PBM: Chapter 1: Arriving in New Phlan: Part 10

Splitting the Party: In which Donovan makes some new friends in the Slums.

GM

Rietta pivots on her heal, swinging the sword like it was a shiny, sharp-edged club, her tear-soaked face turning to look at the man and skeleton creeping around behind her.

Teldicia begins to back towards the door, whispering to Donovan, "I've really never seen her like this. She seems genuinely distraught over your friend's death." She stops, apparently thinking hard about something, then, "Of course, I've only known her a couple of weeks. Look, fight her or run, whatever you do I'll back you up. At this point, it looks like the little gang I had put together were all liabilities anyways..."

Donovan

"I respect your pragmatism ma'am. Your friend certainly has become a liability, and a danger to us all. I suspect some magic at work, given her very sudden change...which means I might be able to save her." Donovan begins casting protection from evil. "You should be ready to respond with violence if this doesn't work..." He takes a step closer to the ogress's back.

Frantiska

The sounds of hoof-beats ring off the broken cobbles outside as a beautiful, chocolate-colored filly canters to a halt in front of the near-collapsed building. A soft feminine voice can be heard speaking gently, presumably to the horse, in elven with a strong eastern accent, "A forest linnorm? You don't see those that often, Thistledown, let alone in the middle of a city." The rider dismounts gracefully and makes a slight adjustment to the angle of the bow stung across her shoulders, "Looks like a very clean kill too. Right between the shoulder-blades." Her hard riding boots ring out on the cobbles, almost as loud as the filly's hooves, as she paces off. "A male. Not very big though. Practically a hatchling. Must have been driven out of its nest by some predator," her voice sounds almost sad as she speculates on the creature's fate.

Hearing voices from inside she peaks her head through the gaping hole in the wall, scanning the area, not so much with her eyes, squinted against the dimness, as with her feelings. Sensing a strong presence of Evil from the structure, she whispers, "Wait here Thistledown," unslings her bow and readies an arrow, before calling out in the local trade pidgin, "Hello?! Who's in there?"

Donovan

Donovan, hearing the voice, and hoping that a distraction might defuse the situation, calls back, "An herald, a gnome, a druid, a maiden, a skeleton, a few corpses, and a rather upset oni. We're a might busy, but would welcome your company, whoever you are."

Frantiska

The rider circle around the room, moving to get a better view into the side chamber where the voices are coming from, hoping to get a good view of the described amalgam of people before entering. She takes care to stay away from the intact, but open, door to the back room and the immensely evil markings covering the floor within.

GM

As the distraught ogress spins, swinging the blade wildly over the heads of both the damp-druid and his skeleton, Donovan slips and lightly taps her on the back. For a brief moment, she is haloed in cold, white light.

The lady rider carefully makes her way in, scanning the area. She first takes in the gate chamber, the lines on the floor and the air between them seem to shimmer and pulsate with a dark energy, an otherworldly evil so strong that it feels as if her eyes are burning just to look at it. Tearing her eyes away from the portal, she sees the ogress glow, briefly, then notices a darker undertone, not nearly so strong as the gate, but similar in nature, as if some ancient darkness from another world was hovering over the oversized woman. Even as the light of Donovan's protection spell fades, it is clear to the rider's blessed sight that the ogress is contemplating some act or scheme of a truly abhorrent nature. The others, the middle-aged man who cast the spell, a gnome holding a small chest, a green-haired elf-maiden in a light sun-dress, a dark-complexioned man in damp, foul-smelling robes, and even the recently-animated skeleton, all show no signs of ill intent.

As the light fades, the ogress suddenly stops crying, almost instantly. She looks around, obviously confused by the wary looks and readied weapons of those surrounding her, then a cloud of smoke begins to rise around her, starting at her feet. Her form quickly becomes indistinct, smaller somehow, as if her body were sublimating to give the smoke its substance.

Teldicia waves, as the last of the ogress vanishes and the smoke begins to filter out through a large hole in the ceiling, a simultaneous greeting to the woman just walking in and farewell to the one escaping on the wind.

Donovan

Donovan stares, agape, for a bit. "Well, that wasn't what I expected that spell to do?" He looks at the spot where the ogress was standing to see if anything was left behind. Seeing nothing, he unconsciously flexes and whispers, "Behold my awesome power!" Then, so that the others can hear, "Does anyone know what happened?"

He turns and looks at the lady coming in with a bow pointed at his back. "Good afternoon, Madam. I would welcome you into our home, but I hope it is clear to you that none of us would choose to live in such a ruin. Rather, welcome to our recently found, monster-filled, ruin." He makes a sweeping bow. "I am Donovan Phillips Leitch, until very recently the Herald to the Council of New Phlan." He gestures to the others in turn, "The good gnome is Master Shudrigan Nishal Aribostos McPillflup, the lady here is Teldicia, the taciturn man in the soggy robes is called Sur, though we've not been properly introduced, the skeleton was just recently animated by Mr. Sur and will hereafter be called Herr Bonemeister, and the deceased minotaur lying on the ground was Gendry FitzTeldar, son of Teldar the Pirate King." He smiles charmingly. "Oh, and by walking through that door in there you can go to Hell, literally. I wouldn't recommend it."

GM

Teldicia also bows to the lady with the bow. "Welcome, eh? Why don't you put that thing down and help us out?" She waves at the bodies of the swordsman and the minotaur on the ground, then kneels down and begins peeling the armor and weapons from the man and handing them out. "Here. We need to get these two buried and then get out of here before some other slimy thing with claws come crawling in here..."

Frantiska

Seeing the ogre vanish, the rider lowers her bow, returns the arrow to her quiver, and steps into a shaft of light coming through a hole in the ceiling so the people in the other room can see that she is no longer threatening them. Standing in the light, she can clearly be seen as an elven woman, with very fair skin, long dark of hair worn covering the ears, and a slightly-upturned aquiline nose, wearing a black riding dress and boots, over which is a vest of fox-fur lined, spike studded, leather armor. She gives a formal half-bow, never taking her eyes off the other party. "I am Frantiska," she says in a manner that somehow manages to be curt and demure at the same time.

She walks cautiously into the side-chamber, and addresses Teldicia in Elvish, avoiding eye contact with the many males in the room. "I don't claim to be familiar with your local burial customs, but I doubt that they typically involve looting bodies and animating them." She glances around, keeping her eyes low. "I didn't mean to interrupt whatever strange congregation you have going on here, but I was passing through and saw the Linnorm outside. The kill seemed exceptionally clean, and I was hoping to congratulate whoever did so."

"Also, after you've dealt with the bodies, I suggest that you and your companions vacate quickly. I intend to collapse the building and bury that thing in the other room."

GM

Teldicia nods along as Frantiska addresses her, occasionally saying "mm-hm", but continues stripping the corpses. Finally she looks back and says in the Common tongue, "It's not polite to exclude people. How 'bout you repeat that in the trade speech so everyone else can follow too."

Donovan

Donovan chuckles, then responds in Elvish, "I'm afraid she does not understand you." He takes the backpack and the travel gear [sleeping bag, lantern, mess kit] from Teldicia. "The minotaur is the one who killed the creature outside. Sadly this man stabbed him in the back, as you can see, so your congratulations come a bit late. As for burial customs, both of the deceased were devout followers of Mask. Another of our companions, a priest who you just missed, claimed that the traditional burial rights of their faith involve stripping the bodies of all valuables and then entering them in a shallow, unmarked grave. I don't condone such behavior normally, but I try to be respectful of other people's religious decisions and last wishes for their remains."

He switches to common for the others' benefit, "Shaddup, this lady says that we should collapse the building in order to destroy, or at least bury, the gate in the other room. Think you can help with that? That also seems like a very convenient, and fitting, way to make a cairn for Gendry and Vinny."

"Lyra and Amara headed for the temple of Tyr, I guess. We still need to find someone who can drive the cart for us in the morning, and buy the supplies for the trip. And, I suppose, stop by the Clerk's office and get Lyra's mom to update our charter." He rolls his eyes at that last one, as if silently saying 'already?!'. "Amara's probably just going to have to do without that gift she wanted to get her grandmother."

Frantiska

Frantiska nods politely at Donovan's comments, but continues to address Teldicia, this time in Easting, having recognized the girl's accent. "I'm sorry, I wasn't aware that you didn't speak the mother-tongue. Language acquisition is a particular interest of mine, and I'd love to hear about your upbringing and what brought that about. Would you be willing to commune with me after you've finished up here?" Her face seems to brighten just at the thought of this.

She finally turns to Donovan, her voice lowering in volume, rising in pitch, and with an excess of uptalk--or rather, she mentally describes it that way and silently upbraids herself for it, to everyone else it probably just comes across as sounding 'insecure'. "It's very nice of you to take their religions into consideration. You mentioned getting your charter altered. I heard some people in the market talking about those too when I mentioned going into the city. What are the charters used for, and will I need to get one?"

GM

Teldicia mumbles something like, "sure...commune..." incredulously, then hands a pile of things to Frantiska, "Here, I don't think any of the rest of us will make much use of these., maybe you can. Consider them a gift from Vinny here..."

"So this trip you're preparing for," she addresses Donovan, "where are you headed? Anywhere interesting?"

The soggy-robed man walks over to Teldicia, leans down, and whispers something in her ear. "Really?" she says. "Alright, sorry to hear that." She pulls a roll of papers from her pouch and hands it to him. He waves a hand in the direction of the skeleton and it collapses back into a lifeless pile of bones. He quietly leaves, being careful to give Frantiska wide berth. As he walks past, you all feel a cold chill travel down your spines. Outside, the horse whinnies in terror.

"Well, guess I'm going with you guys then..." Teldicia remarks, watching him leave.

Frantiska

Frantiska takes the longsword from Teldicia without a word and runs outside to check on her horse.

GM

You run out to see Sur walking away up the street towards the gates. Thistledown appears to be on edge, but unharmed.

Donovan

As the elf-woman runs out, Donovan kneels down and helps Teldicia gather up the rest of the loot from Vinny's body. "We have a job from Aumry of Umber, one of the professors at the Training Hall, to escort his niece to Melvaunt to visit her ill grandmother, and while we're there pick up a large shipment of spell components to bring back. We'll need supplies for the trip anyways, so we should probably stop by Jerome's and sell off any of this that we can't use." He bundles the rest of the things up and starts walking out. "If you're up for the trip, we'd be delighted to have a traveling companion as lovely as yourself, and the professor is paying us 50 gold a piece plus a selection of magical scroll on successful delivery."

"Shaddup, come on. We'll head for the market to unload this stuff and stock up on food, torches, and other provisions for the trip, then we can swing by the council hall to get the charter revised on our way back to the temple to meet Lyra."

Frantiska

Fran pats Thistledown reassuringly, then walks back inside. "Alright," she says, again avoiding looking at Donovan or Shaddup, "you've had long enough. Everyone get outside and we'll figure out how to destroy this thing..."

GM

As soon as she turns her back, there is another scream from the horse, followed by the sound of clattering hooves and angry neighing.

Frantiska

Frantiska's nostrils flair as she pivots once again, sword at the ready.

Donovan

Donovan grumbles, "What now?", and runs out behind Frantiska.

GM

You all run outside to see the horse speeding away up the street, with four kobolds perched on her back. Or rather, one sitting precariously in the saddle, whipping the horse hard, and the other three hanging off the sides, and clinging to the stirrups for dear-life as they bounce along.

Frantiska

Frantiska sprints after the horse, shouting "Halt! Thieves!" at the top of her lungs. After only a few steps she haphazardly throws the sword aside, and begins to unsling her bow, knowing she can't possibly catch Thistledown. Skidding to halt, she fits an arrow to the string and draws a bead on the kobold holding the reins. She adjusts her aim, slightly ahead of the horse, watching for a change in direction, and begins chanting the words of an arrowflight spell.

Donovan

Donovan whispers to Shaddup, "You know, kobolds eat horses..." He checks to make sure everything he is carrying is stowed properly. "I'm pretty much tapped out for resources, except the scrolls Aumry gave us, but I hate to see a lady distressed." He sighs, "I guess the shopping trip will have to wait a bit longer," and goes bolting up the road after the horse.

GM

The kobolds get about a hundred yards away before the rider attempts to turn the horse hard to the right, towards an alley. Thistledown, going a good bit too fast for such a turn, bucks and kicks, knocking one of the kobolds on the side loose, then skids into a wall, crushing another and sending it sprawling to the ground as well.

Fran lets fly her arrow, lodging it deep in, in fact all the way through, the rider's right thigh, severing the femoral artery and simultaneously pinning the kobold to Thistledown's saddle. The kobold slumps in the saddle, either dead or passed out from shock. Thistledown starts to slow, but the last remaining kobold manages to grab the reins and climb them up onto the horse's neck, guiding her roughly into the alley and prodding her onward.

Teldicia comes jogging out of the building. "Horse thieves?" She runs up to Frantiska, "What's it worth to you to catch them?" Before waiting for an answer she starts sprinting after the horse, bounding like some kind of deer, easily covering ten feet with every leaping stride.

Donovan

Donovan sprints for the alley, pantaloons flapping comically, and trying not to step in anything too disgusting. He doubts that there is any chance he can catch a moving horse, or Teldicia, but they have to stop eventually, right? "Shaddup," he calls over his shoulder, "blow it! The house I mean."

Frantiska

Frantiska bolts after them, readying another arrow as she nears the corner.

GM

You all reach the corner of the alley, conveniently marked by the unconscious body of the two bruised and battered kobolds that fell from Thistledown's back. The fading afternoon light barely reached into the alley which is narrow, winding, and choked with refuse--older, abandoned stone ruins lined with numerous tents and lean-tos. An irregular trail of blood splatters and smashed tenements clearly indicated the path taken by the horse. A few angry beggars peek out from under collapsed tents. Teldicia kicks one of the kobolds over onto its back, revealing a large blood-red palm-print covering half of it's face.

Donovan

Donovan reaches the corner, huffing and puffing. Looking at the dark alley, he can't help but feel apprehensive. "Anyone care to lead the way?" he asks, drawing a thin stilleto from his boot.

Frantiska

Fran mutters under her breath, "Why are men such cowards?" and leads the way up the alley, keeping her bow at the ready. She carefully steps over the piles of refuse and broken tenements, and mutters a quick "Sorry", "Excuse us", or "My apologies", to the beggars she passes.

GM

The poor souls living in the alley look completely taken aback that anyone would apologize to them, even in such a perfunctory manner. They quickly clear out of the way, even going so far as to push aside some of the larger pieces of debris left in the horse's wake. When the three of you are about half-way down the alley, there is suddenly a tremendous "BOOM" from behind you--the ground bucks, dust and loose bricks rain down from the surrounding buildings, the remaining shanties are knocked flat, and the remaining residents run screaming out of the alley.

As the dust clears, you find you have a clear path. The alley, much wider now, dead-ends at a pair of large, barn-like doors, patched and re-patched with random pieces of metal and scraps of wood and crudely painted with a large red hand-print. The frightened neighs and whinnies of more than one horse, as well as the harsh, dog-like voices of kobolds can clearly be heard on the other side. The entire area smells like a slaughter-house.

Donovan

"Sounds like the gate is taken care of." Donovan sheathes his knife and pulls the hurdy-gurdy out of his pack. "They definitely know we're coming, right?" he says as he starts to play.

Her Daddy gave her first pony
Then told her to ride
She climbed high in that saddle
Fell I don't know how many times
Taught her a lesson that she learned
Maybe a little too well

Cowgirls don't cry
Ride, baby, ride
Lessons in life are going to show you in time
Soon enough your gonna know why
It's gonna hurt every now and then
If you fall get back on again
Cowgirls don't cry...

GM

The sounds of the kobolds' voices stop suddenly as the drone of the hurdy-gurdy starts up. The left-hand door cracks open and a small head, looking much like a jack-russel tarrier with horns, pokes out. "HEY!" it shouts in common. "Stop that racket! No solicitors! We're trying to plan an ambush for some adven..." He seems to notice Frantiska and her bow for the first time. "BREE-YARK!" it screams, which in this case means something along the lines of "Oh shit they're here" and tries to slam the door.

Frantiska

Frantiska quickly hooks her boot in the opening, then pulls with her foot.

GM

Frantiska deftly opens the door, pulling the poor kobold sprawling out into the alley. Inside you see a large pack of kobolds, three horses, and a man, hanging upside-down by his ankles in the center of a large brick and mortar building, the original purpose of which is long since lost. One of the horses, an old gray mare, is dead--eviscerated--a half-dozen kobolds armed with a variety of spears, axes, and short swords stand around it, painting their faces with its blood. The other two horses, Thistledown and one of the stout, shaggy ponies favored by the nomads to the north, are backed together in a corner, screaming in panic as a kobold advanced on them with a red-hot branding iron. The man, scruffy, crazy-eyed, confused looking, and wearing nothing but a loincloth, luckily a bound one, and a thick leather jerkin, swings wildly, trying to free himself. Standing just inside the door, between the three of you and the rest of the chaos, stand three more kobolds, apparently those preparing the "ambush", spiked clubs, more like rotten boards with nails in them, at the ready.

Donovan

Donovan keeps playing, trying not to gag at the horrible scene before him. He glances down at the kobold sprawling in the alley and stomps down on it in disgust.

Frantiska

Frantiska levels her bow sideways at the crowd of kobolds by the door, strings three arrows simultaneously, and fires at them point-blank. She then quickly knocks a fourth arrow and lets fly at the kobold threatening her horse with the branding iron. "Hey Ratface! Why don't you pick on something a little closer to your own size!"

Hrud

Shouts and the neighing of horses caused the barbarian's eyes to snap open. Something was off ... he was hanging upside down inside a structure unlike any hut or tent he'd ever been in. Small creatures scampered around and barking - quite literally - to each other. No, this was definitely not how things were when he went to sleep last night. Apparently the incredibly vivid dream about being attacked and knocked unconscious had been accurate (A little more advance notice would have been welcome).

He looked at a group of scrawny humanoids crowding the double doors across from where he hung. The stories of his people described a race of small. dog-faced creatures - Koobools? Cobalds? Something like that. That's probably what they were. They didn't seem to be aware that he was awake. Now, if one of them would just wander within his reach, he could ... do something to it. He'd make it up as he went.

Suddenly the door was yanked open from the outside ...

GM

The drone of the hurdy-gurdy continuing, Donovan curb-stomps the poor kobold sprawled at his feet, bringing the heel of his boot down on the creature's temple, knocking it out cold. Two of the kobolds by the door, seeing Frantiska standing there readying her bow swing their clubs at her, but she easily dances back out of their limited reach.

Standing by the dead horse, two kobolds heft javelins and let them fly at your party, but they clearly misjudged the angle, as the sharp points of the weapons lodge harmlessly in the wood of the right-hand door.

Another of the kobolds by the horse draws a short, rusty-looking sword and charges at Frantiska. His blow connects but the dull, old blade fails to penetrate the sturdy leather of her armor.

Frantiska lets fly her triple-loaded bow, catching all three of the foul-smelling little retches full in their little dog-like faces, dropping all three of them. As the sword-wielder closes with the three of you, Teldicia leaps backwards pulling several hefty darts from a pouch at her belt and throws one, which goes sailing wildly over the creature's head.

The kobold threatening the horses in the back turns and utters a stream of high-pitched obscenities, hurling a small knotted piece of string at Donovan. The sounds of his singing and the drone of his hurdy-gurdy suddenly distort, making them not only unintelligible, but, if possible, even more grating and annoying than before.

Two more of the kobolds that were painting their faces with horse blood lower their spears and charge at the door, but become entangled with the corpses of the club-wielders, the protruding hafts of the javelins, and the flailing swings of the swordsman, making their attacks just as ineffective as those of their peers.

Teldicia, now on firmer footing, throws a second dart, this one catching one of the spear-wielders cleanly in the arm, causing him to drop the weapon and double over in pain, scrabbling to dislodge the barbed projectile.

Teldicia lets fly a third dart, which buries itself up to the fletchings in the eye of the second spearman, killing him instantly.

The last of the horse-killers, spear and hand, runs over and plants himself near the middle of the room, raising a shield to guard against projectiles, and setting his spear like a hoplite expecting a mounted charge.

The last spear-wielding kobold in the center of the room shakes visibly as he watches his companions fall. With his eyes fixed on the door, he doesn't notice the inverted barbarian swing close to him from behind. The barbarian grabs the kobold's spear-arm, wrenching it around behind him. The big man then wraps his other arm around the kobold's face, gouging at the creature's eyes until it too passes out, and deftly grabs the spear before it falls from the unconscious creature's hands.

Frantiska, dodging wildly swinging clubs, spears, and swords from all angles, knocks another arrow and lets it fly at the kobold caster, but misses cleanly.

With more than half their number killed or incapacitated in the first volley, not a single useful blow landed, and the only path of egress from the building blocked, three of the four remaining kobolds, the swordsman and the two javelin throwers, drop their remaining weapons and dive to the ground, cowering and groveling in their horrible, yapping language.

Behind them, the last kobold waves his branding iron in the air with one hand, rattles a necklace made of horse's teeth with the other, glares menacingly at Frantiska, and screams in common, "Kill me then man-things! And may your heads never be uncovered for a thousand thousand days! May your roots wither in the dark! May your fleas and your lice shrivel and die! May the kings of gods and men rain their hatred upon your pates!"

Donovan

Donovan stops his playing, terrified by the horrible sounds coming from his instrument and himself, and tries to address the kobold leader, but all that comes out is "Garble! Garble garble garble, garble blah garble garble." He silently curses to himself, curses the kobold and his curses, then tries to make sense of that last string of curses the kobold spewed forth. 'Our heads will never be uncovered? We're not even wearing hats,' he thinks to himself.

He unceremoniously shoves the hurdy-gurdy into his bag and pulls his stilletto back out.

Frantiska

Frantiska rolls her eyes. "Cut the dramatics you horse-thieving rat." She knocks and arrow, and mutters a few words. Faint blue-white sparks begin to crackle at the tip of the arrow.

"May the Witch Queen grant you a swift death," she fires at the mouthy kobold with the branding iron.

GM

As Donovan babbles incoherently and tries to put away his useless instrument, Teldicia walks up beside Frantiska and, almost casually, kicks the kobold groveling at their feet, bringing the point of her sandaled toe up under the things chin, sending it sprawling backwards away from the two women, and, more importantly, the sword it had so recently been wielding. "You know guys," she says, "the guards at the gate said on our way out that these Red Hands have been causing alot of problems for the Council lately. I bet there's a decent price on that one's head," she says, indicating the apparent leader.

The barbarian swings again, bending at the waist and reaching down, or rather up, between his feet to grab the rope binding him. "Uga ketemu, kuwat gedhe-gedhe. Bisa mbebasake kula?" he says, as, bent full in half, but at least without the blood rushing to his head, he begins working at the rope with the point of the spear held in his other hand.

Seeing the barbarian freeing himself and Fran reloading, the two javelin throwers dive behind the horse carcass and hunker down, taking as much cover as they can. The kobold leader swings the hot branding iron in the direction of the horses, warding them off and back into the corner, lest the big warhorse get close enough to lash out with her hooves. He then jabs his open hand towards Frantiska, making clenching gestures and shouting strange syllables.

Frantiska suddenly feels as if something huge has clamped down on her chest, forcing the air from her lungs in a rush, spoiling the last words of her spell.

With a sharp snapping noise, the rope binding the barbarian's legs frays and breaks. He swings free, righting himself with the hand still holding the dangling rope, and drops to his feet.

Hrud

Finally back on his feet, the barbarian had a thought: These things look like dogs, I bet they don't like cats. Hoping to throw them into confusion, he meows mightily, thrusting the crude (even by his standards) spear at the creature waving the branding iron dangerously close to his steed.

Frantiska

Gasping for breath, Frantiska strains her brain, trying to figure out what the inappropriately dressed man is saying. She is able to piece out a couple of similarities and possible shared roots with the Thari and Netherese derived languages she has studied. Frantiska mouths silently "I dry shagged kuwat, gedhe-gedhe. A cat mbebasake the sphere? Kuwat?" She looks simultaneously appalled at the thought of 'shagging' anything, but also completely fascinated, not by the man, but by his words.

Still straining for breath, and finally coming back around to the task at hand, she forces her arms to draw back her bow again. Unable to breath properly, her hands shake as she fires two more shots at the maniac with the branding-iron.

Donovan

Donovan tries to speak again, but only produces more garbled nonsense. Shrugging, he walks past Frantiska into the building, knife in hand, and circles around next to the wall, trying to get a better look at everything while staying out of the line of fire.

GM

The barbarian leaps forward, making strange cat-like noises, and jabs the jagged-edged spear tip deep into the kobold's thigh. The creature gives a howl of pain, flailing wildly back with the branding iron, but finds itself held at length by the spear still stuck in its leg. As it tries to shake free to get closer to its new foe, losing a lot of blood in the process, Frantiska's arrow strikes it in the chest, causing it to topple backwards. The spear jerks free of the creature's leg with a spray of gore as it falls dead to the floor.

As the creature dies, there is a faint shimmer in the air above Frantiska, as a frumpy, red-brown hat with a single drooping white feather stuck in the band appears on her head.

Off to the side, still crouched behind the dead horse, you hear one of the two remaining kobolds call out, in broken Common, "You no us kill!"

Frantiska

Catching her breath, Frantiska runs across the room to Thistledown and throws her arms around the filly's neck.

Hrud

The barbarian steps over to his own horse and draws his broadsword, turning to see what the remaining two kobolds will do.

Donovan

Donovan tries talking again, "Garble...bargle...tergle...testing...testing...can you hear me now?" He breathes a sigh of relief and cautiously walks towards the dead horse, stopping to pick up the shortsword that the kobold dropped, figuring its a more intimidating weapon than his knife--though he keeps the knife ready in his primary hand, should it actually come to fighting. "Your leader and eight of your compatriots are down, dogs. If you would be so kind as to raise your hands up where we can see them, stand up, and slowly walk out here, we might decide to tie you up rather than cutting you to ribbons." He speaks in his best gruff, cutthroat voice.

GM

The kobolds stand up, visibly trembling, their hands stretched up as far as they can reach. They begin to walk around the horse, then, seeing a clear path to the door, bolt for it, running as fast as their very short legs can carry them.

Frantiska

Frantiska glances up, sees the kobolds running, and says, "Let them go. They're no threat now." She makes sure her horse is calm, then fixes her bow over her shoulder, draws the shortsword from the sheath strapped to her calve, and goes around cleanly executing the remaining wounded kobolds.

Donovan

The kobolds gone, or killed, Donovan turns his attention to the big, poorly dressed man standing nearby with a sword drawn. "Hallo, good sir," he says in a cheery voice, sheathing the stiletto and dropping his own sword. "That was quite the fine bit of dog-skewering. You know, we could use a good fighter like yourself." He walks up to the man, keeping his gate slow for fear of getting skewered by a sudden movement. "I'm Donovan Phillips Leitch, until very recently, herald to the Council of New Phlan. My, quite newly met companions are Teldicia and Frantiska," he gestures to the women in turn. "What brings you to Phlan good sir, and how did you happen to find yourself dangling inverted from yon rope?"

Hrud

Strange words fell from the stranger's mouth. Was that how they spoke here? Surely they would know his language - everyone he'd ever met spoke it:

"Matur nuwun kanggo teka. Aku Hrud saka Eraka. Aku nggoleki imam."

Donovan

Hearing the string of meaningless syllables, Donovan says slowly, half to the barbarian and half to himself, "Your name is Hrud? Your Eraka? And you're an imam?" He ponders a bit, "Well, I know that imam means a kind of priest." He stops advancing, and makes calming gestures with his hands, then speaks very loudly and slowly--because that always works. "I AM DONOVAN. YOU ARE HRUD? WHY...ARE...YOU...HERE?"

Frantiska

Frantiska watches the strange exchange between the men, then finally chimes in, "His language is strange, but it has a few similarities to ones I've studied in the past, especially that of the Gurri tribes and others of Imaskari descent. The first part sounds like he his calling you mature. He is definitely addressing you directly, but the word 'teka' seems out of place--I think it means something like "a puzzle" or "missing piece". Maybe he's indicating that he can't understand you. Hrud of the Eraka is definitely his name. 'Saka', interestingly could be used to indicate not only a tribe, but also the branch of a tree. In ancient Imask, 'saka' could also mean 'a healthy specimen' of something. Aku imam would normally mean "I am a priest", but I don't think that is what he means. 'Nggoleki' is definitely a verb, with priest as the object--his grammatical construction is highly simplified--but I don't have any idea what nggoleki it means..."

She continues to go around finishing off kobolds as she thinks. "Aku could also mean "I hold" or "I possess", sort of "my", instead of "I am", maybe he is searching for a missing priest friend or tribal shaman."

Hrud

Hrud felt a little relieved to hear them use his name. Perhaps these city dwellers were capable of learning, and not merely obnoxious backstabbing thieves as his people were fond of saying. Except for the little dog-men, he did not like them. And this one talking was kind of loud ... still, he had something to work with.

"Hrud," he said, touching his chest. Then pointing in the direction of the city, and putting his hand to his eyes, as if trying to see something in bright light or at a great distance, "Imam."

Donovan

Donovan, for all of his remarkable intellect, just can't grasp the idea that someone would not know the common trade speech, clearly Hrud must be hard of hearing, but his response indicates that speaking louder is succeeding. "FRANTISKA," he says pointing to the girls in turn, "TELDICIA." He makes sure his weapons are stowed and begins casing the room for valuables, muttering, much more softly, the words to his last remaining spell. "WE CAN HELP YOU FIND THIS IMAM YOU ARE LOOKING FOR..."

GM

You magic-sensitive vision draws you to the kobold with the branding iron, or, more specifically to the pair of bracelets he is wearing--two copper bands, one on each wrist, each about as wide as your thumb, and inscribed with a twining ivy pattern, both of which give off a surprisingly strong aura of abjurative magic. While you detect no other magic about him, save the lingering aura of his previously-cast spells, your looters instincts pick out some odd, sagging bulges in the, now heavily bloodstained, quilted vest he was wearing. Tearing it open, you find a small fortune in precious and semi-precious stones.

Casing the rest of the room, you find a large jar filled with copper coins stuffed in a corner behind a half-full barrel of pickles. You also find a few copper and silver coins in the pockets of the other kobolds, which all together, amount to a fair amount of change.

Hrud

It occurred to Hrud that the one called "Dawn of Man" must have weak ears, for he seemed to have trouble hearing his own words. Still, they seemed friendly enough. As the others poked at the kobold corpses, Hrud strapped on his leather armor.

Near his feet, he noticed the metal rod that the ... chieftan? Shaman? ... had been holding; of particular interest was at the shape on the end of it.  Were they trying to claim ownership of his horse?

Hrud noticed the other dead kobolds and the blood paint they wore. The barbarian had an idea. Dipping his hand into the dead horse, he walked over to his steed and painted a small circle. Then, below it, a larger oval (or perhaps a rounded rectangle) with two lines coming from the top "corners" and two lines extending down from the bottom. From one of the upper lines he drew a lone perpendicular line with a small triangle at the top, the other line was given what looked like a thick, inverted cross. Hrud turned to let the others see his handiwork, then smacked himself in the chest (failing to notice the broad bloody handprint left on his leather breastplate) and announced, "Jaran iku Hrud kang." Now, if anyone tried to steal his horse, they would be duly warned.

Frantiska

Frantiska opens up the grooming kit Teldicia handed her earlier and begins brushing Thistledown's coat, avoiding looking at Donovan yelling and tearing open the dead kobold's clothes looking for loose change and trying to ignore the fact that the poorly dressed man is painting his horse with the blood of another horse. She knew when she left Aglarond that she'd be dealing with people of low morals, but this was a good deal more barbaric than she had expected. Still, they had helped her recover Thistledown.

Continuing to brush her horse's mane, she says, barely above a whisper, "Thank you all."

Donovan

Donovan palms and pockets the pearls, figuring they'll be useful as spell components, and the opals, figuring that they're probably worth the most and will be a good down-payment on his spell research. He gathers up the other gems and holds them out to Frantiska and Hrud, "Here," he says, no longer shouting and hoping the barbarian will get the idea from his gesture, "I think these belong to you two." Pressing the gems into their hands, he begins walking around the room. He stops and momentarily considers eating a pickle, thinks better of it, then pulls the jar of copper out from behind the barrel. He then goes to the other kobolds, riffling through their pockets for change and throwing all their weapons into a large pile.

GM

Donovan pauses briefly in his work of looting, stopping to rub his temples as he feels the beginnings of a headache, a dull throb starting just behind his eyes.

Frantiska

Frantiska looks at the handful of gems, completely surprised at the generosity of these strangers. She briefly considers giving them back to Donovan, but figures that would be rude. Still holding them loosely, as if unsure what to do with such things, she speaks up, "Thank you so much. You help save my horse, and now this...How can I repay you?"

Hrud

Hrud looked at the shiny rocks. They were obviously not edible and didn't appear to /do/ anything ... maybe someone would trade them for food, possibly even a proper spear. Still, the ramshackle gear of the kobolds was better than nothing.

Donovan

Donovan takes off his glasses and works at his temples with one hand. Rising he addresses Frantiska, politely avoid eye contact since that seems to bother her, "If you really want to do something to repay us, my friends and I are leaving in the morning on a mission to escort a small girl to Melvaunt. It's about a three day trip, and involves crossing the Twilight Marsh, a notoriously dangerous place. If you have no pressing business, we would be quite happy to have an archer of your caliber along to help protect our small caravan." He gathers up the stray coins and shoves them in his bag and heads for the door. "I'm afraid I'm getting quite fatigued. Let's head back to the city-proper--we'll help Hrud find this priest he's looking for, get our paperwork updated, find Lyra, Amara, and Shaddup, and get some food and rest."

Frantiska

"That seems like a perfectly reasonable request, and a noble, if mundane, mission," she says, directing her words more to Teldicia than Donovan, "Thistledown and I would be happy to accompany you." Frantiska finally pockets the gems, picks up the shortsword, and leads Thistledown out of the building. "What about him?" she says indicating the barbarian. "He seems quite lost. If we don't find this imam he is looking for, are we just to leave him in the city?"

As she walks out, she hazards an attempt at addressing Hrud in something approximating own language, "Ayo Hrud, kami akan membantu anda menemukan imam." The words coming out slow and forced as she mentally translates as she speaks, hoping that her assumptions regarding the origins of his language are at-least somewhat correct. "Jika kita tidak menemukan seorang imam...apakah anda ingin ikut dengan kami untuk Melvaunt besok? Pria berambut putih sedang mencari prajurit untuk menjaga kafilah nya."

Hrud


The words were almost familiar ... but not quite. However, it sounded like the sharp-eared girl would help him in his search, but only if he stayed with them until tomorrow. One of the words sounded like a name, but not one Hrud was familiar with, "Apa Melvaunt? Bakal ana imam?"

PBM: Chapter 1: Arriving in New Phlan: Part 9

Splitting the Party: Lyra's Story

GM

Lyra, Amara, and Brother Rant suddenly appear standing right in front of the gates of the 'The Waiting', Phlan's temple to Tyr, god of justice. Brother Rant looks around, bewildered, as does the white-robed acolyte sitting at his feat, apparently so surprised by your arrival that he fell on his ass. Numerous passers-by, guards, lay worshipers, bureaucrats, shoppers, and adventurers, stand gawking.

Brother Rant reaches down a hand to help the acolyte up, still clearly in pain as he does so, "Sorry about that brother," then turns to Lyra. "You certainly know how to make an exit, miss." He takes Amara by the hand, "Things were starting to look quite intense back there. Are you sure your friends will be alright?"

Lyra

Lyra looks around and sighs.  "I'm going to be in so much trouble when Mother hears about this. I'm ... not supposed to do that.  Even the others didn't know."

"They tried to recruit Mr. Shaddup twice, so I truly don't think they would harm him without direct provocation.  As for Mr. Donovan, he didn't exactly help de-escalate the situation, but he's quite experienced at talking his way out of problems, including ones of his own creation.  The others of Miss Rietta's group seemed to prefer cooperating with us to additional conflict, but I also think that she was being extra nice to me because I had the books from that room.  What was the saying?  "A rich man is everyone's friend, a poor man no one's."  I might be able to contact them after I've had some ... time to ... rest."  Lyra wobbles a bit, unused to expending so much effort at once, and now twice in as many days.

"Can we ... go inside?  Everyone is staring.  Surely people shouldn't be that surprised at Professor Aumry's niece suddenly appearing places.  And please don't tell my mother about this.  Or if it comes up, at least bring up the 'threatened by an enraged ogress' bit."

GM

"Of course miss," Brother Rant opens the doors of the temple and heads inside, pulling Amara along beside him. A blast of sound from a large pipe organ, and the sharp smell of burning incense assault you as he opens the doors. He turns to the acolyte as the three of you walk in, "Brother, these girls are under my protection. Can you please run ahead and ask Sister Theymr to prepare beds for them in the women's dormitory, and then call for Father Aiken to meet me in the infirmary, as I am in need of healing myself." The acolyte bows and runs off down a side passage. "I'm afraid, Miss Lyra, that around here a minor is strange enough, let alone one appearing out of midair. I don't know where you come from, but we have only a half-handful of mages of any recognizable power, of which, so far as I have seen, the Professor is the only one capable of traveling in that manner. Also, I am not usually in the habit of lying to people, but I do not know your mother, so it is unlikely that I would tell her about your own impressive displays of power."

"Now," he gestures to a passage on the left, "the women's wing is down this hall. I am not allowed beyond the arch, but if you take a left at the end of the hall and go down the stairs, you will find the dormitories, where the two of you should be able to rest safely. I will send for you once I have had my wounds looked at..."

Lyra

Lyra takes Amara and heads down the hall, to the left, and down the stairs towards the women's dormitory, hoping the others will not be long in arriving at the temple, safe and sound.

GM

You come down the stairs into a long, low-ceilinged, windowless room. The walls are lined with rows of single-beds with thick, soft-looking mattresses, satin sheets, and beautifully quilted, white, down comforters, twenty to a side. A single brass hook is set into the wall by each bed, a few with white robes, similar to that worn by Brother Rant, though less blood-stained, hanging from them. Running down the center of the room are two long trestle-tables of polished, white oak. The room is lit by a trio of large candelabras sitting on the tables.

Three white-robed women sit at one of the tables, throwing dice, picking at a large tray of meat and cheeses, and swearing fit to make a sailor's ears turn red. Each has a small pile of silver coins and a goblet of dark red wine sitting in front of them. At the far end of the room another, much older-looking, woman is turning down two of the beds and whistling along with the tune that can still be heard being banged out on the organ above.

Lyra

Lyra takes in the comfortable looking beds, the dice, the swearing Sisters, and the giant plate of food.  This was going to be a much less boring wait than she had anticipated.  She thought it unlikely she would be able to get much sleep before Brother Rant's healing was completed and Mr. Donovan and Mr. Shaddup returned.  She could start reading the books, but if it involved gates and demon summoning this seemed like a poor choice of location.  Weren't lemurs supposed to be fluffy, or was that something else?

Lyra smoothed her skirt and straightened her cloak, clearing her head of all thoughts but the present.  "Pardon us, but are you Sister Theymr?  Brother Rant said there would be beds for us."

GM

The women at the table look up, smile, then resume their game. The old woman finished fluffing a pillow, then makes the long walk down the hall to you. "I'm Theymr, pleased to meet you," she extends a hand, "I've got the spare beds all ready for you." She gives Amara a long, hard look, then smiles. "Who would've guessed that that crotchety, old, Zhent-sympathizer would have such a cute niece."

Lyra

Lyra ignores the remarks about Professor Aumry and takes the Sister's hand.  "It is a pleasure to meet you.  Thank you for the hospitality; I hope it's not too much trouble."

She first focuses on putting Amara to bed, although nap, songs, and stories were quickly rebuffed.  Exasperated, Lyra settles in to quietly read to her ... out of her mother's spellbook.

Winona

One of the ladies at the table, seeing Amara fall asleep, sets down her cup and walks over to Lyra. She peers, squint-eyed, through a pair of spectacles at the pile of books beside Lyra, and inquires, "What's that you're reading?"

Lyra

Lyra looks up from the book, absentmindedly tracing the magical diagram on the page with her thumb.

"This is a book of magical incantations given to me by my mother."  She looks down at Amara.  "She's quite talented, especially for her age.  The other two books we found in the ruins.  They still need to be checked for wards, runes, or other protections against the unwary.  Our companions should be here soon...."  Lyra's gaze returns to the book in her lap, tears starting to well up in the corners of her eyes.

Winona

The priestess stares interested at the books for a bit, saying a brief prayer under her breath, casting _find traps_. Then picks up one of them, "They look fine to me. May I..." only then does she look at Lyra, noticing that she's crying. "Oh! What's wrong?" she says, sitting down on the edge of the bed, putting one hand on the shoulder of the crying girl, and absentmindedly flipping through the book with the other.

Lyra

Lyra looks over at the books as the nun flips through them.  "One of my companions died getting those, and one of another team's men went through a gate that was there to guard it.  And I don't know if the others will make it back safely.  But ... Brother Rant could hardly walk even if he wouldn't admit it, and Amara is...."  She trails off, starting to hiccup.  "Well, I ... hic ... had to make sure they ... hic ...  made it back safely ... hic.  That was the right thing to do, right?"

Winona

The priestess continues to leaf through the book with increasing interest, only half-listening to Lyra's story. "Where did you get th..." She pauses, mid-question as she turns to look at Lyra again and realizes the extent of her sobbing. "Oh, dear. Is the little girl alright? She doesn't look injured..." She gently pulls back the covers with one hand, still holding the book tight with the other, and gives the girl a cursory inspection. "Oh, she's fine, and yes, you definitely did the right thing in getting the girl and Rant out of danger, though he's usually pretty good at taking care of himself." Her eyes widen as she continues to ponder what Lyra is saying. "Oh! You don't fancy him do you?!"

Lyra

Lyra turns bright red, and lets out one last hiccup as she stares at the nun, stunned.  "Fancy...?  We ... found him, stabbed by a group of orc lepers.  Even after some healing, he could barely walk!"

She turns her attention back to the book.  "We found the books in a locked room with a gate inscribed on the floor.  Two demons were in the next room.  Lemurs?  One of them ... one of them killed Mr. Gendry.  Based on these notes, I don't think it was supposed to be a gate, but the general theme does kind of explain the demons."

Winona

"Devils dear, not demons. Baatezu to be precise. Judging from what I'm reading, I'm amazed that the author of these was able to summon even a lemure," she emphasizes the long 'you' sound, "let alone create a functioning portal. It was most likely a mistake." She somehow looks positively delighted at the thought. "Where was this room? In town I presume? The Slums? The other side of the river?"

"Oh, and it's no shame if you like Rant. He was quite the dashing fellow when he was younger...international spy and all that." She pats Lyra not-so-reassuringly on the knee. "And never you mind about religious vows or any nonsense like that. It would be unjust to deny someone the opportunity to love." She winks. "People get all sorts of crazy ideas about Lord Tyr, and I don't know where from..."

Lyra

"Yeah, I see flaws in some of the formulae."  Lyra shakes her head.  "Not exactly an expert in his - or her - field.  We came across a near collapsing building on the way back from the stables near Professor Aumry's tower.  There was a locked door with the books, some laboratory equipment, and the gate.  Covered in quite a bit of dust.  I assume whoever did this has been ... indisposed ... for some time now.  So -- what was that about Brother Rant being an international spy?"

Winona

The priestess blinks, apparently having a hard time pulling her eyes off the book. "Rant? Oh, dearie, he's one of those who harp. You know, a meddler, as most of the people up here call them. I'm not sure where he's from originally, somewhere down south clearly, but he was up here spying on the Zhents. He apparently was working with the tribes north of the mountains, Eraka they call 'em, trying to train them to defend themselves against the Zhentarim extremists, and got converted to the worship of Lord Grimjaws--that's what they call Tyr up there. Apparently he went full-tilt in his worship too, even getting into spirit summoning and other primitive nonsense like that. Quite the guy Rant, tends to throw himself headfirst into everything. So he converts, and then those who harp hear about it and re-assigned him to Phlan, so that he could get a proper education in the faith from Bishop Braccio. He gets a lot more autonomy than many of us here--some special arrangement between the Bishop and the meddlers. The Bishop hires him out as a body-guard sometimes, mostly to councilmembers when they are traveling, and he's been on duty over at Half-a-Loaf in the slums for the last month or so, but mostly he's free to come and go as he pleases...and is probably still keeping watch on Zhent sympathizers like Aumry and Mace." She finally sets the book down and stands up from the bed. "I'd like to peruse those in detail later if you'll let me, Diabology is a particular interest of mine. We were playing Three Man, care to join in a round?"

Lyra

"Huh.  You'd think a well traveled harper would know better than to get shanked by Xvimlar in the slums."  Lyra sighs and shakes her head, running a thumb down the spine of the book.  "As for the book, now is probably going to be your best chance to look at it.  I hope my companions will be here soon, though.  We still need to acquire supplies for our trip to Melvaunt.  Amara's grandmother is ill, and we are to escort her there and return with supplies for Professor Aumry.  Amara was wanting to go buy a candle or something for his grandmother, and I would like to get food, sling bullets, and a change of travelling clothes, and a few other minor things. I'm not well supplied for a long journey after my own trip to Phlan..."

Winona

"If you have shopping to do, I could watch the girl. You should be able to get all of those things here in town without having to wander out to the slums again." She takes the books and stretches out on the bed next to Amara's. "Sorry girls, I'm out," she says to the others as she settles in for some more in-depth reading.

Lyra

"I don't suppose you would happen to know anything about these, would you?"  Lyra carefully removes the items that were hidden in the fireplace from her belt pouch.  "The holy water I recognize easily enough, but the powder is unlike anything I've seen before."

Winona

The priestess shrugs, "Sorry dearie, not my field," and kicks back to read. "Aylaran the silversmith offers services in identifying magical items and alchemical substances, though her prices are far from cheap..."

Lyra

It was worth a try.  "Would it be all right if I left some things here until I return?  Some of the articles from the ruin may be fragile, and I'd rather not jostle them around in my pack more than I have to."  She wondered how much longer before Brother Rant or the others came.  At least doing some shopping, she would be able to look out for Mr. Donovan and Mr. Shaddup coming in through the gates.

She also ought to speak with her mother before leaving for Melvaunt.  Now THAT was a conversation she was not looking forward to.

Winona

The priestess waves a hand noncommittally, clearly not paying attention. "Sure, just leave 'em wherever. No one around here is going to take your stuff."

Lyra

Lyra carefully removes several items from her pack, placing them gently on a nearby bed.  Two ceramic pint jars, a tiny vial filled with brown powder, various pieces of alchemical equipment from the ruins, a shortsword, a bokken, a whetstone, two masks of Mask, a set of lockpicks, and sets a pair of minotaur sized boots next to the bed.  The last few items were rather ... awkward.

"I've heard Petroff's Fine Swords is near the temple of Sune, but do you know where Cockburn's Grocery is?"

Winona

"It's right out back from the training hall, dearie. About a block parkside from Petroff's." She looks up from the book briefly, adjusting her glasses. "Oh, and don't even bother trying to haggle with Ian Cockburn, dearie, he's a tightwad among tightwads."

Lyra

Lyra shrugs her now significantly lighter sackcloth backpack over her shoulder and carefully arranges her cloak.  "I should be back shortly.  If my companions or Brother Rant return before I do, could you please inform them that I went to Cockburn's?"

She curtsies, turns and heads back upstairs and down the hallway, looking around for any sign of Brother Rant before heading outside.

Winona

The priestess continues reading through the book, then sits bolt upright. "Tyr Almighty! Who would even think of a spell like this, let alone write it down and leave it sitting out where people could get it!" She jumps to her feet, and runs after Lyra, the book tucked under her arm. "Wait! Miss...what do you intend to do with this?!"

Lyra

Lyra stops dead in her tracks and turns around, hands fidgeting with her backpack strap.  "Well, it will be a matter of discussion with my companions once we arrive, but my inclination was to carefully rip out and burn the worst of it.  Some of it might still be useful, but some of it no one should try to replicate."

Winona

The priestess places a hand on Lyra's elbow and guides her out of the room. "Let's talk as we walk, dearie. I'll show you a shortcut to the grocer's." Once they are out of the room, she adds, "I don't think tearing pages out is the right way to address this kind of information. Having a window into this kind of infernal research would be very useful for my order, assuming we can keep it out of the wrong hands."

Lyra

Lyra allows herself to be escorted, considering the Sister's words.  "Immolation does solve the 'wrong hands' issue nicely, though.  And this research seems rife with inaccuracies.  The ability to pierce protections seems rather concerning, and might be pertinent to researching stronger wards, but what value is there in the rest of it?"

Winona

"Oh, I was thinking we could gate in a handful of lemures to train the troops. A practical primer on what weapons work against fiends and how to destroy infinitely regenerating enemies." She steers Lyra up to the sanctuary, out a side door, and across the square towards the Training Hall. "Of course, we'd need to find a mage sufficiently trustworthy to cast the spell only when directed."

Lyra

"What if they get loose?  What if the trainees aren't prepared?  What if the spell doesn't even work properly?  His notes to complete the last sigil?  Based on the physical gate we found, it seemed to end in an unplanned one way trip to the lower planes.  Those things killed Gendry.  Even if the spell works properly, to summon more into this plane is unconscionable."  Lyra shakes her head.  "If you want tactics against lemures, holy water made them bubble away into little yellow wisps of gas."

GM

As you cross the square, you hear a load "BOOM!" from just on the other side of the wall, and look up to see a large cloud of dust and debris settling over the Slums.

Lyra

Lyra stops, looking towards the dust plume visible over the wall.  "That ... may have been the gate."  She looks considerably happier.  "And if it was, that means Mr. Shudrigan is safe."

Winona

The priestess blinks once, twice, then shakes her head. "Your friends did that?! I took you for a novice..." she looks ruefully at Lyra, "Sorry." As she leads the way around the back of the temple, she continues. "I understand that the Council has offered quite a heft sum for clearing the slums, but I thought that meant driving out some of the goblin and kobold riff-raff, not burning the whole thing down..."

Lyra

"The building was near collapsing anyway.  He probably just helped it along.  Unless of course that was his weapon.  But I don't remember it kicking up that much dust..."

Winona

"Your friend has a weapon that can do that?! He's not a Gondsman is he?" As they cross the street from the square, she waves a hand. "And here is Cockburn's."

Lyra

"He says 'Gond rest his soul' a lot and prays to Gond.  Yes, I'm fairly sure he's a Gondsman."  Lyra spares one more glance at the dust plume and heads inside.

Winona

The priestess walks in behind the girl, idly brushing the door chime with her free hand. Seeing Lyra run off to collect her goods and not really here to shop herself, she walks up to the counter. "Good morrow, Mr. Cockburn. We missed you at the Goblin last night. I was hoping to have the chance to win my money back. So how's business?"

GM

The store is a cramped place. Aisles of tall shelves are stacked with bags of flour, baskets of bread, barrels of pickles and sourkraut, spools of thread, piles of towels and linens, coils of rope, all manner of robes, dresses, and other accouterments, and everything in between. The man behind the counter is perhaps in his late twenties, tall and thin, with sharp features and a rather sideways smile. He gives a level, appraising look at the priestess, "I'm sorry, have we met?"

Lyra

Lyra goes through the aisles, efficiently collecting a growing pile of rations, camping supplies, rope, and clothing, and a sturdy leather backpack with which to carry it all.

Winona

"Ian, it's me, Winona. Remember, two nights ago at the Laughing Goblin you pulled those three aces and ran me and two of my sisters dry?" She smiles. "We want some Justice. Tonight at the Bitter Blade. Bring your cards and a fat purse."

GM

The grocer grins, "Justice, eh? Alright I'll see you there." He looks at the girl with the giant pile of supplies in her arms, and yells to her. "Hey girl, those candles are BOGO this week." Then turns back to Winona. "Business is fine for now, but won't be for long. The Council just shut down the harbor. After this morning's load off the Wake, they say no more ships are allowed to enter or leave the harbor until Sokal Keep is dealt with."

Lyra

Lyra shifts the pile and selects several more candles, bringing the total up to 10, and takes everything over to the counter.

Lyra arranges the items neatly on the counter and looks up at Mr. Cockburn.  "Closing the harbor?  Why would they cut off more people coming in who could help with the problem?  Are ships being attacked or something?"

GM

The man begins sorting through the pile of items and tallying it up using an abacus. "They could probably let the Wake go, it's a month round trip for the ship anyways, but this past week three fishing boats were attacked. It used to be okay to just avoid the island, the creatures from the ruins did the same, but now, apparently, some orcs or hobgoblins or some such have set up shop on the island, in spite of whatever evil is lurking in the Keep itself. Some of the fishermen even say that the orcs went and stirred up whatever lives in the keep, and that, in addition to the orc raids on the fishing boats, they've been seeing things in the water, unnatural things..."

Winona

"So with the harbor closed, anyone wanting to go out there is probably on there own, eh? I bet the Council's raising the bounty on the keep nice and high if that's the case." She looks snoopily over Lyra's pile of purchases. "You look like you're gearing up for a proper quest, dearie."

Lyra

Lyra looks shocked and appalled.  "Were there survivors?"

Lyra looks over at the Sister.  "My companions and I will be escorting Professor Aumry's niece to Melvaunt, and it seemed prudent to pick up a few things for the journey."

GM

"Going to Melvaunt? Careful getting out of town, things have been heating up in the Slums and the area around the old well. Once you're out though, you should be fine if you stick to the road. I had a shipment come in just two days ago, it sounds like the paladins up at Iniarv's Tower are keeping a good handle on the lizards and things through the swamp." He finishes tallying the cost. "Would you like me to bag all that up for you?"

Lyra

Lyra nods.  "Yes, please.  How long does it typically take for a wagon to get here from Melvaunt?  Do you do special orders?  For future reference, of course."

GM

Cockburn begins carefully arranging the gear in the backpack you purchased, taking the time to adjust the straps to make sure it fits you properly and make sure everything is stowed in the most likely order of it being needed. "The trip to Melvaunt takes about three days, assuming the weather holds out and nothing jumps you. Given the storms that tend to blow up along the coast, chances of flooding through the swamps, and bandit attacks, I usually allow a week either way for a caravan to get through. If there is something special you need I can usually get it within three to four weeks, allowing time for the caravan to get to Melvaunt and back, ordering, assembling the shipment, and whatnot."

Lyra

"Thank you very much."   Lyra pulls a sack of coins out of her belt pouch, glancing at the abacus.

Winona

Winona waits until Lyra has paid, then heads for the door. "Hey dearie," she says as they walk out, "you weren't planning on haul these books all the way to Melvaunt with you, were you?"

Lyra

Lyra pays and deposits the change back in her belt pouch.  "I assumed my companions and I were going to reconvene, divide up our found items, and possibly look for buyers for what we were not intending to keep.  Are you interested in making an offer on it?"

Winona

Winona grins, "How about an extra hand in a fight, basic healing services, and my expert advice on battling devils, demons, and other fiends any time you're in town? Oh, and free access to study the books yourself when you want dearie."

Lyra

Lyra smiles.  "Your offer will be taken into consideration once my companions are back.  I have one more stop to make, and we can return to the temple.  I'm not sure how long it will take Brother Rant to recover.  His wounds looked quite serious."  Lyra heads back outside, looking around to orient herself, and heads for the weapon shop near the temple of Sune.

Winona

Winona looks at the sky briefly, "Well, I have to go get ready for a card game. Have fun shopping dearie, I'll see you back at the temple."

Lyra

"I wish you good fortune in your game tonight.  It was a pleasure meeting you, Sister Winona."  As the sister leaves, Lyra stares off towards the gate.  Searching.  But not finding.  They just got delayed, destroying the gate and looking for someone to drive the wagons.  She should try to look for them again later, after she finishes at the weapon shop.  She rubs her shoulder, getting accustomed to the weight of the new backpack.  Surely they're fine, and she's just ... tired.  That's all.

She heads over to the weapon shop, trying not to think about what not being able to find Donovan must mean as she pushes the door open.

GM

As Lyra pushed her way into 'Petroff's Fine Swords', she nearly trips over a low figure on its way out. Looking down, she sees an extremely dirty, disheveled, and singed-looking gnome--which is to say, it looks like every other gnome she has seen in Phlan. The gnome shoves a long box into her hands, and only then does she recognize Shaddup. He looks very tired and the side of his face is badly bruised. "That's your guys' share," he mumbles, barely audibly. "Not really the party I was expecting...but I got my research funding." He stumbles out the door, and wanders off without another word.

Lyra

Lyra stands for a moment, shocked, and then heads after him.  "Mr. Shaddup!  Wait!  What happened to Mr. Donovan and the others?  Come back with me to the temple, you look like you could use some healing."  Surely 'your guys' share' meant that the others were ok, but....

GM

Apparently oblivious to Lyra's calling after him, Shaddup makes a rather wobbly bee-line across the road, past the Training Hall and other public buildings, and off in the direction of the river.

Lyra

Maybe he didn't hear her?  She well remembers the ringing in her ears after he used his weapon.  Lyra sighs as Shaddup heads off, presumably towards the temple to Gond.  She heads back into Petroff's, intent on finishing up quickly and heading back to the temple.


Lyra finishes up at Petroff's, and heads down to the clerk's office to speak with her mother on the way back to the temple.