|
Sorry about the short post before; that was my first ever attempt to start a completely new thread. Please be gentle with me....
I was attempting to paste some fancy-fonted text, but this appears impossible. If anyone knows how this could be done, I would be very grateful.
This is intended as a companion to The Journal of Coda Tyburn (elsewhere on these boards). My fellow-player Nermal has taken it upon himself to write an accurate account of what happens, to aid gameplay and refresh our hopeless memories, but I am under no such obligation to be objective (as will probably become apparent...:-}).
|
|
For the record, Tycho is a young (18 yr) male of Baklunish descent, acting as indentured servant/occasional pupil to the Oeridian wizard-astronomer Makathones, in the north side of Cauldron. As well as the usual cleaning and fetching duties, he has recently been given the duty of refreshing the alarms, which are tested (sometimes several times a night) by the local street gangs. Since being 'honoured' with this job, he has not had a full nights sleep for several months, while his mentor sleeps like a babe, a situation that proves very galling.
He shares the small building with his master (who is not to be disturbed), a metal guardian (who never speaks and rarely moves), and a permanent 'unseen servant', none of whom provide any entertainment or mental stimulation.
It has become clear that if he is to progress in his studies and/or afford his independence, he will have to take matters into his own hands....
|
|
10th of Hawkmonth:
Apologies for the break since last journal. I have made no diary entries for a few days, since things have been in turmoil; I have simply been too busy to obtain a new book, or to find time to write.
We had a visitor last week; I was awoken by the silent alarm, to find the padlock cut through, the lock picked, and the bar raised (who knows how?).
The lock was obviously of inferior quality, so I was sent to procure a replacement, which I obtained from Ghelve’s. This one should prove beyond the means of the average burglar, and he would still have to negotiate the bar, which we have set in brackets with a further bolt & chain. This should prove sufficient to fox a lone intruder, though a group with magical means may still bypass it. If they want in so badly, they will find a way.
The work could not take place immediately, so I spent a night downstairs, wrapped in a blanket, with a crossbow for company. A crossbow! Why? What am I supposed to do with that?
What is the point of being trained in the arcane arts, if I am not allowed the means to defend myself? I have broached this subject before, to no avail; the fool probably fears I would oust him with my new-found power. If the idiot is so paranoid, would one not expect him to have paid for a better lock?
When the workman came, I retired to bed, to sleep fitfully. This whole episode has left a bad taste.
|
|
12th of Hawkmonth:
Missed an entry, due to events above. I awoke mid-morning, unable to sleep through the street-noise, and the banging from downstairs. The work was progressing slowly; apparently the new locks will be embedded more firmly in the fabric of the door, covered by metal plates. I could hear the master negotiating a price for the windows, so I took the opportunity to check upstairs…previous attempts have proved fruitless, but I was hopeful the distraction would make him careless.
The library door was shut, but not locked, as this time I was able to open it from afar, without touching the handle. The shelves immediately ahead of me were awash with papers and folios, stacked from floor to ceiling. I concentrated on the far wall, sifting the accumulated auras, rejecting those that were obviously beyond me. I ignored the larger volumes as being too heavy, and began lifting one of the smaller bundles from the far corner. I am well aware that I am forbidden from entering this room, both verbally and by wards, but I see no restriction on items leaving!
The above action took barely over a minute, and I was rewarded with a slim volume of yellowed vellum, which I quickly concealed about my person, together with an assortment of crumbling scrolls of obvious age. I summoned the broom, and directed it to sweep the disturbed dust and cracked scroll fragments out of the room, and over the banister, to mingle with the general debris arising from the sawing below. I then hurried to my room, to review this prize.
The scrolls contained obviously arcane glyphs, some of which I was able to translate; dweomers of offence, defence and misdirection, as would be useful to a travelling spell-for-hire, and more than suitable for my purposes. The slim volume appeared to be a treatise on the nature of the outer worlds, though I could only briefly examine it before footsteps caused me to jump from my rest. A loose floorboard under my cot became my new hiding-place for these treasures, until such time as I could peruse them more thoroughly.
|
|
13th of Hawkmonth:
Last night I took the scrolls from their resting place, and scanned them minutely; my initial assessment was correct, that these were indeed, the formulae for several minor spells, among them two variants of mystic shields, instructions on how to mould and focus gravitic force as a weapon, an illusory veil, and a method for scrying the properties of enchanted items…all useful indeed!
I had to handle the fragile parchment with care, but spent the night in intense concentration, transferring the formula for the force missiles into my own words. After several hours, the final stage of the ritual was done, the original writing flared into life, consuming the scroll, which flew around the room as curling flakes of ash. Though it was unfortunate to lose the scroll, I knew its loss was not in vain, and the knowledge was now mine for good.
I must take care not to reveal this knowledge to the master, until the time is right, as he would no doubt question its source. It is enough for now that I know something he does not; that amuses me, and will make my time pass easier.
|
|
14th of Hawkmonth:
I was mightily vexed to find my chess-board, upon which I was conducting an exercise in the refused flank theory, had been swept clean, and the pieces back in their box. Damn the stupid djinn-servant, and its obsessive-compulsive behaviour! If it would simply restrain itself to moving its broom back and forth across the floor, as I required, and not meddle in the affairs of its superiors! If I did not know better, I would suspect it had acted out of petty spite, but I long ago abandoned any attempt to teach the thing to play, since it would seem to have no initiative of its own. I suppose it is my fault for leaving my things unattended, and not giving explicit instructions. Moreover, I now have more profitable ways to engage my wit than gaming, even the game of kings…
I looked forward to tonight’s vigil with unprecedented ardour; eager as I was to toy with the new knowledge at my disposal. After taking steps to ensure I was undisturbed I recalled the mantra from the night before, and eventually felt the force form before me, which I directed at a crude target, chalked on the cellar door.
To my disappointment, it appeared impossible to use the missiles against inanimate objects; much as I tried, I could discern no mark, burn or scratch beyond those already present.
I suspected I may be missing the true intent of the spell, and that it was designed for the destruction of one’s foes. I spied a rat in the cellar with me, and I thought back to the many ignominies of my past, imagining the vermin before me with the visage of my enemies, and focussed my rage toward it. I was ecstatic to witness the bolt strike true, flinging the creature from its perch with nary time for a cry before its worthless life was cut short. Would that the street-vermin could feel my wrath that night!
I returned the room to its former state, careful not to bring unwanted attention to my doings, and spent the remainder of the night in contemplation of the rest of my scrolls. If I am to bring righteous vengeance upon those who plague me, I will be in need of defences, as well as weaponry.
|
|
15th of Hawkmonth: Another bad night; I was woken twice, once by the front door, and two hours later by the back. Each time my lantern was uncovered, the intruders fled, but not immediately. Multiple footsteps each time; they are getting bolder. The patrols are no more numerous, despite our entreaties, though, I will admit, the habit of staggering their rounds will have brought confusion and uncertainty to the low-life. They cannot afford to tarry too long at any door, and must expend more of their strength on lookout.
Nevertheless, it is only a matter of time before one of them solves the puzzle of the lock. It is a good lock, dwarven, or gnomish make, of a far better quality than the surrounding buildings, and should foil the majority of street-slime. Yet I hazard that we are being used for practice by apprentice-urchins, and it has not had to stand to a true master.
I will wait a while before replenishing the alarm; I cannot force myself back to sleep, and it makes no sense to waste it during my waking hours. Maybe writing will send me back to sleep, but I doubt it.
My hands are still shaking with the indignity of it all; I actually loaded the crossbow this time, though what good he expects me to do with it, I have no idea. If he wants a Mundane to guard him, he should fork out for one!
|
|
20th of Hawkmonth: I have now succeeded in deciphering all the scrolls; this was exceedingly time-consuming, hence, my absence from these pages. It also necessitated a great deal of subterfuge, to ensure I was not overheard.
Although unarmoured, I can maintain a protective field for an hour that should prove superior to a suit of cured leather. In an emergency, a further short-lived shield can improve this to the consistency of full-plate. Establishing the efficacy of this proved to be nerve-wracking, involving the fixing of the crossbow in place (clamped between two retort stands), and the creation of a remote trigger from string, attached to my leg.
I now believe I have the tools to rid myself of the parasitical vermin who assail my repose, though I require a modicum of investigation to locate their stinking nest. I believe, from the direction they flee, and from casual conversation with tradefolk, that this may be somewhere in the vicinity of (or perhaps, even inside) The Drunken Morkoth, a local tavern.
This would seem plausible, as the establishment has a bad reputation for violence, which occasionally spills over into the streets outside at closing time. The door staff also, apparently, seem to take a perverse delight in turning away respectable-looking patrons in favour of tattooed thugs.
I resolve to visit tonight; with luck I may recognize members of the crowd, and be able to confirm my suspicions. To avoid unpleasantness, both on entry and (should I be forced to flee) on exit, I will alter my appearance to that of a typical patron; a scar-faced, crop-haired, dead-eyed, slack-jawed Oeridian. My clothing I will leave unchanged, in case I am frisked or jostled. I should still be close enough to sense the alarm, should that be required.
I leave now; hopefully after tonight, I will have a clearer idea of the difficulty of the task before me.
|
|
21st of Hawkmonth: Last night proved interesting indeed; my suspicions were correct, and the Drunken Morkoth did indeed contain a variety of criminal types, bragging about their exploits, and attempting to offload their ill-gotten wares. My disguise evidently proved sufficient, the door staff giving me merely a cursory glance. I handed over my staff without argument. My dagger was found easily, after I was asked to open my jacket; I feigned disappointment as I handed it over, to allay the likelihood that they would look for the second dagger on my leg. Once past the door, no-one seemed to give me a second glance. All appeared to have ‘business’ to attend to, and most wished to be discrete. The one exception to this rule was a filthy dwarf who passed from table to table, pawing at the occupants, recoiling from them when they threatened him with violence. When he reached my table, I understood why, since he stank like a midden in high summer. His clothing was covered in ordure, as if he had spent a night in a sewer, and he gasped drunkenly and incoherently at me to help him. Though intrigued by his plight, I was aware of several pairs of eyes watching us, and I had no wish to be noticed, so I brandished an empty tankard at him, which caused him to cower from me and seek refuge from another unlucky soul.
He continued to pester several more of the clientele, none of whom would help, and I would have left him to his fate had I not heard him mention the Last Laugh, a gang of ill-repute. He seemed to believe their agents were after him, and was constantly glancing over to a group in the corner in hoods and cloaks, though they seemed to show no interest in him at all.
Eventually, this behaviour became too much for the barman, who came over to eject the dwarf from the premises. This caused him to start shouting for help from any who would listen, claiming the Last Laugh were taking over the city, and we would all be killed in our beds.
This polarised the customers, some of whom crowded round to jeer at him and throw slops, while some moved away or left altogether. The hooded group conferred with each other before heading to the exit; in doing so, I caught a better glimpse of their features. I had thought they were ebon-skinned folk, such as the inhabitants of Hepmonaland or Amedio, but I now realised that this was not the case. Rather, they had masked their true features with black & white paint, split down the middle. This did not bode well, and I realised the dwarf may have spoken true.
The mood of the crowd had by now gotten ugly, and I deemed it prudent to leave. The dwarf had found a protector, in the form of a large half-orc, who promised the barman he would escort him home. Though unarmed, he appeared more than capable of facing down the more vocal riff-raff, some of whom, I am sure, were carrying blades.
I retrieved my staff and dagger from the cloakroom, while the pair made their way out. The dwarf was by now begging his new friend to follow the hooded group, but he was unsure, stating he merely wished to see him safely home. Their exchange was interrupted by a cry from a nearby alley, which they both ran to investigate. By this time I was intrigued, so I followed them.
The pair stopped at the end of the alley, and we saw the three hooded figures standing over the body of a cloaked man, a fellow customer who had left just before them. He appeared bloodied but still awake, and they were telling him to ‘stay away from the orphanage, if you know what’s good for you’. Though I had no inkling what this argument was about, my sympathies were definitely with the man on the floor, due to his icon of St. Cuthbert and the sinister nature of his attackers. The dwarf then launched himself with surprising speed at the trio, drawing a rapier, of all things, and slashed one of them across the throat, dropping him to the cobbles. The half-orc stepped forward, with open hands, attempting to defuse the situation, but this proved futile. The two remaining muggers swarmed around them both, drew blades, and gashed him in the back, though luckily not enough to do for him.
This cowardly attack raised my ire, and I stepped forward to aid them both, my staff swinging. I brought it down on the shoulder of one who had the impertinence to turn his back on me. I do not know how hard he felt it through his jerkin, but it certainly distracted him long enough for the half-orc to swing a meaty fist into his cheekbone and shower me with blood and teeth. The third villain (who transpired to be female) fled at this point, flinging a dagger at the dwarf, who fell with it stuck from his chest. She attempted to taunt us from the end of the alley, thinking us lacking ranged weaponry, so I shot her with a magic missile, which unfortunately failed to finish her, but caused her to flee from me in terror.
The Town Watch had arrived at this point, along with several bystanders who had found their courage once there were no foes to fight. Having satisfied them that we were blameless (a verdict aided by our lack of armour or proper weaponry), we were thanked by the potential victim, a priest named Rufus, who asked us to escort him back to the temple of St Cuthbert. I was glad to, since his cult, though new, has many admirable similarities to my own respected faith.
Along the way, I dropped my disguise and introduced myself to the others. The dwarf, Badvock, was now healed and seemed to have sobered up, though he still stank like a dead otyugh. The half-orc, Coda, intrigued me, since the reports I had heard of these people were that they were a feral and bloodthirsty race, yet he had shown great restraint in attempting to defuse the situation, with words and non-lethal force. Clearly, living in even a backwater such as Cauldron had a civilising effect, though I noted he wore the symbol of the Laughing Brawler round his neck, so it remains to be seen how long this will last.
We were also accompanied by two elves, who had witnessed the fight, though it was over before they could affect the outcome. They claimed to have seen a fourth figure on the rooftops, observing us, but she had got away after sarcastically applauding our efforts and threatening retribution. Though she did not show herself again, I was glad of the extra company, as I had exhausted my spells for the day. The male, Valas, was a grim, silent sort, with a black hooded cloak and a sword taller than himself, yet despite this, I did not consider him suspicious, but felt at ease. The female elf, Lia, was obviously from out of town, with her northern accent, buckskin clothes and beaded hair. She had tried to track the fleeing thug, but without success. No matter, we will surely have given her cause to lay low.
After delivering Rufus to the temple, we were thanked by the priestess, Jenya, who seemed intent on hiring us to help him solve a mystery at the afore-mentioned orphanage. Coda immediately jumped to volunteer us all, which was rather impulsive of him, though I had to admit, being in the good favour of an influential church would not hurt my cause. The other three also seemed relieved to have employment and protection, so we agreed to meet next morning, once we had rested.
I was given a verse that had apparently been quoted by the temple oracle, relating to the matter at hand. I will sleep on this and pray for inspiration.
|
|
21st of Hawkmonth (continued):
We met later on the steps of the temple, this time properly equipped. Badvock had cleaned himself up, and now looked relatively presentable, Coda appeared in a suit of armour with a greatsword, Lia had a bow and quiver to complement her pair of swords, and Valas had also strapped on a suit of elven armour, with a highly-polished conical helm.
It appears that all five of us are more than we seemed on first impressions last night…
We took breakfast with the monks, whilst awaiting Jenya’s arrival. We were already aware, from last night’s meeting that Rufus had been investigating the disappearance of several children from the church-sponsored orphanage on Lantern Street. Although he was no wiser, his questions had obviously displeased someone in the criminal underworld, for them to have sent him a violent dissuader.
Though the two elves were unaware, the locals amongst us (myself, Coda and Badvock) were of the opinion that these may be just the latest in a long line of disappearances that the authorities had failed to solve.
I had brought a map, for the benefit of the elves, upon which we plotted the scenes of the crimes. This failed to establish any obvious pattern amongst the victims, who were of all ages, varied race and social class, and from all areas.
The three of us were each aware of at least a dozen missing persons, but even allowing for some overlap, it was clear that the problem was far more serious than any of us had realised, especially if one allows for disappearances that went unreported, amongst the beggars and non-persons of the town.
With this in mind, any reservations we may have had, over accepting the commission, disappeared, and we confirmed this to Jenya as she arrived. We then took to discussing the oracle’s words, which went as follows:
The locks are key to finding them.
Look beyond the curtain, below the cauldron,
But beware the doors with teeth.
Descend into the malachite hold,
Where precious life is bought with gold.
Half a dwarf binds them, but not for long.
Though many theories were bandied about, it was soon clear that, as is usual with such oracular utterances, the terms were so vague as to be virtually useless until after the fact. It would seem the missing persons may still be alive, but captive, and that we need to explore under the city, in a place where the doors are trapped with spikes or arrows. The place is presumably formed from malachite (unlikely, since it is a poor building material), or is on the site of a malachite mine. As for ‘half a dwarf’, I can only assume this is a reference to the kidnapper’s race, though what the other half may be, one can only guess.
Rather than waste time on hypothetical musings, I suggested we would be better served by establishing further facts. The prophecy may help us decide between two or more equally valid directions, and its meaning will surely become obvious with hindsight.
We decided to visit the orphanage for further clues; though Rufus had already been, it may be that five heads can spot what one may miss, especially with our extended areas of expertise. Jenya provided us with written references for the
headmistress and healing potions in case we should meet with further attackers. Such trust fills me with further resolve, and I swore to her that I would do whatever was in my power; she clasped my hand tightly, looked up at me with her large, brown eyes, and said softly, "I know you will".
I found my usual cynicism fading away, to be replaced with feelings as yet unknown to me. I have known simple lust, but this is something purer and nobler. Though she may be small in stature, I detect an inner strength that I find admirable. As the only human in this group, it is only natural she should look to me to lead them, and I aim to prove myself worthy of this trust.
|
|
21st of Hawkmonth (continued)...
Four of us approached the orphanage, leaving Coda to buy supplies, as he thought his appearance may prove unnerving to the children. We showed our references to the headmistress, a Halfling lady named Gretchyn, who was understandably reticent to allow strangers in. Once inside, we quickly established that the place was secure, with barred windows and locked doors. There were 31 boys and 19 girls, in separate dormitories, from which the four children had been taken, yet no-one had seen a thing. We split up, ostensibly to question the staff and children more efficiently, but also to allow Badvock to examine the locks more closely.
The missing children are:
Deakon Stormshield - dwarf male (age 12)
Evelyn Radavec - human female (age 9)
Lucinda Aldreen - human female (age 8)
Terrem Kharatys - human male (age 9)
There appeared to be no apparent link between the families of the four; all the human parents were nondescript commoners. Only the dwarves were out of the ordinary, being married adventurers, who failed to return home, and are presumed dead. Whether this has any bearing on the case, I do not know.
My questions to the staff drew a blank; all had alibis, and I could discern no untruths.
Badvock declared that the locks were of good quality, and should be beyond the ability of most thieves; even an experienced burglar would have taken so long to bypass them, they would have been spotted. He had not seen the tell-tale scratches he would expect to see left by picks and needles, which led him to believe that the kidnapper had a key (or copy). After establishing that headmistress Gretchyn had the only known key to the main doors, we decided to pay a visit to the locksmith, a gnome named Keygan Ghelve. His is a very successful business, well-known to Badvock and me (having used them within the last fortnight). Though I cannot imagine the proprietor of such a business destroying his reputation via crime, it is possible that his employees are not so trustworthy.
Valas and Lia spoke to the children, as they appeared to be the least threatening among us. The girls may open up to another female, and Valas has a very soothing tone of voice. Among the tedious drivel they had to listen to were a few gems of potential value; one boy claimed to have seen an evil ‘gnome’ with crooked teeth leering at him during the night (the half-dwarf? It does not sound like Ghelve), and one claimed to see a figure carrying off a child, but he ‘wasn’t all there’ and was ‘see-through, like a ghost’. A group of the girls had also confessed to being out of the dorm during the night, being allowed into the kitchen for a feast, by the janitor, a member of staff I had not been told of.
We confronted this janitor, a half-orc named Patch, who confessed to allowing the girls free reign of the building, as they were blackmailing him, having seen him accept money from a stranger, who should not have been in the grounds. This stranger (a Halfling named Revus) had offered him money to keep an eye on one of the children and see he came to no harm. Since that was his job anyway, he had no hesitation in being paid twice, but he had since come to suspect, from their subsequent meetings, that Revus may be a member of the Last Laugh. Since the boy in question, Terrem, had gone missing, Patch had had no word from Revus, and feared he may be involved in the kidnapping. He begged us to help him put things right, without telling the headmistress, as he feared being thrown out, and this place had been his home since he was a boy.
We discussed this between ourselves, and all agreed to honour his request, as long as we found no evidence he had been actively involved. Valas, in particular, argued in his favour, and I concede he is probably a better judge of character than me. I got a much better description of this Revus, aka ‘Twindaggers’ (pfeh!) and his haunts. Expecting us to look for a Halfling who fights with two daggers, and is also a gutter-thief, would be like finding hay in a hay-stack. That could describe any of the dirty little freaks!
I also persuaded Patch to let me examine his own features intently; if we find this Revus, I may be able to disguise myself as the janitor and cause him to lower his guard. I will show him what happens to those who prey on children. I have one advantage; years of imagining how to have my revenge on the slavers who dragged me from my home. I may have only one dagger to his two, but I have studied anatomy, and I know how to make him scream.
|
|
21st of Hawkmonth (continued)...
We decided to start our search for this ‘Revus’ at the Slippery Eel; according to Badvock, we are likely to find him there, but he declined to come, since he would be recognised. This bad blood between him and the Last Laugh I find very suspicious, but as long as he proves useful, and helps to wipe them out, I may have to turn a blind eye. Instead, he volunteered to visit Ghelve’s Locks, since he knew what to look for (from the other side of the keyhole, no doubt). Valas offered to accompany him, for muscular support, and since he is the most diplomatic of us by far. He too, said he would feel out of place in a den of thieves, and would find it hard not to smite them with righteous zeal.
A rather archaic way of putting it, but understandable, nonetheless.
At the Slippery Eel, we were made to pay a gold to enter, and were stripped of our weapons. This outrageous request was further compounded by the fact that the regulars appeared not to have a gold between them, and were openly carrying arms. Obviously we had been pegged as marks, and were fair game for fleecing. Though this fired my rage still further, I was careful not to show it. I would have my chance later, and would take recompense from Revus’ flesh. I still had my spare dagger, and did not require weapons in any case. My companions were more than capable of wringing the necks of any fool who attempted to start on us.
We were served our drinks (at inflated prices), and sat down. Coda attempted to engage the barman in conversation while I scanned the room for short people. Lia had, by now, attracted several admiring glances, and I overheard lewd comments from the crowd, concerning how she should be treated. Evidently, elves are rare enough, but one of her physique even more so. One fellow, braver than the rest, approached me, and, believing me to be her pimp, attempted to negotiate a price for her services. I considered making him an offer, in exchange for Revus’ whereabouts; I was sure that Lia could gain the upper hand once we had lured him outside, and the prospect of watching her make him lick her boots amused me greatly.
Alas, it was not to be, for she took such furious umbrage at the suggestion, that she nearly brained him with her mug then and there. Threats and curses were bandied back and forth, to the delight of the patrons, who commenced whooping and hooting, escalating the situation further. The barman raised a club and ordered them outside. The pair then jostled each other out of the bar, into the street, followed by a pair of ruffians, who I was sure, intended to do more than watch. We passed Coda at the cloakroom, holding our weapons, obviously having read the situation well, and the six of us lined up outside. The ringleader pranced and preened to the onlooking doormen, obviously confident of his ability. “Ten gold on Akvar”, shouted one, a bet which Coda took with a smile. I offered to act as second, and warned his pair of jackals to stay out of the proceedings, which they agreed, as long as we did the same. I suspected they would break their word, and readied my spell under my breath.
The fight commenced, and within a few seconds, he had made a strike toward her knuckles, which made her flinch and drop her sword to the cobbles. Luckily she carried a spare, which appeared in her left hand, and she adopted a more cautious posture. This was obviously his party piece, as his lackeys laughed heartily, as if at a familiar joke, and started circling our group menacingly. Lia swung at him, but missed, and he attempted the same trick again, sensing her inexperience. This time she was ready for him, and took the blow on the hilt, before spinning her blade free and up into his shoulder, slicing his doublet, and wrenching a gasp of pain from his lips. At this sight the lackeys ran to surround her, and all hell broke loose. My arcane bolt stopped one in his tracks, and the other’s head exploded like an over-ripe melon, as Coda’s blade crashed through his skull and continued downwards, cleaving his ribs in twain. The body stood swaying for several seconds, as the left side of the torso slid from the right, dragging the entrails through a tear in the diaphragm, before finally toppling to the floor. There was a pregnant pause, as everyone stared at this ridiculous sight, then their leader fled blindly, with vomit spraying from his nostrils.
Coda spread his arms in a gesture of triumph to the watching doorman, who threw him a small bag of coins, and warned him to be off, as our spewy friend was one of Jill’s many ‘husbands’, and would likely seek revenge. Lia wisely decided not to chase ‘Akvar’ down the alley, and retrieved her sword, only then noticing the gash in her side (from the dead scum?). I cut the pouches from the lackeys, watched by the other witness with a scowl; “My payment for casting my spell.” I replied. “Maybe I will earn more, if any other fool thinks himself lucky?” I said with a wolfish leer, that caused him to back away. I grabbed the injured thug by the ears and spat into his face that he had a choice to come with us or I would slit his throat there and then. I hoisted him to his feet by his hair, and dragged him squealing to Coda, who swung him over one shoulder by his belt, and we bid our leave.
|
|
21st of Hawkmonth, continued...
We returned to the tower, via a circuitous route, where the thug was tied to a chair and questioned for several minutes. He told us no-one had seen Revus for several days, though this was, by no means out of character for him. Not only that, but he was a member of a separate cell, so they had never worked together, and thus, he was only a casual acquaintance, through his patronage of the bar. This was also the case for Akvar, or so he claimed, that he received instructions to meet him whenever required, but had no idea of his official residence. He appeared to be telling the truth (or at least, a tale plausible enough that he was comfortable in the telling), and maintained this position despite the prescence of Coda, filing his teeth.
He complained all the while that he could no longer return home, as his former comrades would assume he had sold them out, and that he would be punished for failing to protect Akvar. This was at first, a minor interruption, but soon grew, once he realised he was not in immediate danger, until it drove me to distraction. I returned from the kitchen, where I had been taking lunch, in a rage, and demanded to know if he knew where he was, or who he thought he was talking to (my features having returned to normal by this time). When he replied in the negative, I grabbed him by the short hairs at the back of his neck, and asked him if he thought we were joking, or had nothing better to do than hunt his kind. That I was an agent for the Mayor’s office, with complete immunity, and that he died in my care, there would be no questions asked. I then removed my shoe, and berated him about the head and face, calling him a child-stealer, the excrement of a dog, and worse. If he was so worried about being thought a turncoat, maybe I should send his ears to Akvar, with a ransom note? Or if he thought my hospitality did not meet his high standards, I should introduce him to the families of the missing? I was, by now, sick of his mewling, and sat on his chest with my knife out, ready to saw at his lobes.
This exchange was cut short by the arrival of Valas, who called out to us as he entered. My knife was back inside my sleeve in an instant, and was on my feet by the fireplace with a backward pounce. The prisoner was hauled back to the vertical persuasion with a combined tug from Coda and Lia, and we assumed an air of bored nonchalance in response to Valas’ bemused stare. I have no qualms of performing violence in the presence of Lia and Coda, who, one could say, are now my brothers in blood. Certainly, unlike Lia, I did not just call someone out for a duel in the street, and Coda can hardly complain about a few drops of spilled claret, after bisecting that fool (the Slippery Eel is now well-named, with its pile of steaming offal on its threshold; ah, sweet irony!). However, I have yet to witness Valas so much as raise his voice or lose his unnerving composure, and so, must endeavour to do likewise when in his company. His arrival was fortunate for our guest, for, had I not been distracted, there is a possibility I may have begun to lose my temper with him.
|
|
21st of Hawkmonth continued... I ushered Valas into the kitchen to talk privately, while the others dragged our guest upstairs. After an (edited) explanation for his existence here, Valas revealed what he had discovered.
He had visited the locksmith’s, and had made small talk for a while, but as soon as he mentioned he had been referred by the orphanage, the proprietor’s manner changed, and he tried to move the topic along to something else. He believed they were being watched or overheard, as the gnome made subtle gestures and glances to the back room. He complied with his wishes and passed himself off as a potential customer, making an appointment to return later today with cash for a purchase.
This appeared to be the clue we were after, and we decided to go without delay. I helped Lia tie the thug to my bed, making sure to watch for any ruses he may employ to artificially tauten the bindings. I was not gentle; in fact, with hindsight, I am (almost) embarrassed to say I took a disproportionate pleasure in being the one doing the tying for a change; my days in that stinking flesh-market proved educational after all! Far better to be safe than sorry, and if he should lose a finger or two from rope burns and contusions, I was hardly going to weep for him. I finished by setting the crossbow on its stand, with the djinn-servant under orders to pull the trigger should he move more than an inch, and I delighted in advising him of this. I suggested he spend the next few hours probing his memory for useful names and places, since if I could not wreak my revenge on Revus…(I let the sentence hang, but it was obvious he understood my implication).
|
|
21st of Hawkmonth continued...
We left quickly for the locksmith’s; on the way, Badvock became agitated, and announced we were being followed, but we could not make out by who (Akvar? Revus? Jill?). We arrived at the shop, to find it locked, with a note on the door, stating the premises would reopen in a few minutes. We waited for a while, until a curious figure approached; a tall, stick-thin man, with a small head, in a floor-length coat, with a jerky gait. He greeted Valas, and apologised for the delay, throwing wide the door.
Once inside, the coat was opened, to reveal a gnome on a pair of stilts, who jumped down to the floor and ran behind the counter, with a smile, explaining he preferred not have to lookup to people in the street. Valas took the lead, reiterating the story that he had been given the task of replacing the locks on the orphanage ‘just in case’ there had been a key stolen. I introduced myself as the bursar, here to approve the price was within budget, Badvock was the technical expert, and the others were our minders. We started discussing the various locks on display, whilst I pretended to take notes. In reality, I wrote a list of questions on my pad, which I slid between myself and the gnome, these being “Are we being watched?”, “How many watchers?” and “Where are they?”. He wrote that there were usually 1 or 2 watchers, in the back room, but to be careful, as they were stealthy, and had contacts.
Valas started to complain that his bladder was feeling very full, and (loudly) asked the location of the privy. While the gnome looked on in horror, he strode to the curtain behind the counter. “In here, you say?”, he bellowed, as he swept it aside and barged on through.
There followed a loud cry, followed by a tremendous crash, and silence. We ran into the back room to find Valas, with his blade drawn,, poised to strike, but no opponent in sight. He noted our obvious confusion, and nodded to the side of the room. “Do you not see it, man?”, he yelled, to Coda, who shook his head, while the others fought behind us to fit through the doorframe, Badvock having wrapped himself in the curtain.
I looked hard at the far side of the room, and my eyes were drawn to a large clock, in a wooden case, which was leaning slightly to one side. Such a fine timepiece deserved much more careful storage, I thought, and my gaze lowered. Sure enough, it had been disturbed in the struggle, as I found several boxes overturned. While staring at this scene, I became aware of a haze in the air, as if from a rising thermal, and I struggled to focus. Upon doing so, I discerned the haze had the outline of a humanoid form, slumped against the side of the clock, unmoving.
Suspecting an invisibility effect, I removed my cloak, and draped it over this figure, which then became obvious to all. While Valas stood with sword readied, in case of trickery, Coda prodded it with his blade, and got no reaction, so I reached under the cloak to check for a pulse, and find some means of identification. Not only did I confirm the figure was still alive, but I also found, it was quite naked. Extremely naked.
This took me by surprise, as even a novice knows that an invisibility spell does not require the removal of one’s garments. I withdrew my hand, which was covered in blood/ichor, and was amazed to see the same haze enveloping my fingers. The creature’s body appeared to bend the light around itself, as the spell, but not extend to the creature’s possessions, a failing that Valas’ keen elf-eyes had taken full advantage of.
Ghelve, at this point, was frantic with worry, hopping up and down, and wringing his hands.
He was looking about, presumably for signs of the second creature, and moaning that “They’ll know! They’ll know!”. He begged us not to leave, claiming another creature would be back soon to relieve it’s comrade. He did not know how many of them there were in total, as they were indistinguishable from each other. When asked what they wanted with him, he confessed that they had forced him to create copies of the keys to several buildings in town. He had complied through fear of violence, both to himself, his family, and to his familiar, who was their hostage.
I realised the first two lines of the oracle’s verse had been matched, and demanded to know where the creatures had arrived from, fully expecting the answer I would get. Indeed, as I suspected, they had entered his shop from below the cellars, one night three months since, and had spent the intervening nights prowling the streets, returning with stolen goods and frequent captives, who would be taken underground. He could not be sure, but estimated two dozen prisoners had been brought through his premises in that time, of all races and ages. He told us that his shop stood above the old gnomish settlement of Jzadirune, long abandoned 75 years hence. This building had been the trading post and contact point for the humans of the town, and he had inherited the post of caretaker, the rest of his people having left the area. I recognised the name of Jzadirune, but little else, believing it a myth, so pressed him on the remaining lines of the verse. I was told the ‘doors with teeth’ most probably referred to the portals of Jzadirune, which comprised of rolling stone slabs, carved in the likeness of gears. Below the gnomish settlement was an older dwarven fortress, again, long abandoned, which had indeed, once been mined for malachite, before being fortified as a bulwark against slithering creatures from the deeper caves.
He had only been young when his people left, but his elders had advised him that all access to the lower caves had been permanently blocked decades ago, so he made little attempt to visit these areas. As far as he was concerned, he was there to ensure trespassers did not enter from above, not below.
Nevertheless, if the chameleon-creatures were entering the city from below, it would seem the old defences had failed. The matter should be investigated, and the authorities should be warned. The others agreed that this was essential, both to comply with our errand from the church, and to protect the town as a whole. Ghelve was fearful of reprisals from the chameleon-people, whom he had dubbed ‘skulks’, and volunteered to hand himself over to the Town Guard. We persuaded him to accompany us to the church before he did so, to allow them first refusal to question him (and, if truth be told, to allow them to divine any falsehood in his tale). We agreed to search for his familiar, a brown rat named Starbrow, with a distinctive whorl on his forehead, and to bring him back unharmed, if possible.
Ghelve warned us that the portals below were reputed to be trapped, and could only be opened with rod-shaped keys (long since lost), hence his belief that access from below was impossible. He also warned us that the reason the complex had been abandoned, was due to a wasting disease, or possibly a curse, that had affected magical items created there. Steps had been taken to (reluctantly) dismantle and destroy such items, but some may have escaped this process. We should, therefore, be wary of any item of obvious gnomish manufacture.
We agreed to meet back at the shop, after taking a short break to prepare ourselves for a descent into the chambers below. Valas would accompany Ghelve to the temple, while Coda and Lia guarded the premises, and Badvock and I procured equipment. Badvock provided a ready-made, long list of ‘essentials’, which suggested to me, he had thought long and hard about how to enter and exit other people’s property. That aside, I could not fault his choices, except to add several small items (chalk, for marking our route, fishing line, fishhooks and bells for creating a makeshift alarm, and a bundle of torches, for the benefit of those of us not born in a cave), along with a long stout pole, ten feet in length. The others scoffed at this (admittedly) unwieldy purchase, but I had read enough biographies of the famous (and infamous) explorers of yesteryear (“Tomb of Acererak” and “Chronicles of Sir Robilar” being perennial favourites), to know that one can find infinite uses for a 10’ pole.
If nothing else, if Badvock should relax his standards of hygiene again, I can at least keep him at bay with it…
A companion to The Journal of Coda Tyburn, though nowhere near as objective. (Shackled City/Greyhawk).
come on snorter,where,s your update?I,m sure there are some laughs to be had when we hear your interpritation of your fight with Aushana!
Its going to take him ages to catch up to "that" fight but for a brief idea of how it went check Coda's Journal.
Its going to take him ages to catch up to "that" fight but for a brief idea of how it went check Coda's Journal.
oh!i,m sure there,s a funny story about a greedy picky handed mage picking up urns full of coins,and nearly nukin himself
|
|
Its going to take him ages to catch up to "that" fight but for a brief idea of how it went check Coda's Journal.
I am behind, it is true, but I wrote up 'that' fight, so as to e-mail it to the absent players.
Not only did I save Badvock (in his player's absence, and much to his surprise!), but, more importantly, I saved myself!
Mainly by righteous indignation and sheer bloody-minded stubbornness, with a dash of mad improvisation. Donating the you-know-what to you-know-who, filling the room with eeeeuuuurrrggh, messing her head with the squiggly-wigglies, and finding a heavenly whotsit up my sleeve (Crit, my beauty, crit!), hopefully contributed enough of a share earn my place in the Avengers Tower.
For the full rundown, see the Aushanna! thread....(don't want to give it away here too soon...)
|
|
oh!i,m sure there,s a funny story about a greedy picky handed mage picking up urns full of coins,and nearly nukin himself
Mage?
Mage?
Are you some sort of 2nd Ed throwback?
We're wizards now, G@*#&+it!
And I'm an abjurer, if I wanted to be pedantic!
'Mage' sounds like one of those Johnny One-joke 'Warmage'-types (Oooohhh, I'm quaking in my boots!), who can only learn 5% of the spells out there, then act surprised when they get a cold-steel enema, due to having all the adaptability of a fish in the desert.
And the trap was nearly the death of me, I admit. I would have been less nonplussed and fatalistic had I remembered to update all my saves when I hit 6th level! And update my temp Dex!
I sat there thinking, "I've missed something....Ooh the cloak! No, gave it to Coda...errrr....", while missing the blindingly obvious.
Running 1 character is hard enough, but when I cover for Clive as well, my brain leaks out my ears...
|
|
21st of Hawkmonth continued....
The door in the stairwell led to a dark winding passage that led down and round two corners. Badvock took the lead, as his eyes were used to the dark; Coda and the elves went next, but a stone’s throw behind, as they were not as quiet. I took the opportunity to light a lantern, for the benefit of the elves and me, but with a hood that could be shuttered if needed.
Badvock (hereafter referred to as “Bad.”) disappeared from view, into a larger room. After a minute, we heard the sounds of struggle, and rushed to help. Bad. was standing inside a breach in the wall, fighting two of the skulks, one of whom ran at Valas, hoping to catch him unaware, but he was not about to be caught twice, and swung his blade into the creature’s neck before it reached him. My ears detected the sound of footsteps, and I used my lantern beam to light up the other, who froze before being cut down by Bad.
With the skulks defeated, we were free to examine the chamber, which was 40’ square, with an exit in the far wall. Another exit had been dug or smashed through the southern wall into a smaller chamber, where the skulks had lain in wait.
All around the walls were copper masks, which whispered and giggled, presumably in Gnomish, while music played softly in the background; too soft to be heard over the recent combat. Bad. examined these carefully, suspecting a trap of some kind, but all he triggered was a disembodied message of welcome, in several languages.
I deduced the masks were of little value, being of mere copper, and average craftsmanship. They also appeared to be fixed to the walls securely, and I was unwilling to tarry in case an alarm had been raised. One mask, however, was hinged to reveal a handle, which Bad. pulled to open a corridor behind a false section of the northern wall.
He crept inside while the rest of us watched the other exits; we heard a slamming sound, and looked inside to see an empty passage. Suspecting foul play, we crept along, soon hearing Bad’s muffled cries, along with a grinding sound. Lia spotted the outline of a trapdoor, and Valas cleared the debris from the frame. My trusty tools came out, and with the aid of the warriors, who leaned over the fulcrum point with their greatswords as makeshift counterweights, I was able to introduce the point of a piton under the lid. Once this was achieved, it was a simple matter to increase the gap.
Looking down, it was clear why Bad. had been making such a commotion. Rather than the simple pit I expected to see, there was some form of hollow iron box with spiked sides, onto which he was clinging grimly with bloodied hands, seven yards below. Before a rope could be lowered, the box tilted to the side, sending him out of view, and presumably dashing him against the spikes once more.
At this point, I could see the axle mechanism below, which was well out of reach from inside the box, even if one were not being shaken around. There was space enough, around the axle, for a person to move, so I jumped and slid inside this space, as the box once more returned to the upright position. I avoided being crushed by the box, as it tilted again, rolling through the supports to the other side. Bad. by this time had become quite frantic, as I imagined his grip was weakening, but I called for him not to fear. Once again, my pitons found their mark, halting the trap in an upright position, allowing him to climb out. I, however, was now grimly aware that I was trapped in the bowels of the infernal device, forced to sit with only the light of the guttering lamp for company, while the others tended to him.
However, I was not forced to wait long, as they called to me to be ready to jump. I dislodged the spike, dusted myself down, called that I was ready, and slung the lantern’s strap around my neck. There was then a scraping noise, followed by a dull thump (a dead skulk, I later found out), which set the device off again. As it lurched sideways, I saw the end of a rope sailing toward me. I hammered the spike into the gears once again, but I was unwilling to stay to admire my handiwork, since the protesting grind of metal on metal implied it was quite obviously a merely temporary solution. I crouched and leapt for the rope, grasping it at a point some ten feet from the floor, and was carried from the pit by the combined might of my four companions, as the spike gave way, below, and the trap swung back into place.
I lay on the floor of the corridor, covered in grease, oil and soot, not moving, as the wind had been knocked out of me on my landing. I looked up into their concerned faces, and smiled a broad grin (they told me later, all they could see was my eyes and teeth), and watched as their frowns turned to laughter. Despite the need for stealth, I could not help but join in; we had proved we could take all that was thrown at us, and beat it. I sensed this was the beginning of an exciting and lucrative partnership for us all…
Great stuff Snorter! It's yer old pal Chunk here. Lets have some more please! I'm dying to read the next installment. :)
|
|
Great stuff Snorter! It's yer old pal Chunk here. Lets have some more please! I'm dying to read the next installment. :)
It's good to hear from you again!
It's been a while since we pitched polyhedrons together.What would it have been; rescuing Sebastian from the gladiator pits in Crater Ridge Mines...?
I can't believe you've read all of the above; there'll be a test later....
I have been away a while; changes to my job description, team reshuffles, 2 kids, partner's birthday, uncle's funeral, E-bay distractions, server delays... etc.
I hope to get the rest of Jzadirune & The Malachite Fortress written up this weekend, which will cover the intro, meetings and first adventure. After that, I'll have to summarise some of the intervening escapades (which would be in character, as I barely had time to take a dump between levels 1-5!).
Meanwhile, just for fun, try to guess who will be the first of the group to die (hint; it's not me!).
Great stuff Snorter! It's yer old pal Chunk here. Lets have some more please! I'm dying to read the next installment. :)
hello chunky, i,d be interested in how your campaign is going. ive heard their all quite high level now. COME ON PUT FINGER TO KEYBOARD!!!
|
|
21st of Hawkmonth continued....(it has been a long day...)
...oily page, smeared with axle grease...
Damn this stupid gnome-hole!
Suspecting that the pit was guarding something of value, we examined the far wall, which proved to contain a second secret door, leading to a room, half octagonal, and 10’ to a side. The opposite walls held large double doors which proved immobile, possibly barred. Each of the other walls contained a circular opening, sealed with a slab. The rubble in the room the skulks had appeared from had contained the remains of such a slab, shaped in the form of a gear, and would likely have rolled to one side to allow access. The runes carved into the doors’ faces, and over a hole to one side, appeared familiar, and, though not fluent in the language, I recognised the script as Gnomish, corresponding to the Oeridian sounds “R”, “U”, “N” and “E”. The smashed slab, I now realized, could be reconstructed to form “A”, and its near neighbour read “J”. I presumed other doors would reveal the remaining letters to spell out the name of Jzadirune. Whether this meant the doors needed to be opened in a particular order, is hard to say, but considering the warning we had been given regarding traps, it may prove wise to find as many keys as possible before attempting to test this theory.
We returned to the main chamber, and headed west, into a long, perpendicular corridor, lined with doors. So far, Ghelve’s map had proved accurate, except for the prescence of the pit and secret doors, so I reminded the others to be wary.
The room at the end of the corridor contained some form of winding mechanism, attached to a leather belt, which disappeared into the ceiling. The floor was strewn with rags and debris, but it was unclear if these were the remains of previous visitors, or had been discarded. Badvock offered to examine the machine, in case it was trapped. As he passed the gears, the rags rose into the air, and attacked, attempting to wrap themselves around his face. We strode forward to help him, but they proved stronger than we thought, flailing away at us all, whilst holding him fast. I let fly with my missile, but this did not appear to have any effect; I was already aware that this had no effect on inanimate objects, and could not tell if this were a bizarre aberration, or simply a pile of rags, animated by some as yet unseen trickster. It had no expression to read, nor mouth to scream.
Damn it to hell, but if I am to expend my energies, I demand to hear my target scream!
Whilst trying to free Badvock’s face, I was struck by the steel toe of a heavy boot, which sent me sprawling, with my vision reeling. I picked my self from the floor, to find the others tending their wounds, poking at the now lifeless rags, which lay in an even more dishevelled state.
Where is the enjoyment in this? Let me find the puppet-master, I will make him sorry he dared to lay his filthy hands on us, whether in person, or by proxy! I will have my satisfaction, carved in strips from his hide! Badvock’s face was flushed, and covered with a web of fine scratches; he complained of having heard a voice in his head, which had urged him to lie down and sleep. The creature appeared to have chosen the wrong victim, as dwarves are notorious for their stubborn natures; still, it was fortunate the others were nearby. I know not what the creature intended, but it could have caused much havoc if it had escaped to the streets above.
We examined the machinery, which I deduced to be some form of device for driving a series of fans, visible in this room and the next. Further secret doors were found, one leading to a corridor, filled with rubble, and barricaded at one end, the other being a storeroom filled with vials, rack upon rack. My elation was short-lived, as not a single one radiated magic; however, in light of Ghelve’s warning, this was not unexpected. Nevertheless, we may yet raise something from the sale of the vials, or be able to trade them with some fool, so we slung them in a sack for later.
We were all tired, sore, and in need of a bath by this time, and were wary of disturbing the barricade; should we do so, we may find ourselves channelled into a hail of bowfire, or spearpoints. Though my need for revenge was at boiling point, I was not about to throw away my life to sate my fury, and counselled that we return to the surface, so as to deal with the remaining inhabitants once refreshed.
Just had a thought - we should put all our banter and character stuff on this thread, just to stop us thread-jacking so badly.
Any on-topic post that starts to go to our characters should be redirected Here
What do you think?
|
Just had a thought - we should put all our banter and character stuff on this thread, just to stop us thread-jacking so badly.
Any on-topic post that starts to go to our characters should be redirected Here
What do you think?
Oi Durn't Roightly Knooooowwww?
Zounds loike a gud oidee to Oi!
|
|
I heartily concur.
Some of our banter has actually been on-topic, though...not all, but some...
It would reduce the number of Care-Bears and Concern-Trolls asking us to play nice, when we're not actually falling out in the first place.
Oh, and mister hobbit, sir...it appears there is a kobold, with a cleaver, burning your scarecrow.
You are such a splintered personality, I don't know where to begin.
Are you going to finish off this one-sided tirade of self-aggrandizement any time this century?
Anyway, I really liked last session, mainly because we didn't even get involved. John's PC is hard.
What are your thoughts on where to head next anyway? We need planar items aplenty I reckon. Thoughts, ideas (all this can be in character as we do have quite a lot of down-time).
Best change my 'post as' then...
|
|
Anyway, I really liked last session, mainly because we didn't even get involved. John's PC is hard.
Yes; I think it made up for him having to play a borrowed character for so long.
He beat my record for most damage in one blow!Unless I can count the dragon, which just dropped 'dead', without taking actual hit point damage. We never found out how many it had...
Unless I can count the dragon, which just dropped 'dead', without taking actual hit point damage. We never found out how many it had...
No you can't. It was self-inflicted.
Another mauling for John last session eh? I got hurt though! Just shows that I can't just launch myself at them at this kind of level - I need at least 2-3 buffs active (I only had one and it wasn't enough).
Right, well. Better do some work...
|
|
Another mauling for John last session eh? I got hurt though! Just shows that I can't just launch myself at them at this kind of level - I need at least 2-3 buffs active (I only had one and it wasn't enough).
Did Boris get thumped? I thought it was you took that x3 crit?
I wasn't watching; I was carrying out the actual rescue part of the 'rescue mission', and thanks to that stupid Ray of Enfeeblement, I was then lying prone under the weight of my own clothes and jewellery.
I know this isn't RAW, but I imagine every time I add a 'plus' to my turban, it grows a few inches. I'm like Mojo Jojo from The Powerpuff Girls right now!
Did Boris get thumped? I thought it was you took that x3 crit?
I was on the receiving end of that hit. Hence my comment. Boris was the one dealing out the mauling.
I wasn't watching; I was carrying out the actual rescue part of the 'rescue mission', and thanks to that stupid Ray of Enfeeblement, I was then lying prone under the weight of my own clothes and jewellery.
Well, better get a manual of gainful exercise then :-) or whatever it's called. It's the main reason I want two books.
I know this isn't RAW, but I imagine every time I add a 'plus' to my turban, it grows a few inches. I'm like Mojo Jojo from The Powerpuff Girls right now!
Don't get powerpuff girls anymore. I assume your reference is accurate. I have no idea what your plus is referring to though...
Wow! Just found this! I can't believe you never made it past 50 posts!
Hard, isn't it?
:-)
I didn't have a DM willing to help me out!
Ha! I knew you'd put in a caveat! Remember, you stopped at post 30-odd. I sent my journal to you at post 200 or so... :-)
And I needed your input because you played without me!
Actually, it's partly because I was playing the wizard, lots of homework to do between sessions. PCs don't optimise themselves, you know!
But PC wizards are automagically optimised y'know! All you need is the pre-reqs for 7fold veil and bob's your name!
Fayne needs a lot more work. But I think you know that ;-)