Anarath whirls on Corvin, his pale face whiter than normal in the moonlight – from blood-loss or anger its hard to tell. “Human!” he hisses, his voice fierce, passionate as his companions have not heard it before. “We will NOT torture this thing! If you must work off your rage –anymore than, than THAT” – he points a trembling finger at the brutalised kobold corpses Corvin has left in his wake, “then by the Ruby Sorceress hit a tree! Or slit the throat of this creature, fast, quick if you must. Kill it – though we may lose valuable information. But do not torture.” He draws a hand across his eyes, tracing the fine pattern of scars on his eyelids.
“Never torture…” he whispers softly.
“Now I suggest someone return to watch, in case there are more of these things out there – not that our last watchman gave us much warning.” He raises a placating hand towards Corvin, his anger drained. “No, I don’t blame you. But we must be careful. And I will accept some healing too Gawlak, if your god will oblige. Then, perhaps, you could see if this miserable creature still lives, and will wake and answer our further questions.”
He looks over at Gawlak, tending to the wounded sorcerer. “Is he alright?”
Anarath then notices that Dohrlok has begun trying to revive the kobold. He squats next to the dwarf. "Anything? It still lives does it not?"
"I'm not sure. Do you know anything of healing? What about Gawlak?"
"I am more adept with dead bodies than still living ones. I think Gawlak is still trying to extract that crossbow quarrel from Greis..."
Anarath whirls on Corvin, his pale face whiter than normal in the moonlight – from blood-loss or anger its hard to tell. “Human!” he hisses, his voice fierce, passionate as his companions have not heard it before. “We will NOT torture this thing! If you must work off your rage –anymore than, than THAT” – he points a trembling finger at the brutalised kobold corpses Corvin has left in his wake, “then by the Ruby Sorceress hit a tree! Or slit the throat of this creature, fast, quick if you must. Kill it – though we may lose valuable information. But do not torture.” He draws a hand across his eyes, tracing the fine pattern of scars on his eyelids.
“Never torture…” he whispers softly.
“Now I suggest someone return to watch, in case there are more of these things out there – not that our last watchman gave us much warning.” He raises a placating hand towards Corvin, his anger drained. “No, I don’t blame you. But we must be careful. And I will accept some healing too Gawlak, if your god will oblige. Then, perhaps, you could see if this miserable creature still lives, and will wake and answer our further questions.”
He looks over at Gawlak, tending to the wounded sorcerer. “Is he alright?”
Corvin sinks to his knees, the anger fading from his features.
"Sorry... It's just, sometimes, I just lose it... I mean those little lizard-rat-things attacked us, and I acted... Couldn't help it..."
The fighter continues to mumble incoherently as Gawlak, Anarath, and Dohrlok attend to the wounded Greis. After a little while, he gets up and begins to pace, a slight distance between him and the rest of the group.
As he talks to Dohrlok, Anarath glances back at Corvin. He’s glad he did not take an issue with being spoken to like that – Anarath does not want to make an enemy of the tall warrior. He feels he should say something, explain himself, or apologise, or say he understands. But not just yet …. He’s not really good with people…
Runs over to Greis and casts a cure minor wounds on him giving up his Detect Poison spell. "Who else is seriously wounded?"
Apart from you, I took a minor wound.
Blinking awake the sorcerer looks up at the dwarf whose divine encantations have roused him. He winces and rises, rubbing his side where the arrow was--still tender.
"Thank you. I don't know what happened. I think once the excitement of the battle was over, I just..." he looks sheepish "Thank you."
He stands, picking the foliage from his hair and clothes, then begins again in draconic to the now hurt little creature.
"You must tell us about the ruin ahead, and your king. Speak."
Anarath pulls his blood stained hand away from his injured arm and winces. "It's a flesh wound," he mutters. "Dohrlok is probably hurt more badly. But if your god sees fit to heal an unworthy heathen..." he shrugs.
He then looks at Greis. "Are you alright?" he asks. He then realises that Greis is talking to the injured captive again. "Oh, it has awoken?"
Cocks his head to the side as after long moments there's no answer, then looks to the elven necromancer sideways. Then he looks back to the kobald, slumped over awkwardly into a painful heap.
"Ermm. No. Apparently it isn't. What happened?"
Anarath jerks a thumb to where Corvin is pacing despondantly. "Corvin happened. I'm sure it was a mis-placed sense of protectiveness." He holds up his hands. "I've already had words with him. I think he saw the errors of his ways."
Midnight squawks racously, and Anarath nods. "That's right. Enough of that. Let's try to wake this thing up - I presume it's a kobold - and get the answers we are seeking. You're right, I think this "king" is important."
Anarath reaches down, taking the creature by its uninjured shoulder and shakes it. "Awaken small warrior," he says harshly in Draconic. "We'll not hurt you further if you answer our questions."
Although his expertise lies more in the area of corpses than still living bodies, Anarath examines the injured kobold to see if he can determine the extent of its injuries - and how best to awaken it.
Dohrlok is momentarily speechless as Greis' obscene head movement - he did {I]WHAT[/i]? - then focuses on the subdued kobold.
Walks over to the crowd of people and rests a hand on Dohrlok changing his magic stone spell into a Cure light Wounds. "Unless there is a good arguement to a reason why, I will not be casting any healing magic on the kobold." Looks at the injury on his arm and mutter about the little bastards and finds a spot to rest and let the more knowledgeable individuals deal with the kobold.
Anarath, your heal check suceeds and the kobold seems to rest more easily but he remains unconcious.
Hmm, at least the kobold is sleeping better. Though it is no more informative.
"Corvin, I suggest you temper your, er, temper. Your outburst is delaying us, somewhat. If you like, I can teach you some techniques to allow you to focus your feelings constructively. At the monastery, one of the trials is to maintain a continuous meditation while bombarded with small pebbles. We could try that, if you like, after the manor?"
I suggest we tie up the kobold now it is out of danger, and carry on with our sleep and watch rota. The mages and the priest can restore their spiritual energy, and the kobold might speak up tomorrow.
Hmm, at least the kobold is sleeping better. Though it is no more informative.
"Corvin, I suggest you temper your, er, temper. Your outburst is delaying us, somewhat. If you like, I can teach you some techniques to allow you to focus your feelings constructively. At the monastery, one of the trials is to maintain a continuous meditation while bombarded with small pebbles. We could try that, if you like, after the manor?"
Wait... who's doin' what?
Well, obviously I would be throwing pebbles at you.
Sorry, ahhh...meditation's not my style.
"Well Corvin since meditation isn't your style maybe you and I should talk and I can inform you of the beliefs of the great Kord. You might be surprised what you find within yourself from his teachings." Kneels down and thanks Kord for a victorious battle that was well fought. Closes his eyes and sleeps.
Feeling significantly better, but still wired from his manner suggests was a near death trauma, he sits in front of the tree he had been hiding behind, hands clasped in front of him. One one side of him is his pack, at the other his spear, between his legs his crossbow, unstrung but with the bolt still laid across the top of it. He reaches far over and gathers up the fallen bolts, slapping them against the side of one soft boot and packing them carefully into their leather case. He doesn't watch his mindless work. His eyes are on the still unconscious kobald. He's sure with all he's been through he won't be able to sleep, but it's no sooner than he makes the conscious effort to stay awake that he ends up drifting to sleep, back against the tree trunk, until someone wakes him for his shift.
"Well Corvin since meditation isn't your style, if you ever want to talk about the world or life Kord and I are always here." Kneels down and gives Kord thanks for a battle well fought and for blessing him with such efficent allies in these dark time. "Kord be with us" Lays down and goes to sleep to regain spells.
Corvin remains awake, leaning up against a tree, watching the unconscious kobold and muttering to himself incoherently.
After Anarath's outburst, he had completely checked out, but has only partially checked back in after Dohrlok's interjection about meditation. There's a lot on his mind...
Anarath is no expert at tying knots, but he checks the kobolds bonds before settling down to sleep.
Stifling a yawn, he calls out, “well, with this disrupted night, I say we sleep in an extra few hours in the morning before breaking camp. We should be close enough to the Manor that that will not slow us down too much.” He lowers his voice and continues, “And that will give me a chance to rest, and re-prepare my armor spell in the morning…”
Anarath settles himself down by the dying fire and drifts off into reverie.
Nothing eventful happens during the night except for some carion eaters coming to feed on the dead kobolds. Those who are on watch neitehr hear nor see anything unusual. The kobold doesn't stir at all.
When dawn breaks it is a cold, crisp day (I don't think that I mentioned that it is Fall) and there is a light mist hovering over the ground.
As the dawn light filters through the overhead branches, Anarath cracks an eye open – and wrinkles his nose at the smell from the corpses lying a few yards away. “Just like old times,” he mumbles to himself, before drifting back off to sleep, hoping to rest his aching arm for a couple more hours.
Midnight meanwhile, has joined the wild carrion eaters, and is feasting on kobold eyeballs.
Corvin has been awake all night, thinking. He is beginning to wonder if the kobold was right, that there is someone in the woods, becaus he has felt someone watching him and the others all night. But it's probably his imagination.
Greis begins to drool a little. His familiar, Alabaster, dines on some fresh caught rodents up in a tree.
After a few further hours much needed rest, as the camp begins stirring in earnest, Anarath drags himself from his bedroll; stretches, hawks, spits. Then sits down, cross legged, his spellbook open before him, tracing the arcane symbols on the page and muttering to himself, as he fixes the formula for his Mage Armor spell firmly in his mind.
Given that he has heard no alarms or discussion, he assumes that their kobold captive has not yet stirred – perhaps Corvin wounded it badly enough that it will not, and since their healer will not look at the creature – not that Anarath blames him particularly for that – well, they’ll just need to see if it awakens on its own or not, and deal with what happens either way.
As the others begin packing up camp and readying themselves for the morning’s travel, Anarath wanders over to where the corpses of the slain creatures lie, grotesque and undignified in death. Then, without shame or remorse, he begins investigating the bloating bodies, shifting through their meagre belongings, looking for valuables or clues.
Amongst the bodies you find 5 light crossbows for small creatures, 1 small longspear, 2 suits of small padded armor, a small copper medallion on the one that appears to have been the leader. It looks like it was a family crest, with a dragon coiled around two crossed spears. There is also 9sp, 3cp and a set of six sided dice.
Having little interest in the creatures' arms or armour, Anarath gathers up the meagre coins, and the set of dice. He picks up the medallion, holding it carefully between his long fingers, staring thoughtfully at it. He does not recognise the crest, but wonders if it may have something to do with the family Grimmbold. He resolves to ask Greis about it - the boy may know something of heraldry, given that he looks like a noble's son himself.
Walking back the few paces to camp, Anarath announces, "Well, twould seem that those creatures were poorer than us. Still, I've found a few coins and knick-knacks. Seems only fair that we split them amongst ourselves, else keep them safe with a - ahem - trustworthy member of our merry band, and divide our spoils at the end of this little sojourn."
He then moves towards Greis, settling himself down next to the sorcerer. He takes the medallion out from the coat pocket where he had rested it, and dangles it in front of the other man. "What do you make of this? Family crest? Does it appear - ah... koboldish? to you? Or do you think it has somehting to do with the manor?"
Dohrlok rises and begins his morning exercise routine, stretching cramped muscles after a night sleeping on the cold forest floor.
Greis groans, reaches up a hand and palms the amulet, turning it around to get a good look at it. He checks the quality of the mold and workmanship to see if it's of kobald make, melted slag poured into a mud mold or the like--or if it's something found or taken from human hands.
Greis blinks his gummy eyes and smacks his lips, scooting up with his back fully against the tree. "Well, it's a dragon, for one--which would catch the eye of a kobald. From my understanding of them they have a fixation with dragons, as honored distant ancestors or some such. As for whether it's a symbol of any other organization..." He takes a second, closer look at it.
The kobold is still asleep. Greis, on close inspection of the amulet you find tiny draconic characters that are hard to read (Decipher Script check). It seems as though it is well made and quite old.
Technical: Appraise check result: value is 1gp on standard market.
Heraldry check: It is the symbol of an ancient kobold
family of kings and powerful clerics.
The kobold is still asleep. Greis, on close inspection of the amulet you find tiny draconic characters that are hard to read (Decipher Script check).
As you stare at the draconic letters you are able to pick out a phrase "May Tiamat forever hold over the clan of Kulja" There is more but the letters are too warn away to read.
Greis sits up suddenly from his scrutiny of the pendant, a look of realization on his face. "It's Kuljin. An ancient kobald ruling family--worshippers of Tiamat and known for powerful kings and clerics. This was not made through the rough craft of tribal kobalds, smelted out of some mud cast, but rather it looks like the work of a genuine jeweler. Look here at the fine detail and engravings. How good was the equipment of the ones that attacked us? Did you get a chance to see? I would very much hope that the Kulji are extinct by now or we may have troubles. The last thing I would want to see are Spawn of Tiamat skulking around these woods..." He blows out a measured breath, shaking his head solemnly.
The weapon quality was quite good by the standards of what kobolds carry. None of it was excptional quality but these were mere foot soldiers.
"Hmm, I wonder if our mad architect knows more of this. So, we can either wait for the kobold to recover and question it further, or kill it now and move on."
I'm thinkin' we should kill it before it wakes up and scurries off to get reinforcements.