught in a sneezing fit."

Nature: 1d20 + 5 ⇒ (18) + 5 = 23

With a dramatic wave of the hand, he spreads a dusting of the material on the plant, causing it to rapidly eject the kobold. Nodding in satisfaction, he turns and does the same to Sajan's plant.

"Now come along, we have tricksters to catch."

Waving one hand to try to disperse the smoke quicker, he reaches down grabs the fey being by the shoulder, dragging it back to its feet. "Do not worry, we do not kill prisoners. You will have to answer some questions though."

Squinting through the smoke, he sees a familiar form approaching through the magical garden Dawn has summoned. "There is Kalla, she will- KALLA! What have you done to yourself?!" Pushing the fae back toward Ursula for her to deal with, he begins stalking toward his party member with a scolding tone. "No! Do not pull the arrow out yet, that is how you bleed out quickly. You are supposed to be dodging these, or at least taking them on the armored parts, tch. The neck, really? Sit down right there while I take care of this."

Treat Wounds (Craft): 1d20 + 8 ⇒ (19) + 8 = 27

Laszlo calmly walks over to Sharlott, pulling out a variety of materials to start mixing a poultice. "I'm terribly sorry you were subjected to that. Entirely inappropriate, everyone knows noncombatants are not to be harmed unnecessarily. Please, allow me to treat your injuries. I have a very useful poultice, smells awful unfortunately, but cuts down healing times by days."

Looking back over his shoulder he calls out "By the way, if you two don't mind bickering over here, could one of you bring that box? I would like to examine its contents once I'm done treating injuries. And I suppose neither of you escaped uninjured either, so we should deal with that." He turns back to Sharlott with a lopsided smile, shaking a noxious looking vial in one hand. "Now, please tell me where it hurts the most."

Treat Wounds (Craft): 1d20 + 8 ⇒ (14) + 8 = 22

Healing (if successful): 2d8 ⇒ (6, 5) = 11

A growl emerges from the fleshwarp as he stalks to a clearer line of sight. "Poor form... one does not attack noncombatants. This is what happens, when you focus on aesthetics over function... poor form." So saying he lobs his remaining flask of Alchemist's fire at the offending gorilla before snapping, "Bruit, Ved"

Stride, Strike, Command
Bruit's Actions- Stride Strike

Alchemist's Fire: 1d20 + 6 + 1 ⇒ (11) + 6 + 1 = 18
Alchemist's Fire Damage: 1d8 + 1 ⇒ (6) + 1 = 7 +1 splash, 1 persistent (Fire)

Bruit's Attack: 1d20 + 7 + 1 ⇒ (5) + 7 + 1 = 13
Bruit's Bite(bludgeoning): 1d8 + 3 + 1 ⇒ (7) + 3 + 1 = 11

While the master wasn't exactly nobility, he did occasionally host... individuals of a certain standing. As such, Laszlo had ultimately learned the best way to deal with people like that. Don't.

Laszlo ignores Ursula and turns to her maid. "Miss Sharlott, it is is a pleasure to make your acquaintance. Please pass on to your mistress our appreciation for her handling much of the bureaucracy of our coming mission. Could you perhaps inform me if she has any allergies or intolerances that might be of a medical issue?"

Without waiting for a reply, he grabs his bag and begins digging through it. "I have a tea that she might appreciate, to help balance out her excess of Yellow Bile, but I would hate for that to cause her other issue, like an unsettled stomach, sores or... incontinence."

Laszlo smiles watching his companions enjoying themselves. A part of him wanted to join in, but he wasn't as comfortable in large cities like Absalom. Or rather, he knew large cities weren't as comfortable with him in them. The drinks are fine, but of course the alchohol didn't affect him quite like everyone else. He could fix that of course, but it seems inappropriate, or at least rude to the tavern staff. He somewhat regrets leaving Bruit behind, but he'd been told that pets weren't appropriate in dining establishments like this. He wasn't entirely sure why that applied to Bruit, but he figured he would rather be safe.

"Hey! Isn't that the flesh golem from-" The soft flap of leather striking leather preempts the end of the sentence.

"He has a name. Remember, he picked it out when we got to the lodge."
Laszlo turns at the voices and sees a familiar halfling and Kellid entering the wisp. Two of the Pathfinders responsible for liberating him had just walked through the door. "Gurog! Minna! What are you doing here? Last I saw you were heading to the Gravelands."

"Total bust! The ruins were a hoax trying to lure Toma into a trap. What about you... um Laszlo, right? I thought the venture-captain sent you to Starrise to get straightened out." The halfing woman hops up onto the bench next to him without invite and grabs an unattended mug on the table to start drinking.

Laszlo grins at being remembered. "Yes, that is correct. It is fortuitous that I run into you today, this is why I am here in Absalom." So saying he reaches into a pocket and pulls out his new wayfinder. "I have just earned this as of earlier today."

Both Pathfinders' eyes light up at the badge. Gurog reaches over Minna to give Laszlo a mighty pat on the back. "Well done! This calls for celebration! The others are resting at our inn, but Minna and I were going to Walk the Divine Path. You must join us!"

Laszlo cocks his head in confusion and Minna takes pity on him. "It's a pub crawl. Apparently, it's the route Cayden Cailean takes anytime he manifests in Absalom, but I'm pretty sure that's just marketing. They say if you finish it with fewer than three barfights, you've done it wrong and have to start over."

Gurog chips in. "We've tried 3 times already and haven't made it to the end yet. Maybe you'll be our lucky charm!"

Laszlo takes another look at his friends enjoying themselves. This is a time for celebration, they are enjoying themselves and so should I. He waves briefly at Sajan to let the group know he's safe and turns back to his former saviors. "Well, then let us begin this rite of passage! Get it, 'rite' because it is the divine path?"

---

Three bars later, the trio stumble out to the slurring sounds of Minna's drunken singing. "What do you do with a drunk Pathfinder? What do you do with a drunk Pathfinder?"

Gurog taps her on the shoulder. "Hush, this is a moment for sober reflection" He points across the street and Laszlo notices for the first time that their route passes near one of Absalom's cemetaries.

As he's about to turn back a glint of light catches his eye and he focuses back on the cemetary. "What's that?"

Once Gurog finds what Laszlo's talking about he scowls and spits on the ground. "Resurrectionists. Dirty body thieves. Let's go do some public service"

Thinking of his own past, a hot wash of shame passes through Laszlo, quickly turning to hate. However, he grabs Gurog and Minna's shoulders as they start to scale the fences. "Wait, let me deal with them. I have an idea." The experienced Pathfinders pause, confused as Laszlo begins to strip.

---

Dale is getting nervous. He always gets nervous on these jobs. No matter how many times it goes well, or how many times Timo swears to him that the Church of Pharasma blessed these grounds, he is certain this will be the time something went wrong and they are eaten by ghoul, or a zombie, or a wight or... what was that noise?

"Dale! Point that lantern back down here! We don't want anyone to see us out here and the guard will find us if you keep flailing that light about." Timo hisses from inside the hole he is digging.

"But, Timo, I swear I heard something-"

"Hush. Keep your voice down. There is nothing out there."

As if on cue, a light suddenly shines from the ground at the foot of the grave illuminating a horrifying monster. A pale man clearly stitched together from body parts, maybe from this very cemetary, looms over the graverobbers. Opening it's misshapen jaw, it begins speaking in a raspy Ustalavic accent, just like the Whispering Tyrant from the street plays. "Dale! Timo! You have desecrated your last grave! We, the souls of your tormented victims, have come for you! You cannot escape us!"

Screaming, Dale and Timo scramble out of the open grave and flee the cemetary as fast as they can. A haunting laugh echoes behind them, speeding them on their way.

---

Two hours later, Deacon Hill hustles down the street toward the South Island Cemetary. Normally, he would never be up at this time of night, but that report of undead by those gods-be-damned grave robbers, means that action has to be taken immediately, Pharasma demands no less. At least the idiots are in guard custody now and will get what they deserve for their crimes.

As he gets close, he can hear voices coming from the cemetary gates. "... and then Rising Dawn says 'Keys have teeth, maybe it's just an invisible key'" Raucus laughter erupts, as the figures resolve into a two human men and a halfling woman sitting on the ground, passing a large bottle of wine between them.

Looking down his nose at the drunks, Deacon Hill snaps at them "What are you doing here? You have to leave, we have had reports of the dead rising from this cemetary, it is not safe." Getting closer, Hill realizes he was mistaken and one of the men is clearly not human. The discolored skin and patchwork stitching would suggest a creature of the night, but he doesn't feel the instinctive revulsion of those who have forsaken Pharasma.

The other man stands and offers a hand to the priest. "Sorry about that. That's actually our fault. We found some grave robbers here and Laszlo thought he'd give them a fright. It was only after we realized we might cause a bit of a panic, so we stuck around to explain ourselves." He reaches into a pocket and reveals a faintly glowing badge with the Pathfinder seal on it.

Blasted Pathfinders, of course it was their doing. "Hmph. Very well. We'll still have to organize repairing the damaged plots..."

The other man speaks up at this, holding up a dirty shovel. "No need, I have handled it. I forgot my gravedigging trowel once and it was a mistake I will not make again. Our apologies again for dragging you out at this time of night, but since you are here, perhaps you will join us for a nightcap before you return." At this, the halfling shakes the wine bottle enticingly at the priest.

With an aggrieved sigh, Deacon Hill takes the wine and has a sip. Surprisingly good vintage, never had anything taste quite like it. "Might as well, nothing better to do. Thank you for the help, but in the future, please just let the guard know."

As the priest sits down next to him, Laszlo turns to his companions. "I'm sorry, my friends. I fear I have ruined another attempt at Walking the Divine Path for you."

Minna smiles at him. "Nonsense, that just means we have to try it again the next time we're in town!"

Retch: 1d20 + 8 - 1 ⇒ (9) + 8 - 1 = 16

Laszlo looks sorrowfully at his mechanical hound, kneeling down to pat it softly. "You my friend are going to take a bit of work, but it is worth it." Turning around to his breathing companions, he raises a finger toward Kalla, then puts it down. Best not to interrupt her, if that goes wrong it could be terrible for us all.

He looks back around and locks on to Nixoret. "Come, come, this has not been your day, but let's get you patched up and tomorrow should be better. Clearly your humours are out of alignment and must been seen to. What have you been eating, man?" As he approaches the kobold, he begins drawing forth potions with arcane labels like "Hematemetic". Medicine is a messy process, but we're already covered in... stuff, so the faster method should be fine.

Treat Wounds (Craft): 1d20 + 8 - 1 ⇒ (10) + 8 - 1 = 17

Taking the moment to refresh some of his supplies, Laszlo notices that Nixoret is not responding as well to the magical garden as everyone else. Taking a moment to add another "potion" to his rotation. With a puff of acrid green smoke the mixture finishes and Laszlo draws the contents into a small eye dropper which he hands over to Nixoret. "Here, for your throat. Take no more than three drops. It is the concentrated equivalent of ten to the second power cups of Chelaxian Breakfast Tea, which until now has been regarded as the ideal treatment for Esophageal Bruising. Unfortunately, I don't think it will do much for the blunt trauma."

Treat Wounds (Craft): 1d20 + 8 ⇒ (11) + 8 = 19 to remove the Wounded condition

Turning to Rain in Cloudy Day, he continues "You were here researching the local civilization, right? I wouldn't think the natural caverns would be of much use for that, but this door screams 'important' if we can find our way through it."

"I believe all three of these questions are tied together for me. I have learned that my freedom has in ways made me incautious... but I am still blessed to have companions who will sit with me through resolving my mistakes. I have also learned that I allow my cleverness to obscure what is right in front of me, but I can rely on Rising Dawn and Nixoret to see the truth of it, and Kalla to tell me when I've gone too far... at least I think so, I don't always understand all of the idioms how does one barrel? In essence," he pauses and turns to Master Farabellus, "I have learned that my greatest weakness," he turns to Master Shaine "is in the truths of myself that I do not yet fully understand, but my best armor against that ignorance," he turns to Master Westyr, "is the companionship of good allies, those who will shield my weakness and enhance my strength as I do for them."

He pauses in thought briefly, then turns to Drandle. "I would say if you don't want people risking their souls, then don't make it part of the test. The devil is already bound by its summoning, just add an extra clause excluding the option, or create an appropriate simulacrum. Like Master Westyr's lovely sleeping dragon."

Laszlo eyes the butterfly net as Nixoret gets close. "Ah, we are engaging in the taunting of opponents. I shall also take part! One of your parents was a dung beetle and the other parent couldn't tell! How was that?"

Laszlo tosses a healing vial to Kalla and then breaks out his alchemy kit to replace the two versatile vials he'd used during the fight.

Since the healing vial is just an action, I presume I can do both

Heal Kalla: 1d6 ⇒ 5

Laszlo strides out of the smoke, takes a quick assessment of the fight and tosses a bomb at Daymok. "You are wrong. There will be two last kobolds standing, and they shall both be Nixoret!"

Stride, stride, attack

Attack Blight Bomb: 1d20 + 5 ⇒ (14) + 5 = 19
Blight Bomb Damage: 1d4 ⇒ 4 poison and 1d4 persistent poison and 1 splash

"I don't know if there is a clever trick to this challenge like there was to the prior two challenges, but I see three paths forward for us." Laszlo lifts his index finger and begins counting of options. "First, basic stealth. We sneak past without waking him. I am not the most skilled in that and will happily follow the lead of those better equipped, but I think this should be our primary approach. Second, negotiation." Laszlo pauses briefly at this and flushes with embarassment. "I believe our last set of challenge proved I am also unsuitable to guide this approach, but presently, I'm not sure what we could offer for safe passage. Which leads me to the third option: Chaos." A joyous grin spreads across Laszlo's face.

"If we cannot keep the dragon asleep, then we will want to overwhelm his senses. He cannot attack us, if he does not know where we are. One of us can use the scroll of glitterdust to distort his vision. To overcome his senses of smell and hearing, I suggest we set up piles of our extra clothing behind the alchemist fire we have and break the vials with stones or other thrown weapons. The noise and light will hopefully draw his attention and the scent should hopefully hold it. I can also create a small smoke cloud, but I would have to be close by to ignite it. Finally, we can activate one of the more aggressive options provided by the decanter of endless water and toss it to the other side of the dragon. I don't have a particular goal with that, but it should certainly be distracting." Laszlo composes himself briefly. "But of course sneaking past should certainly be our first plan."

"Three ideas... three ideas clearly spring to mind"

Laszlo shrugs at Kalla "Maybe"

Turning back to the two men, he clears his throat. "It is a pleasure to meet you, Venture-Captain. I hate to correct Captain Jorsal, but I am actually a homonculus, sometimes called a fleshwarp." Looking at the stitches on one hand he mutters "the master wasn't terribly picky though, I might have some autodidact in me. To the events of our journey though, we visited the village of Mishkar where we did in fact find the remnants of the Farheaven diaspora. Unfortunately, with two exceptions, much of the cultural memory of the group had been lost in a plague. The first exception was Nelket, who had been corresponding with Captan Jorsal. For the second exception, please allow me to introduce Amelia Cyrixiar, with whose aid we were able to invoke and help heal the Farheaven god Dolok Darkfur. I will leave it to her to provide you the details.

Unrelated to our intended task, but also of significant interest, as we were about to leave, the area was afflicted with a massive wildfire. With the aid of the locals, we determined that it was caused by a cyclopean monolith in a dragon graveyard that was occupied by a goblin village. This bizarre confluence of factors led to the creation of a breed of fire elementals that possessed the skeletons of young dragons. It is most fascinating." Laszlo begins to get visibly excited and his voice becomes muffled as he starts digging through his bag looking for certain papers. "The monolith was too big for us to bring back, but the goblins and Farheavens agreed to bring it to the new site in Sarkoris. I made some preliminary notes and drawings of the runes... I swear I have them in here somewhere..."

Laszlo gives Kaana Korag a toothy grin and greets her in elvish, patting the large stone with them. "Peace be upon you, chieftain. We have your culprit right here. Though I think the challenge will be getting blood from a stone rather than a god. Perhaps, you and some of your companions might join us in Mishkar, where all may hear of what happened and any harms be resolved as a community."

He briefly turns to Kalla and says in Taldane "I really do like the elvish language. Everything I say just feels so much smoother. Like a miniature poem."

Laszlo, revitalized by Dawn's aura, enlists Seelah and some of the others in collecting pieces to put together a basic sledge for transporting the monolith back to town. Experienced with assembling bones and other remains in unique ways, he dives into the task with surprising energy.

Craft Sledge: 1d20 + 7 ⇒ (17) + 7 = 24

Laszlo looks at his sickly skin tone for a brief moment "I guess I do provide... Apologies for our companion's abruptness. She's had a hard... while. We are not familiar with a monolith, is it responsible for the fire? The centaurs blamed the goblins, and the goblins mentioned some undead, but no one really seemed to know what's going on." Without waiting for a response, he turns to start digging through his bag. "But first, smoke inhalation is terrible for you without the appropriate biological filters. Let me see if I have something to help with that."

If you like I can attempt a Medicine/Crafting role to help make Cenenviel more comfortable.

One night while sitting around the fire, Laszlo pulled out one of his extra sets of travelling clothes and a small sewing kit to patch its holes. Looking around to the others, he offered "I am happy to assist with any of yours as well, just say the word." As he finished unpacking the necessary tools, a wooden thimble rolled out and he deftly caught it before letting it get close to the fire. A melancholy smile crossed his face as he examined the thimble in the firelight. "You know I was always taught that sewing is talking work. It was always the most challenging part of the skill for me, my face does not invite gossip, and my stories from the castle were not suited for good company. But perhaps I can learn the skill now and improve my sewing.

I learned to sew early in my existence, and it is probably why I am here today. Once we had mastered spoken language, generally by the age of three, the master had no compunction about sending his homunculi to town on shopping trips. We could not barter well, but the townsfolk knew who we served and none would think of shortchanging us. Amongst the butchers and the fruit sellers, there was a blind weaver who had her own stall, Baba Takacs. Her neighbors made sure she was not stolen from and her work was of a quality beyond what would be expected in a small peasant town like ours, so she never lacked for custom. On my shopping days, I would always stop a while to appreciate her stall. We were too poor for her to have many colors, but the patterns drew my eye almost hypnotically.

One such day, while I was enjoying her work, her hand shot out and caught my sleeve, almost like a viper. She felt at my burst seams and lacking patchwork and then snapped at me. "Boy! What is your name?!"

I was unwilling to admit that I didn't have one so I stuttered out name I had heard often enough in the marketplace, "I-i-ivan, baba."

"Well Ivan, I cannot stand to feel cloth so poorly treated. If you cannot afford my goods, I will teach you how to take care of what you have. Tomorrow afternoon you will come to my place and I will show you." So saying she gave me directions to her house and sent me on my way.

No one had ever addressed me like that other than the master, so I did exactly as she told me. As I think on it now, no one had addressed me before at all. The master always wanted his homunculi to be as skilled as possible but was unwilling to put the effort in to teach us, and he didn't need us much during the daylight hours, so he sent me off with little care. He claimed that "at the least it will help with suturing the more delicate surgeries."

It was a new experience, being treated like one of the townsfolk. She would holler at me if I broke something, and tell me her idle thoughts as she wove or sewed. I learned the names of the butchers and fruit sellers I brought from, not from their own mouths, but from her gossip.

I had gone back for three lessons before I realized she was never blind at all. She was criticizing a seam I had admittedly done horribly on and I stuck my tongue out at her like I had seen the town's children doing. She immediately snatched a pair of shears from her worktable and snapped "You will keep that civil tongue in you head or I will cut it out."

Immediately, a strange terror overwhelmed me. She knew who and what I was and now the illusion had been dispelled she would cast me out. She would trap me and burn me to death like the master said happened to my older brother who fled to another town.

Instead, it seemed she misread my fear, and soothed me, "There, there Ivan, I would never actually do that to you. For one thing, these are my good fabric shears. Now let me show you how to fix this..." And the lesson continued as though my world had never been about to end.

As I think on it now, even had she been blind, of course she would have known I was different. She taught me everything by touch, and my hands...

Several lessons after that, I happened to arrive early and overheard a local housewife complaining to Baba Takacs about her ill child. She of course left as soon as I arrived, but Baba Takacs told me of the boy's symptoms, which reminded me of an illness that struck the master weeks prior. I would have let things be except she bemoaned "So sad that a young boy like that will pass, but at least his mother has three other children, she will not be left alone."

I recalled that the master had mixed himself some potion from a book and was better immediately, so upon returning home I searched for the cure. I was able to find the book quickly, since he had left it out, and though I couldn't read at the time, it fortunately had a picture of a native plant I recognized. I gathered some from nearby and ran back to the town. The woman and her family wouldn't let me in, still terrified of folk from the castle, but I was able to explain to Baba Takacs what I'd found and she told me later that I'd saved the boys life.

That event inspired me to learn to read. One of the master's ghostly servants took pity on me, and I consumed all of the medical texts that I could. The master even let me keep my favorite, the works of Professor Csoka. I still returned for "lessons" even after I clearly could not progress further, and for some reason she would always hear of the illnesses and maladies of the town. It was years before any of them worked up the courage to approach me directly. But that is another tale.

When she finally passed, I secretly interred her in the one resting place I knew none of my brethren would ever dare disturb, the master's family crypt. It brings me a strange joy to know that she rests safely there, but he never will."

Laszlo's eyes snapped back into focus after staring silently into the fire for too long. "Ah I let that get away from me, clearly I still need more practice at this aspect of sewing." Holding up the thimble again, he turned to his neighbor, "Rising Dawn, surely you've collected interesting knick-knacks like this! Why don't you spin us a tale of your most interesting personal effect?"

At Kalla's faint plea, Laszlo's thoughts jump to only a couple of months back, he remembers issuing a similar warning to what he thought was just a group of passing travellers. Returning to himself, he declares "Nonsense, Pathfinders do not flee what they can fight, and they certainly do not leave people behind."

Laszlo watches Dawn treat Kalla with a touch of disappointment. She didn't even do a proper bloodletting. And with a swamp nearby, we have a perfect source of good leeches. They're always better fresh. Ah well, nothing for it. Despite his misgivings, the impressive results speak for themselves.

As Kalla professes her well-being, Laszlo takes the opportunity to give Amelia another quick examination, ensuring that the disease has not taken hold. "Well this has been a day well spent. Though we should note down the onset period, in case a similar disease rears it's head. Would have been a true shame to unwittingly infect the town."

Laszlo searches briefly through his bag, prepared for disappointment before he even began. "Curses, I left my gravedigging trowel back in Ustalav. I knew I was going to need it.*sigh* How do your people feel about pyres?" He looks over to Amelia hopefully. "Or perhaps cairns? I can do a lovely cairn if we have the right kind of stones nearby."

"Oh speaking of, if none of us picked it up in the market, we should see if there are any beehives in the nearby lands. Nelket mentioned we would need honey and I suspect fresh gathered would be the best for a ritual like we're planning. Perhaps after we've found the other ritual items we need in the r... town."

"Nonsense. I mean you should be polite to strangers any way." Laszlo holds a hand up toward one of the hanging effigies, not quite touching it but allowing him to examine it more closely. "There was a witch back in Ustalav that master would send me to get things from and her place was marked out like this too. She was always very kind to me. I think the Pathfinders might have killed her though... They mentioned something about a hag in the swamp... But that's not important, I'm sure Amelia's a lovely person."

I would like to determine what if any effect these effigies have. I would normally assume Occultism, but Arcana would be the same if it is actually the relevant skill.
Occultism or Arcana: 1d20 + 7 ⇒ (4) + 7 = 11

Laszlo puffs himself up a bit at Nelket's greeting. I already look like a Pathfinder! That's so exciting! Listening to her story though, he sobers up quickly.

He speaks up briefly in support of Rising Dawn. "We are very sorry for your loss. While we can't fix it, maybe we can alleviate it somewhat. The venture captain is organizing an expedition to where we think your homeland was. But we don't really know what is important there. If you could help us then maybe we can return some of what was lost there to you." Laszlo's eloquent request is unfortunately marred by a slurping noise as he keeps drool from dripping out of his mismatched lips.

"If this is too much for you, we understand. Perhaps you could also point us in the direction of your cousin, Amelia?"

Man, and I thought you guys were just really good at the whole "Yes, and..." thing. :)

*Before*
Kenneth's eyebrows pop up. "Oh it was definitely earlier, figures you wouldn't get it, being the Silver Shadow and all."

He pauses for a moment to collect his thoughts. "If I'm going to tell you this, it will be once and with no interruptions. This is my 'secret' so I'm going to tell it my way.

"But the public and the heroes don't blame that on their failings as individuals. That all happens because the Silver Shadows aren't special, because they're baselines. And so every time someone tells me that I shouldn't be doing this, can't be out here doing this, it's because the Silver Shadow told them that. That is why I have a problem with you."

By the end of his rant, Kenneth was shaking slightly from the emotion he'd unintentionally let out. Looking down for a second, he took a deep breath.

"But you know what, you're right, I've been unfair. Maybe you'll succeed where your predecessor's didn't. Now let's get going, I need to be home for dinner and I want to know what's up with these kids."

=============

Feeling the tension in the car ratchet up, Kenneth decided to redirect the conversation slightly.

"Whatever. So, neither of the two of us got too close a look at the insides of the robot. A lot of psychic and magical constructs lack internal consistency. Did the robot have any glaring errors? Anything lacking obvious support or means of mobility? Obviously it's supposed to be super tech so it may be hard to tell, but you had a better view than us."

Dismayed at how quickly she slipped past his guard, Apex struggled to block out the pain in his head. As the second blow lands, he rotated his frame toward his opponent and brought his elbows down tight, knocking away the last shot. Not wanting to waste his opening, Apex tossed two quick jabs to her kidneys and danced back, looking for the next cheap shot.

"You may want to see the real me, but we need some ground rules. Both of us need to be back in school on Monday, so no blows to the face, no breaking bones, and loser owes the winner a secret." At the last condition a wicked grin peeks out between his fists.

Without waiting for a response, Apex darts back towards Silver Shadow, juking suddenly and then opening up with a body combination.

Cool deal, I'm down to stick to narrative.

Kenneth adjusted his grip on the brown paper bag as he surveyed the cafeteria. Catching sight of Shayera, he began to step forward and then caught himself. Surrounded by her cohort she was better armoured than Bran in full-plate, and his school persona wouldn't fit in there. Another pass caught Bronwyn, looking a bit lost, but again, she was too much of a social butterfly.

Why am I even doing this, I should just sit on my own and catch up on my reading like normal? As the thought passed, he caught himself grasping the earpiece in his pocket and let it go.

His morning had passed without note, he wasn't even particularly tired. While the team's shenanigans had exhausted him mentally, he hadn't been much more active than his typical workout during the fight itself. That must be it, I still want to figure out what happened last night. With a firm goal in mind, he locked on to his target and headed purposefully across the room.

"You're Alexandra, right? Hi, my name's Kenneth. I'm working on a project for this big robotics contest and I was wondering if I could get your help on it. It's really a team thing any way. Without some extra support, I don't think I'll have a shadow of a chance." Not waiting for a response, he dropped his lunch bag across from her and took a seat. As he pulled out a sandwich and water bottle, he looked directly at her, a seemingly open and excited smile on his face.

Hey, don't knock my influence over crickets, its important that I can let those noisy buggers know what I think of them!

Good way to show off that he's a *jerk* too

If we're still using Wingblade's mentor's base as HQ does that mean we have to hang out at Reaver Industries now? Cuz that could be... awkward.

As the elevator doors close, Apex waves patronizingly at his former captive. Turning to Flux once they have the impression of privacy, Apex says "Look, we need to talk. I'm sorry, this is my fault, I didn't plan well enough, I thought we were better prepared. If you want out, now's the time, you can get off on another floor and book it to an emergency exit or something."

Taking a quick breath, he continues before Flux can answer. "But if you keep going with me you have to understand, we can't surrender. This isn't some muggers in an alley who might just leave us broken and beaten, this is a corporation. If they catch us, they won't call the cops. I might get lucky, they'll probably just kill me and hide the body. But you? They'll put you in a glass tube and experiment until they find out what makes you tick. And then they'll make you tick. They'll use your powers to make monsters, to do all the things you wear those gloves to prevent... When we get to the 4th floor, I'm going through that hatch and I'm going to do everything in my power to bring their crimes to light, and if you're going to do it with me, I need you to do it with your eyes open."

Apex gently reaches a hand out and rests it comfortingly on his friend's shoulder while he awaits a response.