Chapter 2: Handle With Care: Part 3

In which the party separates...again...and a lot of talking happens...

GM

Teldicia still sits in the back of the wagon, holding the sleeping injured girl's head in her lap. "Oh, the little one ran off, saying something about needing to get a present for her grandmother. Rant when after her." She takes one of the folded blankets and carefully slides it under the girl's head, extracting herself. She climbs down next to Lyra, "So, what's with all the munitions?"

Lyra

Lyra sighs "I had just intended to get a bow and some arrows, food and traveling supplies for everyone, and a few things for the girl.  It seems Frantiska and Donovan had other ideas."

Lyra looks around, scanning the crowd.  "Do you know where they were headed, or at least which direction?  Rant shouldn't be heading off alone after publicly executing one of Mace's gang members."

GM

"The girl was heading into the Market." Teldicia points, "Shall we go after them?"

Donovan

Donovan looks slightly concerned, "For all that he was bleeding on the cobbles when we found him, Rant seems capable of taking care of himself...though I'd hate to lose our most important cargo before we have even set out." He looks around to double-check that everything is packed. "At present though, we have four animals, a wounded girl, and a giant wagon full of weapons to be concerned about. Frantiska, can you and Hrud take your horses and go after them? You'll have a much better chance to spot them in the crowds if you are mounted, and a better chance of clearing a way as well. Lyra, Teldicia, and I can stay here and watch the wagon, the goods, and the girl."

He turns to Teldicia, "The bows are to help us get through the swamps. Even if we are not the best shots, the six people armed with ranged weapons can be an effective deterrent to would-be bandits or raiders. Also, if we are attacked, being able to get off a volley before any attackers close to melee, even if only half our shots hit, can substantially improve our odds of survival."

Teldicia

"Her name is Ellen," Teldicia says. "She woke up briefly while you folks were filling up the armory here." She moves up to the driver's bench, "Rant said he wanted to leave the girl with the priests at Half-a-Loaf on the other side of the market square. This thing doesn't look to hard to drive. If we're staying with the wagon, maybe we should go ahead and take it over there so we're not just sitting here twiddling our thumbs waiting for them to get back..."

Frantiska

Frantiska sighs, untethers Thistledown, and mounts up. "Alright, we'll meet you at this Half-a-Loaf place."

"Hrud, ayolah. Kita harus pergi mencari di mana Saudara Rant dan gadis kecil itu pergi.."

Lyra

Lyra climbs up into the back of the wagon awkwardly trying to arrange her sword, bow, and quiver for easy reach.  She kneels next to the girl and gently brushes a stray lock of hair off of the girl's face.  "I'll keep an eye on Ellen."

Hrud

Hrud understood "have to go looking" and that was about it - still, it was enough. Grabbing his bow, he makes his way back around to his horse and swings up into the saddle, ready to follow.

Frantiska

Frantiska nudges Thistledown and heads down the connecting alley into the market that Teldicia had indicated. "Hrud, jauhkan mata Anda keluar untuk Brother Rant atau gadis itu," she says as they enter the market, standing up in the saddle to see if she can spot their missing companions.

GM

The market square is crowded, dozens of tents, carts, and stalls buying, selling, and fencing everything imaginable, some of them even legitimate, fill the square. The din of merchants hawking their wares, beggars asking for handouts, street-corner evangelists preaching about all manner of gods, and shoppers running around is near-deafening. The crowd is heavily mixed, representing nearly every race and nationality, though human settlers from the south and the local orcs and goblins dominate. All are from the lower end of the economic spectrum. Frantiska picks out a score of languages being used, just within earshot.

Standing in the saddle, you easily see Amara, Rant standing very close behind her, less than ten yards to your left as you enter the square, standing in front of one of the few permanent structures in the square--a wooden stall laid out with all manner of candles, incenses, oils, and even a handful of of vials labeled, in Common, as "Poshuns of Heeling".

About thirty yards to your right, in the center of the market, the crowd has parted slightly, revealing a dark-haired man in slightly nicer clothes than everyone else standing on a large crate, ranting in the local dialect:

...my sturbovani tym, yak kulʹt Eberhard postupovo zrostaye kulʹt, yakyy stav dzherelom tsiloho ryadu nadzvychayno seryoznykh zbochenʹ pryntsypiv, demokratiyi, revolyutsiynoyi zakonnosti. My vvazhaye za neobkhidne, shchob Rada materialy, shcho stosuyutʹsya tsʹoho pytannya ye.

YA vyyavyv u Ulrich Eberhard tsi nehatyvni kharakterystyky, yaki pryvely piznishe do tyazhkykh naslidkiv. Poboyuyuchysʹ maybutnyu dolyu New Phlan, ya vkazav, shcho neobkhidno bulo roz·hlyanuty pytannya pro peredachu Eberhard z pozytsiyi heneralʹnoho sekretarya, bo Eberhard ne bulo pravylʹne stavlennya do nashykh hromadyan.

U 1363 Volodymyr Abd-alʹ-Beyn, miy batʹko, pysav: 'Pislya pryynyattya na posadu heneralʹnoho sekretarya , tovarysh Ulʹrikh Eberkhard nakopychenyy nezmirnu vladu v svoyikh rukakh, i ya ne vpevnenyy, chy zumiye vin zavzhdy buty v zmozi vykorystaty tsyu vladu z potribna dopomoha'.

Volodymyr takozh skazav: 'YA proponuyu, shchob tovaryshi vvazhayutʹ metod, yakym Ulʹrikh Eberkhard bude vydalenyy z tsiyeyi pozytsiyi i za dopomohoyu yakoho insha lyudyna bude obranyy dlya nʹoho, lyudyny, yaka , persh za vse, bude vidriznyatysya vid Ulrich Eberhard tilʹky v odnomu yakosti , a same, bilʹshoyi terpymosti, bilʹshoyi loyalʹnosti, bilʹshe dobroty '...

Hrud

Hrud marks the position of Rant and - which one of the girls was it? There were so many to keep track of - Amara in the square, then turns his attention back to the speaker. Usually, when someone speaks in a crowded area like this, it's connected to something troubling.

Frantiska

Frantiska strains to understand the man's speech, but finds that it only worsens her budding headache. She turns Thistledown to the left and nudges her way through the crowd towards Amara and Rant.

GM

As you ride closer, you see Amara hand a small bag, presumably coin, to the chandler in exchange for a single twist-molded black taper. Rant, scanning the crowd, spots you and gives a small wave of recognition.

While the speaker seems very excited, the crowd seems to waver between derision and disinterest, though there are the occasional, isolated cheers of assent and support for whatever the man is saying. It doesn't look like there is much chance of it devolving into violence...for now at least. The man himself seems oblivious to the jeering of the crowd and presses on with his speech:

Tovaryshi! Rada povynen oznayomytysya z novymy dokumentamy, yaki pidtverdzhuyutʹ kharakter Eberhard avtora. U 1653, Abd-alʹ-Beyn vidpravleno Eberhard nastupnyy lyst: "Shanovnyy tovarysh Eberhard Vy maly hrubistʹ poklykaty moyu druzhynu i vylayaty yiyi Nezvazhayuchy na te, shcho vona skazala, shcho vona pohodylasya zabuty te, shcho bulo skazano, ya ne zbyrayusya zabuvaty tak lehko". Tovaryshi! YA ne budu komentuvaty tsi dokumenty. Vony krasnomovno hovoryatʹ sami za sebe.

Yak pokazaly podalʹshi podiyi dovely, tryvozhnistʹ Abd-alʹ-Beyn bulo vypravdano. Eberkhard, yakyy absolyutno ne terpiv kolektyvnosti v kerivnytstvi i v roboti, vystupav ne shlyakhom perekonannya, ale nav'yazuvannya svoyikh ustanovok, vymohy bezzasterezhnoho pidporyadkuvannya do yoho dumky. Eberkhard vynyk ponyattya "voroh narodu". Tsey termin avtomatychno staye nepotribnym, shcho ideolohichni pomylky lyudyny ne dovedeno. Tse stalo mozhlyvym vykorystannya samym zhorstokym represiyam, proty budʹ-yakoho, khto v budʹ-yakomu vypadku ne pohodyvsya z Eberhard, proty tykh, khto buly tilʹky pidozryuvaly u vorozhykh namirakh, proty tykh, khto mav pohanu reputatsiyu.

V tsilomu, yedynym dokazom provyny faktychno vykorystovuvaly "vyznannya" z samoho obvynuvachenoho. "Vyznannya" buly prydbani cherez fizychni tysku ...

Hrud

Hrud walks his horse over to Rant and, indicating the speaker, asks, "«What is that man talking about?»"

GM

Rant looks in the direction indicated, «Oh, that's Hasan. Nevermind him, he's out there every day. He blames the Council, and Head Councilman Ulrich Eberhard especially, for the failure of his business. He's been trying to raise popular support to get himself /elected/ to the Council.» They way Rant says the word 'elected' it is clear that he thinks the entire concept is ridiculous.

Amara, clutching the candle tightly, suddenly perks up at one word Rant says, "Hasan?! Daddy?!" Her head snaps around and she begins jumping to see what Hrud is pointing at. The tiny blue unicorn at her feet begins galloping in excited circles around her.

Frantiska

Frantiska, reaches down and hoists the girl onto the front of her saddle so that she can see across the crowd. "Is that man your father, Amara?" she asks, pointing to the orator. Not liking the look of that candle, or the chandler, she attempts to focus past the headache to sense the presence of evil magics or intent.

What?! Frantiska thinks, through the sudden blinding pain in her head. While Amara is distracted looking over the crowd for her father, Frantiska quickly knocks the candle out of her hand and gives a sharp whistle, indicating for Thistledown to stomp on it. She briefly considers shoving Amara off the saddle as well, knowing well that most normal people's petty vices and jealousies are not meant to trigger the special senses given to her by Selune, but recalls something the Queen's Psychologue once said about all small children being sociopaths. Striking a child unprovoked would make me no better than the beasts in this shanty. It may just be a child's passing rage at her estranged parents. I will just have to bide my time, watch her, and try to set a good example.

"I'm sorry Amara, I was just startled by something. Allow me to buy a replacement for you..." Frantiska scans the ground to make sure the candle is destroyed, then looks at the chandler's selection for one a little less cursed...

Hrud

Hrud, the vague look of confusion that he normally wears growing a little less vague,  is completely puzzled by Frantiska and her sudden, unexpected reaction. His first thought is, 'She must hate candles,' which is then followed by, 'We are never getting out of this city.'

GM

Amara, from up on the horse, spots the man and yells "It is daddy!" Her countenance suddenly falls as the candle is knocked from her hands, "Oh! That...that was my present for Grandmother!" She begins bawling.

Frantiska

"Brother Rant," Frantiska says, urging Thistledown closer to the chandler's stall, "Donovan is bringing the wagon around to the other side of the market and asks that we meet him at a place called Half-a-Loaf." She tries to ignore the girl screaming in her ear and calls down to the chandler. "Sir, how much for the red candle?"

"Amara, calm down," she says, "there was something amiss about that candle. We'll get you a replacement for your grandmother, then we can go speak to your father..."

GM

The chandler looks bemusedly at the elf woman and the screaming child, "Seven gold for the red one," he says simply.

"I don't want a red one! Grandma likes the black ones! The red ones are no good!" Amara shouts, turning red in the face. "And I do not need to speak with father, I'm on a mission for Uncle!"

"...I also have another black one for twenty gold if the girl would prefer," the chandler pipes in.

Frantiska

Insistent isn't she. Frantiska hands the chandler two platinum coins, "A red one please, Sir. Not to impugn your wares, but the black one seemed to have some malignant magics about it and is probably not an appropriate thing to be entrusted to a child." A vein begins to stand-out on her forehead, marring her beauty only slightly. "Amara, please cease your tantrum. It would be disrespectful for you to come all this way and not at least say hello to your father before leaving again."

The transaction complete, she stows the candle in a saddle-bag, rubs her temples, and turns Thistledown into the crowd. "Hrud, Bruder Rant, datang, kami akan berbicara dengan ayah gadis-gadis dan kemudian kita harus berada di jalan kami."

Hrud

Hrud tried to parse the elf's words. The best he could figure, she and the girl were going to speak with someone's father. "Aku bakal ngenteni kene."

Glancing around the market, the hilt of the barbarian's new broadsword catches the corner of his eye - the evil eyes starting up at him. Turning back to Rant, he asks, "Panjenengan sapa kene ngedol paint?"

Frantiska

Frantiska calls over her shoulder, "Hrud, kita harus pergi dengan cara yang anyways. Yang terbaik adalah jika kita tidak bisa dipisahkan. Jika kita terus berpisah, kita tidak akan pernah keluar dari kota ini."

Hrud

Irritated at being bossed around, even if he can't totally understand her words, Hrud replies, "Sing mekso iki prawan kanggo ngomongake sing wong. Iki bakal njaluk kita metu saka kutha?"

GM

Brother Rant follows Hrud's eyes to the sword. «Matteo the Smith does enamel-work. His shop is right behind the soup kitchen.» He points in roughly the direction that Frantiska is riding. "Miss seneng mrintah punika tengen, rama ing prawan kang wis rightful ditahan, kita ngirim paling ngandhani wong ing ngendi kita njupuk Amara. Lan yen kita tindakake mau, Mungkin kita bisa njaga perdamaian." He starts walking after the girls. "Ayo, iku cara tengen paling."

Hrud

Hrud sighs, then nudges his horse into following Rant.

GM

Like elsewhere in the slums, the crowd around Hasan parts easily, with only the slightest hint of panic, at the sound of hoofbeats behind them. Seeing Amara seated on the front of the saddle, the orator stops mid-rant and hops down from his soap-box to approach the horse.

Frantiska

Frantiska nudges Amara hard and whispers in her ear, "If you have something against your father, that's fine, I understand that that is common with human children, but it is no excuse for impoliteness."

GM

The speech abruptly ended, the crowd begins to disperse back to their work and shopping. The speaker, however moves close to Thistledown, looking up a you. "Amara? What are you doing here? And who are these people?" his tone is not as excited to see his daughter as one might expect. The man himself is clean-cut, dark haired, slightly dark of complexion, well dressed--with a nicely folded handkerchief peaking out of his pocket and other little touches to indicate wealth without ostentation--and possessed of a thick accent that mixes both the local and a hint of something more exotic.

"Nothing father," Amara replies petulantly. "Uncle Aumry asked me to visit grandmother, so I am on my way there. He hired these people to escort me."

"Grandmother?" he looks confused.

"Yes father, you know, my grandmother in Melvaunt. She is very sick. Uncle Aumry asked me to visit her and help her feel better..."

His face turns slightly ashen, "Oh! For your Uncle? Well you better get about your business then..."

"Mama sends her love too..."

"Are you taking good care of Susalia?"

"Yes father..."

Frantiska

Frantiska's eyebrows raise slightly as she listens to the strange exchange between the little girl and her father. She is obviously too young to be the orchestrater of anything too sinister, but, between the girl's insistence on the cursed candle, her father's obvious confusion about the grandmother situation, and the sense of malevolence she detected from the child, Frantiska determines not to let the girl out of her site until they return from Melvaunt.

She narrows her gaze at Amara and leans down to offer a hand to the man. "I'm sorry, Sir," she says in a cold, haughty voice, "we have not been properly introduced." The last words are said with the tone of a scolding school-marm. "I am Frantiska Sykora, my companions behind me are Hrud, of the Eraka, and Brother Rant Harmell of Tyr. Professor Aumry contracted our companions, and us by proxy, to escort your daughter on her little errand. I promise we will keep her safe, and out of trouble..."

GM

The man looks surprised to be addressed, as if he were perfectly willing to take Amara's word about you, then gives Frantiska a firm handshake. "Very pleased to meet you, Madam Sykora. My name is Hasan Abd-al-Bane. I must say, you seem a good deal more respectable than the usual sort that Aumry and my wife arrange to look after our little Amara..." He looks quizzically at the other horse and there is something resigned in his voice as he speaks. "Your shaggy friend seems much more their usual variety of babysitter. Still, I am glad to hear that she is in good hands."

An unreadable glance passes between the father and daughter, causing Hasan to take a step back. "Well, I'd best let you all be on your way then...
And please, do keep an eye on her at her grandmother's, she does tend to get into trouble when the old lady is involved...downright spoiled sometimes"

Frantiska

Frantiska can't help but be angered at the man's obvious lack of concern for his child, leaving her in the company of total strangers, traveling under what are most likely false pretenses. Humans! she thinks, this must be what comes of having such a short life and being such prolific breeders. Like rabbits! If you can make two, or four, or a dozen in only a few short decades, I suppose that would let you consider some expendable. Or maybe it's the fact that he's a self-professed Banite--or was, given that Bane had been dead for a decade. She nods politely to the man. "Your trust is appreciated..." she says coldly. "As you suggest, we should be on our way then. Good day, Sir."

"Mari kita pergi dari sini." She says over her shoulder as she nudges Thistledown further across the square.

----

Meanwhile, back at the wagon...

Donovan

Donovan climbs up in the wagon and takes the reins. Alright, he thinks, cows aren't that scary. "Geeyup," he says, giving the reins what he thinks is a gentle snap. So, strait for two or three blocks, then a hard left onto Traitor's Gate Road to come up behind the market. "You're right, Teldicia. Just one turn can't be too hard..."

GM

The cart is, in fact, pretty easy to handle. The going is fairly slow with trying not to trample people in the crowded streets, but you manage to make it, without incident, to the back door of the soup kitchen in about 25 minutes.

Lyra

The slow lumbering of the wagon was somehow both relaxing and infuriating.  Lyra decided "I could have been there by now" was probably a poor measure of travel time, especially given how many theres (and at least two nows) it could be applied to.

She jumped in surprise when the girl next to her began to stir.

Lyra slides up closer to the front of the wagon, so she can take the opportunity to speak with Donovan and Teldicia.  She settles in facing the back of the wagon so she can still keep an eye on the girl.  "I had the opportunity to read through the books last night.  The spellbook has Stars, Smoke, Windwielder, Shapeshifter, and the research notes detailing a rather troubling custom path -- Brimstone.  I believe one of the new spells therein was used to call forth the Lemures, and the journal also indicated how the portal was created - and ends abruptly after noting it nears completion.  One of the priestesses at the Temple of Tyr was interested in acquiring the books."

GM

Teldicia looks intrigued, "Might I peruse the books, those are not paths I am familiar with? The research notes don't sound like the sort of thing we should be handing out to just anyone. It's probably safer to keep things like that with us." She turns to Donovan, "Don, speaking of finding interesting things, did I hear you say that the blade you took off the kobold had Noga writing on it?"

Lyra

"Noga writing?  Frantiska will be interested.  She is seeking information on the Empire of Nog."

"My first inclination is to make sure no one else can make use of this research.  It's unconscionable.  Imbuing a summoned devil with the power to pierce magical protections, summoning Lemures, the gate....  If not for that, Gendry would still be...."

Donovan

Donovan pulls the bronze machete out of his pack and hands it to Teldicia. "More eyes on it would be welcome. I'm curious about the inscription. From what I can gather, I think it means 'Thirdly, I know that there is someone pursuing me—Death—whom I cannot escape from, so I have prepared myself to meet him,' but the Noga characters are strange to me."

He carefully guides the oxen around the turn, then turns back to Lyra, "As for the book, Lyra, I would like to peruse it while we journey as well. I'd rather stay away from diabolism, but I have dreams of crafting my own path some day. Seeing how the author went about it would be a good start. Given how many students of the arcane arts we have in our party, counting the three of us, plus Frantiska, We would do well to start compiling a shared library by which we could compare notes and have a basis for future research."

Lyra

"If you're interested in spell research, you should speak with Mother when we get back.  It is her area of expertise."  Lyra glances at the machete as Teldicia turns it over in her hands to examine the inscription.  "Where did you pick that up?"

Donovan

"While you were in Jerome's, the mate of one of the kobolds we killed yesterday came and challenged Hrud to a duel. She lost, obviously, but she was sporting that thing." Donovan shrugs, "There is actually an old story in town about a weapon like that being handed down for generations among the champions of the Red Hand kobold tribe. I guess she was their champion this time around..."

Lyra

"I can't even finish shopping without something trying to kill us?  No wonder you wanted everyone to stay with the wagon."  Lyra vaguely wonders if the monster filled swamp will actually be an improvement.

"Is the Red Hand tribe from the ruins, or somewhere outside the city that moved in?"

GM

Teldicia takes the machete and tears the last of the string off of the grip. "The inscription is part of a Nogian poem..."

"I have chosen four things to know and discarded all other things of knowledge.
The first is this: I know that my daily bread is apportioned to me and will neither be increased or decreased, 
so I have stopped trying to add to it.
Secondly, I know I owe to the gods a debt which no one else can pay for me, 
so I am busy about paying it.
Thirdly, I know that there is someone pursuing me--Death--whom I cannot escape from, 
so I have prepared myself to meet him.
Fourth, I know that the gods are observing me, 
so I am ashamed to do what I should not.”

"All of the mystics who follow the teachings of the Nogian battle-mages know it by heart. It sums up the core of their philosophy." She holds the weapon gingerly by the unbound tang, and swings it easily. "It is also said that the Grand Master Hatim, who they say wrote the poem, also crafted four relics, each representing one of the precepts. Odd that such a weapon should end up in the hands of a kobold..."

Lyra

"Then it sounds like most of the students in Waterdeep missed lessons one and four.  They had a rather poor reputation."  But where would kobolds get a Nogian relic from?

"If it's been passed down in the Red Hand for generations, that means they likely had it before they swore fealty to the Scything Claw tribe.  Found in the ruins of Old Phlan, then, or brought with them when they settled in over a century ago?"

GM

"Well, the last one is open to a lot of interpretation, since Hatim never said which god or gods were watching. Depending on which god they think is in charge, what you should not do can vary a lot." Teldicia grins, "And if they missed the first...well, you at least wouldn't have to worry about them actually using Nogian magic." She hands the blade back to Donovan.

Lyra

Lyra briefly considers asking which gods Teldicia thinks are watching, but is pretty sure she wouldn't like the answer given that she was traveling with Rietta, a necromancer, and a priestess of the Maid of Misfortune.  "There were rumors they could trap spells within their own flesh, but they were mostly just beggars and street brawlers.  Is that the Nogian magic you mean?"

GM

"Well, beggars, yes. Most take the 'my daily bread shall neither be increased or decreased' part as a prohibition on the accumulation of wealth, or at least on the accumulation of goods and possessions, I can't speak to them being street brawlers." Teldicia rubs her temples and smiles, "Huh, my headache seems to be gone," and breathes a sign of relief. "You are also right that, at it's simplest, Nogian battle-magic involves the use of rituals to entrap the energies that other casters would use to manipulate their spells within the mage's own flesh. Thus making them stronger, faster, resistant to blows, or able to heal at remarkable rates, but at the cost of having a harder time casting spells in the more traditional manner."

Donovan

Donovan looks back at Teldicia briefly, before realizing that he shouldn't take his eyes off the road, "How do you know so much about ancient Nogian magic? And, let me just go ahead and ask the obvious follow-up, if your answer is what I assume it will be, can you teach us?"

GM

Teldicia laughs, "Yes, your assumption is probably right, and, yes, I can probably teach you. or at least let you muddle along with me since I am just a novice at it. As long as we have fun, right?"

Lyra

Lyra looks between Donvan and Teldicia.  "Using stored energy as a catalyst for physical changes seems like a rather interesting area of study, at least.  Another perhaps obvious follow-up -- is that why you're in Phlan?"

GM

Teldicia laughs again, "Kindof. I'm here because I didn't have anywhere else to go. It's convenient that Nog is supposed to have been around here, if we find any ruins or the like, I would love to study them, but mostly I'm just here following the tenants."

Donovan

Donovan hands the machete back to Teldicia as he pulls the wagon to a stop. "Here, you keep this then."

GM

Teldicia takes the weapon gingerly, "Thank you." She straps the sheath to her thin belt, then reaches into her pouch, pulling out a handful of darts and hands them back to Donovan. "These are for you then. Keep them, use them, sell them, or whatever." She looks back at where the girl is stirring, "So we're just going to patch her up and drop her off?"

Lyra

Lyra watches the darts exchange hands.  "Maintaining equilibrium in accordance with the tenants?"

"I'd rather not just leave her, but our other options are to delay our trip to find her family, or maybe take her with us so she can resettle in Melvaunt.  Mr. Donovan, is Melvaunt large enough that it would have a psychologue?"

Donovan

Donovan looks at the darts, wondering if they would fit his new crossbow. "Thanks."

"While it's nothing compared to Waterdeep, Melvaunt is a good-sized city, maybe thirty-thousand souls. There very well may be a psychologue in Melvaunt. If we're thinking of taking her out of the city, we should probably wake her up and ask her. After her recent encounter, I doubt she would take well to waking up in the back of a wagon full of strangers, in the middle of a monster-infested swamp, on its way to a city with something of a reputation for smuggling and human trafficking..."

Lyra

"Once she wakes up, we ought to just ask her where she wants to go and help her get there."  Smuggling and human trafficking?  Not to Melvaunt, psychologue or no.

GM

You hear a faint voice from the back of the wagon, "Ask me what?"

Lyra

Lyra moves over near the girl, with a deliberate slowness to her actions so as not to startle her.  "Teldicia said your name is Ellen.  Brother Rant of Tyr and Donovan, a former herald of Phlan, are the ones who treated your wounds.  I'm Lyrathwen Alethiel Beragaion, but you can call me Lyra.  Are you feeling better?  Are you hungry?  Right now we're in a wagon near Half-a-Loaf in the market.  You've been unconscious for..."  She thinks for a moment.  "Probably more than two hours now."

GM

The girl stares at Lyra for a bit, then practically leaps up from the floor of the cart and throws her arms around Lyra's neck. "YOU! You saved me! You're the one who...who..." she stops suddenly and shoves Lyra away. "You...saw..." she scuttles backwards as much as she can and seems to shrink, curling into a ball in a corner made by the crate of food and the canvas wall of the wagon, pulling awkwardly at the unfamiliar dress, apparently trying to cover or hide every last inch of exposed skin.

Lyra

Luckily, the dress Lyra was wearing previously was already quite modest.  Lyra half turns, giving the girl her desired privacy.  "The ones who hurt you will never be able to hurt anyone ever again.  My other companions, Frantiska, a knight of Selune, and Hrud of the Eraka saw to that."  She reaches into one of the nearby bundles.  "We got you some shoes, too."  She extends them towards Ellen, still not looking towards the girl.

GM

The girl snatches the shoes and quickly puts them on, judging by your previous looks at her feet, she may have never worn such before, though you hadn't really thought about it. A minute or two of silence pass before Lyra feels a hand tentatively grab her arm, "You can't leave me here..."

Donovan

Donovan keeps his eyes fixed on the street, "Miss, we're on our way to Melvaunt and have a three-day journey through the swamp ahead of us. You'd be much safer if you stayed with the priests here in town." He switches to Elvish to address Lyra, «There is no way of knowing how badly traumatized she is at this point. It would be great if we could help, but we're not trained for this and a sudden outburst at the wrong time could get us all killed. It's probably safer for everyone involved if we just leave her here.»

Donovan stops the wagon. "We're here," he says. «I'll leave you and Teldicia to sort it out, but the priests are probably much better equipped for this sort of thing than we are.» He sets the brake and climbs down from wagon. "I'm going to go in, see if Rant and the others have made it here yet, and let the priests know what is going on."

Lyra

«Why do you always assume people can't speak Espurar?»  As Donovan climbs down out of view, Lyra wonders if she could extricate her arm without provoking another outburst.  Ultimately, she decides against it.  "Where do you want to go, if not here?"

Donovan

«Elementary my dear Lyra,» says Donovan in a tone clearly meant to mock a number of professors he's had in the past, and possibly Frantiska and Lyra's mother as well. «Despite anecdotal micro-population evidence to the contrary, sic our party, people of elvish descent are a distinct demographic minority not only in Phlan, but in the Moonsea, and the Realms at large. Despite the popularity of the fair language among mages and the nobility, most common folk, baring those in areas close to the few extant enclaves of the people, have no reason to learn the language. More-so, most humans, it turns out, only know their native language and probably the common tongue. Those that are multi-lingual are much more likely to have learned one of the many, many regional languages than that of another race.» He grins over his shoulder. «Until Frantiska can teach us all something even more exotic, the fair tongue is probably our best bet for talking amongst ourselves without being eavesdropped on. The added benefit being that most of us already know it.»

Chapter 2: Handle With Care: Part 2

In which the party finally gets their shopping done...

Donovan

As they toss the bundle of weapons and armor into the wagon, Donovan shrugs. "I was thinking we could pawn most of them. Jerome's is right on the other side of Madam Esmerelda's, almost. The only problem with that thought is that Jerome supplies the gangs as much as the adventurers, so the weapons would most likely just end up back in the hands of other ruffians..."

As he climbs back up into the wagon, he smiles, "We could just shove them in a corner of the wagon and sell them when we get to Melvaunt. That would keep them out of the local arms-market at least."

Hrud

Hrud reclaims the green sword he left at the wagon. He then changes out of his hand-me-down leather armor and into the leather curiass. The barbarian proceeds to examine both of the spears, examining the heads and sighting down the hafts for any bows, splinters, or cracks. After a moment's consideration, he tosses one back on the pile of loot and carries the other with him to the drivers bench.

As he starts to climb up, he suddenly remembers something. Stepping back down, he wonders over to the pool of blood that had spilled from the orc's crushed skull. Kneeling down, he presses his hand into the crimson puddle, then slaps himself on chest - leaving a shiny red hand-print glistening in the sunlight. After wiping his hand off on the dead orc, he returns to his seat, ready to continue the journey.

Lyra

Lyra carefully steps around the spray of orc gore at the back of the wagon and climbs in to check on the girl.  She removes hose, a chemise, and the wine colored dress she was wearing yesterday from her pack, and re-folds them in a neat pile next to the girl so that she'd have them in the order she'd need them getting dressed.  Her brow furrows, realizing she doesn't have extra shoes to give.  She adds to her mental list of things to get at the market.  "Brother Rant, how is she?"

GM

"Her injuries were pretty severe, but she should recover soon enough, physically at least. You reached her just in time." Brother Rant climbs up in the wagon with the girls. "There is no telling what sort of emotional scarring she might have from an event like this. I don't know of any proper Psychologues in the city, but we can at least get her someplace safe and find who she belongs to."

Teldicia chimes in, "One more distraction then? Finding her family, if she even has any, in this warren sounds like it would take forever."

Brother Rant nods, "The soup kitchen I volunteer at is on the far side of the market. We should take her t

Lyra

Lyra was practically scowling.  "Belongs to?"

GM

Brother Rant looks at Lyra confusedly, "Yes, Miss Lyra, while there are a lot of lost souls in this town, most people still have someone willing to take responsibility for them--a parent, a sibling, a spouse, or even fellow adventurers. She seems a bit young to fall in that last category, but then, so do you I guess." He smiles, "Even if she has no family, she might belong to a group like your own. We are social creatures. Everyone belongs to someone, that is just the order of things."

Lyra

Her expression softens.  "Shouldn't it be 'belongs with' rather than 'belongs to'?"

Frantiska

Frantiska makes a clicking sound with her tongue, and Thistledown follows close behind while they haul the loot back to the wagon. "Selling them fifteen leagues away seems like a reasonable solution to the local problem, but what are the chances that forces from Melvaunt would come here?" She climbs up on Thistledown and nudges her into the crowd, making way for the wagon.

«Lyra,» she says, once mounted,«in light of recent events, Thistledown and I are definitely coming along on your shopping expedition to provide security.»

Lyra

«If nothing else, I could use some help carrying things back.  I'm a little worried Brother Rant just made himself even more of a target for the Xvimlar than he was already, though.  We should make it a fast trip.»  Lyra slips out the back of the wagon and heads towards Jerome's, keeping a wary eye on the crowd.  «So what brings you to Phlan, anyway?  Aglarond is rather far from here, and you seem to find this place as unwelcoming as I do.»

Frantiska

Frantiska smiles warmly as she follow's Lyra to the store, clearly pleased by the question. «My purpose here is twofold. First, it is the wish of the Witch Queen that her servants learn as much as they can about the larger world, so as to better serve her. More specifically, I am investigating a mystery. You see, my personal interest is in the area of etymology, that is the history of languages and words. While studying in Aglarond, I noticed an oddity--the language of my homeland appears to be more closely related to the language of this region than of any of our neighbors. There is no mention in the official histories of Aglarond of any kind of diaspora or exodus from this region, nor even of any significant trade or other interaction. So, I began traveling here to see if there might be some sage, or tome, or other clue that could shed light on why this linguistic anomaly might be.» She barely stops for breath as she speaks, «While traveling through the Duchy of Carmathan in Damarra, Thistledown and I met a teller of tales who spoke of Phlan. While he went on for some time about the "glorious reclamation" that the Council is attempting, we were eventually able to get some more interesting details out of him. First that Phlan is among the oldest human settlements in the lands north of the Moonsea. Second that there was a great library in the old city, and that some portion of it may still be standing. And third, and perhaps most important to my research, he spoke of an ancient civilization that existed near here, the Empire of Nog.» Her eyes truly light up at this, «Then, in a small library in the city of Darmshall in Sunderland, I found a few scraps of parchment and palimpsests which the librarian claimed came from this 'Nog'. While I was not able to fully decipher them, they characters and words I could make out were clearly of Mulani extraction--very similar to the language of Thay, nearest neighbor and greatest enemy. So, it only stands to reason that if this 'Nog' existed, is as old as the bard's tale led me to believe, and is linguistically associated with the lands even farther east than Aglarond, then it may be the link I need to unravel why our language is so close to that of Thar. Perhaps all of the eastern civilizations originated here, in Nog and Tharkul, and there was some event that forced both cultures to migrate east.» She stops Thistledown at the door of the store, surprised to see an actual brick-and-mortar establishment here, and climbs down. She whispers something into the horse's ear before walking into the building behind Lyra. «So, I am here in Phlan because I hope to gain access to the library in the old city, or whatever is left of it, hopefully find some more clues to the location of the Empire of Nog, and then mount an archaeological expedition to unearth whatever ruins may still stand of Nog. In the meantime, I hope to do whatever good I can, as Selune calls.»

Lyra

Lyra paused in thought as she picked through the shelves for needed supplies.  «Before Plhan was founded, the Stojanow River went by another name -- the Nogaro.  I've heard of Nog in Waterdeep as well.  There was an old monastery near the docks, claiming to teach the ways of the "Battlemages of Nog".  Rumor is, they learned to trap spells within their own flesh, but for the most part they were beggars and brawlers of ill repute.  But, if the Nogaro has its roots from the Empire of Nog, it may have been located near the river, or perhaps its source.»

GM

Jerome of Melvaunt's is a long, high-ceilinged, windowless, wooden building, a clap-board sign hanging over the door bears the traditional three gold balls identifying it as a pawn shop. Lyra and Frantiska walk in to find the place dark, almost oppressively so after being outside, with only a single candle in a hanging sconce every fifteen feet or so of the building's length. Two guards, tall men in scale armor, leaning on unsheathed two-handed swords, immediately flank the door on the inside. Merchandise is piled haphazardly everywhere, with ceiling high stacks of barrels, crates, jars, chairs, bolts of cloth, and other things, with no apparent organization or reason. To the right, as you enter, is a large iron-barred cage with a small window at waist-level inside of which is a heavy wooden desk and a single wooden door in the wall behind it.

A dark-bearded dwarf wearing thick horn-rimmed glasses sits at the desk. Seeing the two girls come in, he stands, unlocks the cage and steps out. "Welcome ladies," he says in a surprisingly smooth voice for a dwarf and a tone that leans towards sleezy pick-up artist, "how can Jerome help you today?"

As Lyra begins listing the things she is looking for, he whistles and a large, burly half-orc comes walking out from behind a pile of carpets. Jerome begins barking orders in orcish and soon a mound of blankets, sleeping bags, and other gear is sitting at Lyra's feet. When she mentions 'six weeks of food' the dwarf's eyebrows go up comically, "What sort of food M'lady, and, for the two of you? Your friend looks like the adventuring sort, I hope you weren't planning on living on hard-tack for that long? You'll get scurvy that way."

Lyra

Lyra glances around at the stacks of dubiously acquired goods.  It almost looks like a hobo dragon's hoard.  Then she looks down to the growing pile at her feet, trying to think if there was anything else she'd missed.  "Six people for one week, sir.  What would you recommend?"

GM

Lyra notices that a few of the blankets have someone else's initials embroidered along the edge.

"Six people for one week," the dwarf looks around and starts barking more orders in orcish, "you got a cook with you?" His half-orc assistant comes back with an opened crate filled with jars and pouches.

"Here ya go, this'll make some proper meals for pretty lasses such as yourselves." He begins holding up jars and bags to show you. "Here's five pounds of rice and 2 pounds of chickpeas, put them in a barrel to soak and then just boil what you need when you're ready to eat--they'll fill your party up just as well as hard-tack with none of the tummy troubles after. Then you've got 2 pounds of salt cod and 5 pounds of beef sausages for your protein. Two dozen eggs and three loaves of sourdough for your breakfasts, and a jar of strawberry preserves to spread on it. Then we've got 3 quarts of pickled beans, 2 quarts of mushrooms, and 2 quarts of onions for flavor, just dump a quart in with your rice to make a nice side-dish. A gallon of olive oil, good for lamps or for frying the mushrooms. A wheel of yak-butter cheese, 2 pounds of walnuts, and a quart of pickled pears for snacking on the road. Sugar, salt, and Herbs de Provence for adding a little more flavor to your dinner. And a keg of mead to wash it all down with."

He gives the two of you the biggest grin you've ever seen on a dwarf, actually maybe the only grin you've ever seen on a dwarf, "For pretty ladies such as yourselves, I'll even knock an extra five percent off, which brings it to an even 70 gold for the crate."

"And I suppose you'll be needing pots, pans, and a camp stove too?"

Lyra

Lyra looks at her companion.  «Can you cook, Frantiska?  I can boil water and measure things, but when it goes wrong, it goes really wrong.»

Frantiska

Frantiska is at first overwhelmed by the dark confines of the store, then completely shocked by the owner. What is he saying? Why is he smiling like that? Oh, Selune! Is a dwarf hitting on me?! Her face flushes a deep red, luckily hard to make out in the dim candlelight she thinks, then she realizes that everyone else, like her, are probably using infravision which would just make the heat flushing her cheeks that much more obvious. She blushes some more. She barely follows the conversation as the dwarf espouses the virtues of his canned vegetables. When Lyra finally asks her about cooking she stammers out «Umm, no!» and ducks out the door a little too quickly. «I'll go ask the others...»

Lyra

Lyra looks confused as Frantiska rushes out.  "A bit of dried fruit would be good.  Apples, or maybe currants if you have any.  Yes, we'll need cooking supplies.  And do you have any blankets that are less ... monogrammed?"

Meanwhile, outside...

Donovan

Donovan, surprised to see Frantiska go into Jerome's and leave her horse untethered and unattended, moves to the front of the wagon and directs Hrud, mostly by pointing emphatically, to pull the wagon up next to the store. "Brother Rant, we can easily walk to Half-a-Loaf from here. Do you think the girl is stable enough to be carried across the market? Or should we wait and take her in the wagon when the girls are done?"

Hrud

A sickly green shimmer danced along the length of the broadsword as Hrud turned it over in his lap. His eyes came to rest on the two painted eyes starting up at him from the guard.  There was something about the shape, or the placement, or _something_ about how they were rendered that was weighing on his mind.

Sitting on the wagon, waiting for the others to conduct their business (it looked as though this merchant was far less interested in fish than the one he'd dealt with down by the docks), the barbarian tried to recall his experience after Frantiska had ... facilitated a quick albeit unexpected dreamwalk. The sword in his dream didn't look like this one and, to be honest, didn't 'feel' as sinister.

Suddenly, realization dawned: The figures looking down at him - one of them had eyes like this. It was one of the smaller figures, if he remembered correctly. Those hate-filled eyes had bored into with what he could only discribe as a general sense of contempt and spite. But the figure didn't do anything, didn't say anything in his vision ... was this just a coincidence?

It seemed to Hrud that it must be in the nature of the gods to make people lots of questions, while answering as few of them as they could get away with. And even then, answer them in the most confusing, frustrating ways imaginable.

He wondered if they would give him a straight answer when he finally got to ask his question.

Donovan

Sitting in the front of the wagon waiting, Donovan has a sudden thought, his face breaking out into a large mischievous smile, and pulls the hurdy-gurdy from his pack. "Rant," he says with a smirk, "don't translate this please." He cranks up the hurdy-gurdy and begins playing a slow, slinky jazz number over the drone. "I call this...Ode to Hrud..." he says, then begins singing in a high tenor.

Nobody understands me,
although I wish they would.
Nobody understands me.
I hate being misunderstood.

Nobody understands me,
no matter how I try.
Nobody understands me,
and I can’t understand why.

When I think of all the glorble snop
I’ve tried so hard to explain!
They all look amused,
or a little confused.
Why can’t they see what I mean?
(It’s very snooffly.)

Nobody understands me,
though memmily blitt each day.
Nobody understands me,
but I guess zooglobble that way.

How can I make you understand?
How can I make you see?
Why does my queckery biffle you so?
Where will this ezzleboo dornut go?
What do explectionary inuews know?
When will you yuddle for me?

Nobody beezifies me.
Nobody febbin ud.
Kibblezy deen voo nizee!
I hate being misunderstood...

GM

As Donovan's song drones on, the crowd in the street begins to move back noticeably. At first, you expect it to be from some musical criticism, then you notice the parting crowd reveals a kobold, a red hand-print covering its face and a battered, bronze-bladed machete gripped in its paws. It barks in its high-pitched voice, sounding like an enraged minpin, and points a finger at Hrud. Off to one side, an old man wheeling a push-cart of fried dumplings stops and looks up at the wagon. "She says the big guy killed her mate and she wants retribution. Fight to the death and all that...her versus the big man..." The old man looks like he is trying hard not to laugh.

Donovan

Donovan stops playing and looks incredulously at the kobold, waiting for Rant to translate for Hrud and wondering what kind of crazy kobold would challenge the barbarian to a fair fight. "This has got to be a trick of some kind," he says as he begins looking around at the crowd, side alleys, buildings, and rooftops for more kobolds.

Hrud

Hrud stands up on the wagon, sets aside his short bow and takes up the green broadsword. Stepping down, he slowly starts walking forward, saying "«Your mate? Your mate attacked me outside the city as I slept and kidnapped me. Your mate was going to torture and kill my horse for no reason. Your mate uttered a curse with his dying words.»"

The barbarian stops roughly 10 feet from the kobold and takes up a fighting stance, sword held ready with both hands in front of him. "«Your mate got what he deserved.»"

GM

There is a flurry of words as Rant translates for Hrud and the old dumpling-cart man translates for the kobold, and vice versa.

The kobold narrows its eyes at Hrud, tightens its grip on the machete, lowers its head, and charges at Hrud screaming, "Skreeeeeeeaaaaaaaaaaayt!".

The flurry of translation continues and Rant barks out, «She just called you a 'flat-head'.»

Hrud

Hrud attempts to side-step the charge, bringing the sword down across the kobold's torso, then follows up with an upward swing.

GM

The kobold charges, leading with its head, leaping at the last minute with the clear intent of head-butting Hrud in the groin. Hrud sidesteps, and chops down onto its back, causing the kobold to crash head-first into the dirt of the road. She rolls to a standing position, spins, surprisingly quickly, and slashes at Hrud, making a deep gash in his thigh with the machete. The last swing leaves her wide-open though, and Hrud's counter-attack catches her under the chin, sending her reeling back several steps with a long line of blood dripping down her front.

In the wagon, Teldicia moves up onto the front bench to watch the fight, Amara also moves up to peek over Donovan's shoulder, shouting little encouragements like "Yay Hrud!" and "Get her!" and "Ooh, watch out!" when the kobold counters.

Donovan

Donovan cranks up the hurdy gurdy and begins a more upbeat rendition of his "Hrud's Blues" song.

Hrud

Hrud, utterly shocked by the severity of the attack, utters an incoherent roar of pain and rage and drives the point of his sword into the center of the kobold's mass.

GM

Whether Hrud was inspired by Donovan's song, or enraged by it, or the kobold was just distracted, it works. Before the kobold can react to make another assault, Hrud stabs the green-bladed sword through the thing's small chest, impaling it up to the quillons. The kobold gasps in surprise, gives the briefest of shudders, and dies.

Donovan

Seeing the thing die, Donovan finishes a few more bars, then sets down the instrument and climbs out of the wagon. "Rant, give Hrud my congratulations on his victory." Donovan walks over and looks at the kobold's machete, where it has slipped from the things fingers onto the dirt road.

GM

This bronze-bladed machete has little in the way of a grip, just twine wrapped around the tang and tied. The tang under the loose wrapping appears to be carved with some kind of hieroglyphics. Donovan recalls some local stories about an ancient "golden sword" that has been handed down for generations among the champions of the red hand kobold tribe.

Hrud

As Hrud and Donovan stand there looking down at the little corpse bleeding out on the street in front of them for the second time today in under a hour, the barbarian's head starts to spin and he sinks to one knee, his wounded leg giving out beneath him. "«Your song. I felt it ...»" he mumbles.

GM

Brother Rant jumps out of the wagon, telling Amara and Teldicia to stay put and runs over to Hrud. «Sit down» he says, pulling some bandages from a pouch. He expertly cleans and binds Hrud's leg. He then presses his hands against the wound and says a prayer to Tyr, healing it completely.

Hrud

Feeling immensely better despite the new scar, Hrud thanks Rant and says, "«Next time, I'll shoot first.»"

Donovan

Seeing the markings under the grip, Donovan kneels down and begins tearing away the twine. He stares fascinated a the glyphs, trying to make them out. "Rant," Donovan says, as he examines the strange weapon, "can you ask Hrud if he would like the blade? If not, I would like to take it for further study."

"The glyphs are the ancient Noga language of the northern Moonsea. They roughly translate as: 'Thirdly, I know that there is someone pursuing me—Death—whom I cannot escape from, so I have prepared myself to meet him.' Interestingly, the first word is Skreeayt, meaning "Thirdly" (or "and another thing")—purely by coincidence, Skreeayt is also a kobold word (and given name) meaning “flat-headed”."

Hrud

Hrud listens to the translation of the markings on the blade. "«The words of one resolved to die - but I am not.»" He hands the blade to Donovan, "«It is yours to study, Dawn-of-man.»"

Frantiska

When Frantiska gets outside she closes the door behind her so fast as to almost slam it and puts her back against the wall breathing heavily, fighting off the slight panic attack at the thought of the lecherous dwarf looking at her in that way. When she sees Hrud, Donovan, and Rant standing over the body of another kobold she immediately snaps out of it. "What are you doing?" she asks incredulously. Then, remembering where she is and what's going on, she stammers out, "Lyra! You've got to help her! There's a dwarf...he's, he's... Can any of you cook?" Her cheeks flush again and she buries her head in her hands, praying to the Maiden of the Moon to protect her against the impure thoughts of men.

Donovan

Donovan accepts the machete, pulls the sheath off the kobold, and straps the blade to his pack. Noticing Frantiska rush out of Jerome's he looks up worried, knowing a bit about the place's reputation as a fencing operation and a den for thieves. Hearing her say that Lyra is in trouble he rushes for the door. "What was that? Can we cook?" he looks confused. "Rant said he volunteered at a soup kitchen..." he says as he throws open the door to the store and barges in. Only after opening the door does he stop to think that he is probably no match for anything that could scare Frantiska like that.

GM

"Oh?" Jerome looks at the blankets, eyes wide, then throws the bundle at his half-orc assistant. "Što e ova?" he yells, "T rekov da go zbere koncte advor! Oda da kupa eko čsta one!" The assistant scurries off with the bundle of blankets and returns a few minutes later with some less nice, but more socially acceptable ones. "I'm very sorry M'Lady," the dwarf says. "Ce Pazuv gets a little confused sometimes. Those others were made special for another client. I'm sure you understand." He takes the new pile of blankets and carefully sets them aside. "I'm very sorry about the mix-up. We'll add these to your order free of charge..." He looks at the half-orc again, "Ce Pazuv, Jabolka rbzl, suvo!"

"Yes, we have apples and currants, how much would you like?"

The guards by the door jerk a little as Donovan throws open the door, but do not otherwise move. "Ah! The herald is back in town, splendid!" Jerome says, seeing Donovan walk in. "I hope you brought something interesting back from your travels for Old Jerome. I'll be with you in a moment, just let me finish putting together this lovely girl's order."

Lyra

"Mr. Donovan!"  Lyra smiles and waves as he rushes in.  "Do you have pots, or do we need to get some?  And do you like mushrooms?"

GM

Jerome cocks an eyebrow, "Oh, you're together?" He shoots Donovan an appreciating gaze, tapping his the side of his nose with one finger. "You always did have good taste, ol' dog, and two of them no doubt." The dwarf flashes his disturbingly large grin again and turns back to Lyra, "An extra five percent off your traveling expenses, for an old friend."

Frantiska

Hearing the exchange between Donovan and the garrulous dwarf from outside, Frantiska moves to the other side of the wagon, hoping to put as much room as possible between herself and the lechers, and fumbles in her pouch for her tobacco and papers. It takes her some time to get the cigarette rolled properly in her agitated state, but finally she gets it lit and leans back against the side of the wagon and begins taking long, slow draws on it, trying to put out of her head the thoughts of Donovan and Jerome undressing her with their eyes.

Donovan

Donovan looks around for a minute before, still expecting some threat, then sees the large pile of goods in front of Lyra. "Ummm...no I don't have pots and pans. Good thought though." He walks up and shakes Jerome's hands. "Sorry, nothing too interesting this time. I've got a few things you might be interested in." He pulls out the silver shoulder plate, earring, bracelet, door knocker, bell pull, and bell. "But they are of a more local vintage."

He leans close to Lyra, "What got into Frantiska? She sounded like you were being assaulted..."

GM

Ce Pazuv, the half-orc brings a pound of dried apples and a pound of dried currants and adds them to the crate of food. Jerome looks over the pile of goods, making some mental calculations with the speed of a true master fence. "With the 'Old Friend Discount', that will come to one hundred and thirty five gold pieces, ten silver, and eight and one-half coppers." He looks at the items Donovan has layed out, "All together, those will fetch you fourty-eight gold, five silvers, which brings your total to eighty-six gold, six silvers, and eight and one-half coppers."

Lyra

Lyra looks even more confused and whispers back.  "Assaulted?  What?  Mr. Jerome has been ... enthusiastically helpful, although I fear I may have gotten his assistant in trouble after pointing out some of the blankets were monogrammed.  I didn't think Frantiska or Brother Rant would appreciate the needlework."

Donovan

Donovan looks at Lyra shrugs, "She looked like she had seen the tarrasque or something..."

He then turns to Jerome, "Eighty-six, sixty-eight and a half huh?" He cocks a crooked smile and gives the dwarf a look that says 'you're going to hate me'. He reaches under his cloak and pulls out a very heft purse out of which he counts, 399 copper pieces, 217 silver pieces, 34 electrum pieces, 19 gold pieces, and 5 platinum. "That should do it. You owe us half a copper..."

Donovan counts out the money and pushes it through the window into the cage so that Jerome can stash it. "Oh," he tosses another 2 gold through the grate, "ask Ce Pazuv to fetch the girl a set of pots and pans. We'd also like to see your special stock...we'll need some bows, crossbows, and plenty of ammo..."

Lyra

Lyra is deep in thought, fidgeting with the end of a lock of her hair.  "Maybe it was seeing the half-orc that bothered her?  Given what just happened...."

The words 'special stock' seem to snap her back to the present.

GM

Jerome walks into the cage and watches Donovan intently as he counts out the coins. He unlocks a drawer of the desk, takes out and opens an iron box with three locks, and then carefully arranges the coins inside before relocking it and returning it to the drawer. "The special stock, Donovan? I thought you didn't go in for the violent stuff..." The dwarf opens the door behind the desk, "Just a second," and disappears through it. "Ce Pazuv, da v pooge da g včtate rabot vo vagoot dodeka Jas Ja zvleče oružJe," he says, poking his head out briefly.

The half-orc scoops up the crate of food and walks towards the door. "Boss says to load your wagon..."

A few minutes later, Jerome returns from the back room with several cases, which he opens to reveal a plethora of bows, crossbows, and ammunition.

Donovan

Donovan grabs a pile of blankets and carries them out to the wagon, "Hey, anyone who needs to stock up on arrows or the like should come take a look. We can take turns watching the cart..."

Lyra

Lyra looks over the array of bows.  "Not violent.  Defended."  She gestures to a graceful longbow.  "That one.  I'd also like a quiver, and 60 sheaf arrows.  Do you happen to have any archery targets as well?"

Hrud

Finally losing interest in the little kobold who nearly felled him with (what simply HAD to be) a lucky strike, Hrud turns to Rant and asks, " Pripun wong saka kutha ngomong 'glathi?' " Rant gives him a reply, for which Hrud thanks him and not-quite-limps into the shop.

The barbarian makes his way to the unusually short man who keeps rubbing his hands together in what could only be lust for the large sale he was about to make. Standing slightly too close and towering over the dwarf, he very slowly and very carefully pronounces the first word of common he's ever spoken: "Blades?"

GM

"Of course no one would suspect such a refined young lady of violence." Jerome slides over next to Lyra as she is examines the bow, close enough that his voice, smooth as silk, comes from right around her waist, "Yes, that one is almost as lovely as you, M'lady. A perfect fit I think." He steps forward to hand the bow up to her. "Such an elegant lady with such a lovely bow needs special ammunition though..." He flips open one of the cases to reveal a dozen, carefully packed arrows, with silver heads shaped like willow leaves and fletchings of the purest white swan feathers. He carefully lifts one of the arrows out and hands it up to Lyra, "I can even cut you a special dea...", then starts when he hears Hrud's gruff voice behind him.

His head snaps around, and up, much to far up, with a look of feigned innocence as if saying, 'Oh, I'm sorry, is this your woman?!'  He takes an awkward step back from Lyra and the barbarian, then looks Hrud up and down assessingly. Regaining his composure, his broad mercantile smile returns, "Ah. Eraka? Apa Urut saka glathi sampeyan kasengsem?"

Lyra

Idle flattery to sweeten the sale, Lyra thought, but her breath caught as he opened the case.  Beautiful craftsmanship.  "My skill could scarce do them justice."

Hrud

Hrud holds his hands roughly a foot apart, approximating the length of a dagger, "Ngalangi agul-agul. Tanpa emas utawa sugih watu. Landhep."

Frantiska

Frantiska finishes her cigarette. Feeling a little calmer, she over and helps Donovan secure the goods in the wagon. "If you're watching the wagon, I'll go make sure that creature is not doing anything to Lyra..." She straitens her shoulders and strides into the store like a general marching to the battlefield.

She walks in, glad to see Hrud there keeping an eye on the girl--he at least seemed to know how to keep his eyes to himself. Seeing the weapons laid out her face softens a bit. "The stave on that bow looks a little long for you Lyra..." she walks over and puts a hand on the girl's elbow, pushing it up a little, "you're almost dragging the ground with that one. You want the bow to be about your own height when unstrung, and you'll want to make sure it is flexible enough for you to bend and string yourself."

She takes a hard look at the weapons, looking for a bow that would be the best fit for Lyra's frame, preferably one with sights and an arrow rest since she is a beginner.

GM

Jerome bows to the big barbarian, and hurries back into the back room, returning with two cases full of daggers of all kinds of makes. He lays the cases on the floor next to the bows, flips one open and sits pondering a bit before pulling out a very plain-looking, iron-bladed dirk, "Kene kowe. Kebak-dawa tang, kayu atos nyekethem, unornamented, nanging banget fungsi."

Jerome turns to Frantiska with a sweeping bow. "You have an excellent eye M'lady," he says tapping the side of his nose again. "I'm glad to see such an excellent and beauteous archer has chosen to grace our fair city. And you're friend here is quite right," he says, nodding to Lyra and taking another of the silver leaf-heads out, "these arrows are longing to be fired by the delicate hand of a true master such as yourself..."

Frantiska examines the bows, hefting each one and testing its draw before handing Lyra a much shorter bow, only about 24 inches in the draw, with flexible tips, horn and sinew reinforcement, and additional lathes to build up the grip and add an arrow rest [a composite shortbow], explaining that it will make the arrow fly faster and straighter with less effort on Lyra's part.

The longbow that Lyra was holding, while very beautiful in design, appears to have been weakened by being stored bent. The other bows--3 more longbows and 1 shortbow--are in decent working condition. There are also eight crossbows--2 heavy, 5 light, 1 hand--none of them remarkable, and two of the light crossbows look like they will need serviced before being combat ready (old strings, loose bolts on the draw ring, and the like). There are plenty of arrows--barrels of sheaf and flight arrows, some bird and frog-crotch, and a few stone-biters--all of which look functional, but not as well made as the ones Jerome is trying to push on Lyra. Those silver leaf-heads are clearly of the highest quality and probably worth 30 gold pieces or more.

Hrud

Hrud takes the dirk in-hand, get a feel for it. As he inspects the blade, an idea strikes him. Turning to Lyra, he offers the weapon to her, handle first, "Terus iki. Mangsuli cara ngrasa ing tangan."

Lyra

Lyra accepts the dagger, checking the edge and balance.  "I think I like mine better." Unlike the bow, Lyra handles the knife with the familiarity of one trained in its use.

Hrud

Hrud watches how the girl holds the weapon, the ease of how she turns it over and hefts it. By the time she makes her statement, the barbarian is decided. Taking the knife back, he turns to the dwarf and asks, "Pinten?"

GM

"Siji emas," Jerome responds simply.

Hrud

Hrud rummages around in his belt pouch for moment, frowning. No coins. Instead he pulls out one of the stones Donovan gave him back in the kobold's hideout (hematite). Handing it to Jermome, he asks, "Bakal bisa iki?"

GM

Jerome looks at the stone closely, turning it over with his fingers. "Iki nggoleki," he says. He walks back into the cage, closing it behind him, and once again goes through the process of getting out the lockbox. He places the stone inside, and counts out five gold coins. "Panjenengan pangowahan," he says, handing the coins out through the window.

Hrud

Hrud reaches hesitantly towards the gold, expecting them to be snatched back at any moment as a cruel jest. Seeing that the dwarf was apparently just going to let him have it, he quickly slid the coins into his coin pouch. Each little clink the note of a beautiful song he was hearing for the first time. The barbarian had possessed money before - old Skadi would pay him a little to help out with the cattle outside their tent city - but up until last night, the most he'd ever carried in his life was a single gold piece. Here were _five_, all his! Was the stone really worth that much? Trying to adopt a nonchalant manner (ie: being painfully obvious), Hrud leans on the counter, looks around and says "Aku duwe liyane. Pengin?"

GM

The dwarf flashes a big, affable smile. "Yen milaur bakal mbeta duwit receh, aku bisa mesthi ngganti mau kanggo sampeyan."

Frantiska

Frantiska fights the urge to bolt again, knowing that Lyra needs her support in the face of this reprehensible creature, and gingerly accepts the arrow. She pulls out her own longbow, still strung from the recent battle with the orcs, and knocks the arrow making sure it is long enough on the draw. Satisfied, she kneels down and places the arrow in the case. "I will take them," she says curtly. She pulls her own pouch of gems out, and tosses it through the window. "There are seven-hundred gold worth of gems in there. I will take these arrows, the bow," she gestures to the bow Lyra is holding, "two of the crossbows, five full quivers each of flight and sheaf arrows, four quarrels of bolts for the crossbows, and a set of targets if you have them. I would like the rest liquidated..." she stops and thinks, eyeing the lecherous merchant coldly, "and keep in mind that one of Tyr's priests is right outside the door, so please keep your fingers off the scales."

"Hrud, Aku mundhut panah supaya dienggo bareng. Jangan memberikan kerdil ini lebih banyak uang."

Hrud

"Mungkin mengko." Hrud shrugs to the dwarf. Taking the dagger , he turns and heads towards the door.

Donovan

When Hrud comes out, Donovan walks back in--just in time to get the gist of what Frantiska is laying out with her order, and to hear Jerome muttering something about 'ice queens' under his breath as he assesses the gems. Donovan walks over to look at the crossbows, then counts out fifteen platinum and passes them through the gate. "We'll take both heavies, and the hand crossbow, and add a quarrel of darts for the mini to the order as well."

Hrud

Hrud walks back to the wagon, where Rant is attending both the wagon and the young woman on it. Holding the blade, he extends the dagger towards her. She stares at him uncomprehendingly. Rant interprets his actions, "He wants you to take it." Hesitantly, she reaches out and grabs hold of the weapon - possibly for the first time in her life. "«It's expensive to rape an Eraka woman»," says Hrud, "«Few men are willing to part with their jewels.»"

GM

Jerome accepts the jewels and the coins, grumbling a little in the local Thari dialect, and does a quick tally. "Tse feyerychne kholodna yak lid Donovan, ale u neyi ye khorosha stiyka," he says looking very pointedly at Frantiska, or rather, at her torso, and smiling, "tak shcho ya shche daty vam znyzhku." He places the gems in the box, but leaves out the platinum, and begins counting out many more. As he counts he yells to his assistant, "Ce Pazuv, optovaruvaje za v. Dve tešk, od eda straa, lak, šeeset sop, šeeset let, četreset kavg, deset pkado, prooc," who immediately begins packing arrows into quivers.

Finally the dwarf pushes six neat stacks of ten platinum coins each through the window, "I love a woman who knows exactly what she wants..." he says, smiling and tapping his nose again. "There is your change, in full, and I hope that lovely hand of yours puts those arrows to good flight..."

He locks up the lockbox, the drawer, and the cage, then goes back into the labyrinthine piles of goods and returns with a set of archery targets which he hands to Lyra, "Enjoy your lessons, M'Lady. I hope we see you in here again sometime."

Lyra

"Thank you.  I'm sure your wares will be put to good use."  That didn't quite come out how Lyra had intended, especially given the quantity of coins and quantity of weapons changing hands.  She turns to take the archery targets out to the wagon, but pauses to address Frantiska in the 'mother tongue'.  «And thank you, Frantiska.  I'll need you to show me how to care for it properly, but I'm a quick study.  Let me know how much I owe you when we get back to the wagon.»

Frantiska

Frantiska picks up the case of silver arrows. «You don't owe me anything Lyra. Wealth only has value to the extent that it can be used to help others--though, given the nature of this city, it is in all of our best interests that everyone in our group be capable of holding their own in a fight. If you wish to repay me for the bow, just promise that you will be diligent in your practice.» She tucks the case under one arm, grabs Lyra's elbow with the other, and quickens her pace for the door. «Now let's get out of here...»

GM

As you finish loading your stockpile of weapons into the wagon, you notice that Amara and Brother Rant have both disappeared.

General DMing Style Questions

I was looking at some old e-mails this evening and found the following exchange from this day in 2007. I was getting ready to spin up a new campaign and one of the players (whom I had never played with before) sent me the following questions:

<<
[Brandon],

How do you handle…

• Stats
• Player vs Character stats
• Player vs Character knowledge
• Character death
• XP
• Alignment
• Poorly-constructed characters (ie, the combat bard with all cross-class skills)
• Character goals
• Player goals
• Class goals (ie, say I know what class & prestige class I want my character to become)
• A party with 8 players, when RP is your primary adventure component?

What are your pet peeves?

Other than publishing a new system of character creation, what do you get out of DMing?  What makes it fun/worthwhile for you?
>>

Interestingly, most of my answers from back then are still valid, so for anyone who cares, here is what my self of 7 years ago thought about gaming.

<<
How do you handle…

Stats
--> I'm a fan of randomness, prefer dynamic characters (my favorite PC I've DM'd for had a Wis of 4 and Cha 18 and was the undisputed party leader despite always making the worst possible decisions), and tend to prefer stronger PCs overall (since I like to make use of my full tactical knowledge and have been known to kill off parties full of 5th level characters with a handful of 1HD goblins)....Thus, I prefer rolled stats...this campaign using 4d6 * 6 (drop lowest die and assign).

Player vs Character stats
--> Firstly, hope the players can play what they roll (but it's hard to play someone wiser, smarter, or more charismatic than yourself -- less should be easy). If the PC has better stats than the player, then I will emphasize ability checks, skill checks, and DM reminders of things the PC should know. In non-combat encounters I tend to assume that PCs will automatically "take 10" on Knowledge checks for their character if they do not think to roll the check themselves.

Player vs Character knowledge
--> This is the players problem first and foremost. I tend to trust first to the players ability to role-play and distance themselves from their real-world experience. Given that, some player knowledge seldom applies in my campaigns (don't expect to know the stats on any monster -- I tweak every NPC and creature to be unique -- all encounters have *at least* rolled abilities, unique feat selections, and unique skill selections).

Character death
--> I allow Raise and Ressurect magic, assuming the PCs can get access to it (particularly since this is a high-magic campaign setting), but prefer Reincarnation personally.  Characters slain by undead may be given the option to play their character with the appropriate template added (unless the party would object and destroy them -- or they have been spawned by a still-living NPC undead creature).  PCs that die without the option of ressurection or undeath are dead -- deal with it.  The player will be given the option of creating a new character (with a fraction of their previous experience -- typically 3/4) before the next session.  If we are playing a long session (greater than 4 hours), the player may be allowed to introduce their new character during that session at the next appropriate opportunity.

XP
--> Assigned silently at the end of each session. I determine experience based on the actions of the character, with experience being gained for all manner of encounters (including non-dangereous ones), as well as "good" role-playing (I know its arbitrary, but I admire players who can really get into their characters). Overall I try to keep the XP balance fair, but if your character never does anything, don't expect him to learn much.

Alignment
--> I generally disregard Alignments, as they have no basis in reality -- or, in situations where they are necessary (such as campaigns allowing Paladins or Holy Warriors), I prefer that players leave the field blank unless it is important for their character concept.  I tend to gauge morality and legality within the game with an understanding of "situational  ethics", and prefer that the PCs feel free to "get into" their character without trying to force themselves into an artificial moral definition (this in no way reflects my real-world definitions of morality).  For many "alignment-focused" features in the game, I will often ignore alignment requirements if it sould be "realistic" to do so:
  Examples:
Exalted Feats -- There is no reason a "Chaotic Evil" character could not take and live up to a Vow of Poverty.
Vile Feats -- Likewise a "Good" character could make a Faustian pact and take the Disciple of Darkness feat, without performing any overt evil acts.
--> Players can portray any alignment they like for their characters, so long as it does not disrupt the fun of everyone else. I've even had paladins and assassins manage to get along before (the paladin having an intelligence and wisdom of less than 10 and thus "too dumb" to detect evil and the assassin careful to kill people when the paladin wasn't watching). Mass evil or chaos is acceptable so long as the whole party is down with that -- DMing evil parties can be fun (though I seem to get a LOT of evil parties when I mention that it is an option).  Heroically Evil is one of my favorites ( i.e. compelled to save the world, but still morally bankrupt).


Poorly-constructed characters (ie, the combat bard with all cross-class skills)
--> No character is poorly constructed. Players should feel free to shatter the archetypes and go against class standards if they wish. That said -- if you die from making a stupid character decision, you are still dead.
  Example:  I had a player play a "Wizard" who cast a total of 5 spells (counting total number of all castings) between levels 1 and 7, who specked out his feats to focus on using his Crossbow...because the character believed in "conservation" of the total amount of magical energy in the world. He died, of course, but did manage to live through 7 levels worth of gaming and made for an interesting PC.

Character goals
--> So long as that goal isn't contrary to the other players having fun, I tend to modify my campaigns to meet as many character goals as possible. Goals that require the PC to leave the party will typically be handled "off-screen" or with a short one-on-one side adventure, so as to not leave other players hanging. If I think a goal is particularly interesting and would make for a good story, I have been known to completely rewrite scenarios to incorporate them.
  Example:  In my last campaign I had a player who wanted to play a "sleeping-beauty" type character who is woken up by the other PCs after 1000+ years in hibernation. I was intrigued by the idea of her facing such culture-shock, so I nixed the major villain in the first set of ruins they explored and replaced that room with the "sleeping" PC. Thereafter the would-be urban campaign twisted into following this character (the last of an Imperial line) in their attempt to restore their kingdom which had been extinct for 1200 years...the other players loved the change, so I kept with that vein.

Player goals
--> Separate from character goals? These can be tricky...I discourage making character decisions based on things outside of character knowledge. The "peasant" system further discourages it by making Feat, Class, and Skill prerequisites based on actions rather than stats (to learn "Impoved Bull Rush" you should attempt to bull rush things, rather than taking Str 13 and Power Attack).  If the "Player Goals" are things related to yourself as a player ( i.e. see if a new idea works, improve your knowledge of spell mechanics, get better at affecting the physical quirks of a character, come up with a funny voice, etc.) go for it.


Class goals (ie, say I know what class & prestige class I want my character to become)
--> I allow any class or prestige class from anything I have a copy of (which means access to 800+ prestige classes and 90+ base classes).  That said, this system is designed to follow "organic" character development based on the characters actual in-game experiences and actions. Your character will gain "access" to classes based on what they learn and what they attempt. Some feats, paths, and traits taken during character creation can help guide your character towards a specific class or category of classes. You could design your starting character with a strong focus towards getting into your class of choice, but you may be well off to just make an interesting "peasant" and see where life takes them.
  Examples:
If you want to be a "Wizard" you should first make sure that the character is Literate, then find a tutor or acquire a spellbook and spend the characters free-time in study and practice. The "Magical Training" feat can give your character a spellbook of their own (containing a few 0th level spells) at 0th level.
If you want to be a "Fighter" you had better be in on the combat (if you sit in the back of the party you'll never learn to fight). The "Militia" or "Apprentice Soldier" feats give your character access to a broader range of weapons and military training than other starting characters.

A party with 8 players, when RP is your primary adventure component?
-->  I prefer to keep parties to 4-6 players and limit sessions to 4 hours (once or twice a week).  In this case we have 11 potential players. If everyone shows up, I may resort to running parallel parties in the same world and town, splitting the group into two or three parties.  This could be interesting as the groups would have to deal with the effects of the other groups actions.  Some interconnectivity between the parties could be interesting also: doubling up for facing a particularly nasty foe, tweaking character combinations to meet specific challenges and allow different players to interact, etc.
  If everyone shows up and prefers to run in one party, we may have to adjust the nature of the game and how long we play (I've DM'd for groups of 12 players before and would-be short 3-4 round battles can turn into 3-4 hour affairs as eveyone figures out what they are doing each round). Role-playing ( i.e. "conversational") encounters can of course be even more dragging.



What are your pet peeves?

--> Badly conceived characters for party miscibility (i.e. someone wanting to play a "live-off the land, loner" Druid with a panther companion and a hatred of orcs in an established urban campaign with half the party composed of half-orcs). Characters doomed to die for personality flaws (rather than stat problems) are just annoying...and will die (I also have no problem with player vs. player conflict).



Other than publishing a new system of character creation, what do you get out of DMing?  What makes it fun/worthwhile for you?

--> I'm an addict! It's been 3 weeks since I've gamed and I'm already getting shaky. I started playing when I was 5 and I haven't gone more that a month without D&D since I was in 5th grade.
As for DMing, it is what encouraged me to get my degree in Urban Planning. I've always enjoyed the creation of cities, regions, and worlds (figuring out the demographics, monster food chains, city layout, businesses, personal interactions, political complexities, economics, etc.). I also like having the writing outlet that adventure-creation allows.

  I also like to see the PCs win...it's kind of disappointing when everyone dies on the third adventure when I wrote the campaign out to 19 or 20 of them.

PBM: Chapter 2: Handle With Care: Part 1

In which the party sees more of the Slums' underbelly and we learn about Lyra's powers...

Lyra

Lyra awoke before dawn, in an unfamiliar, yet quite comfortable bed.  She rolled over and pulled the covers up to her ears to escape the stares of Amara's … companion.

At precisely dawn, a sudden breeze caused the fireplace to gutter slightly.

"Lyrathwen Alethiel Beragaion!  Just where were you last night, young lady?"

Lyra stiffened and pulled the covers all the way over her head.  This was not how she wanted to start her morning.  "I went by the clerk's office to try to find you, but you had already left for the day, then I accepted the hospitality of the temple to Tyr for helping save one of their priests in the slums.  I … I tried."

The silence was deafening.

"Discreetly?"

Lyra sighed.  "Of course, Mother."

"If you could stay out last night, you can get up this morning.  And make the bed, I did not raise you in a stable."

"Yes, Mother."  Lyra begrudgingly rolled out of the soft, warm bed.

"And your things aren't going to pick themselves up, young lady.  Someone might trip over them."

"Yes, Mother."  Lyra's whispers are increasingly exasperated as she finishes gathering up her gear.

"Are you going out dressed like that?  Put your cloak on, it's chilly out."

Lyra shook out her grey cloak.  "Of course I'm going out dressed like this!  I didn't even have any other clothes before Professor Aumry's prepayment for escorting his niece to Melvaunt…."

"WHAT DID YOU JUST SAY"

"My party was contracted to escort Amara to Melvaunt to visit her sick grandmother, and return with a shipment of spell components."  Oh boy.  Not exactly the way Lyra would have liked to break the new.

"Who is going, and when will you be back?  Lyrathwen Alethiel Beragaion, you have some explaining to do!  Meet me in the park in ten minutes."

The wind dies down abruptly, as Lyra headed upstairs shortly after daybreak.

Her meeting with her mother was brief.  Faelana had about as much love for the Eraka as the minotaur, but the sword of Selune seemed to warrant something close to approval as a traveling companion.

----

Donovan

There is a scream, followed by a loud thud, and a smaller bang, and the tenement shakes.

With a groan, Donovan sits up, rubbing his rump and trying to get his bearings. The world is dark and blurry. He feels around him and finally locates his glasses. Less blurry, but still dark. He sees that he is in his own apartment, rare as that event is, and that he is on the floor beside his bed, still in his clothes from the day before. He groans again, rises from the floor, the realization that he fell out of bed slowly dawning on him, and tries to remember what he was dreaming. Something about a girl, of course, maybe two or three, and a singing lizard, and a leaning tower, and a bull locked in mortal combat with a big snake, and a man hanging upside down, and a floor covered with glowing runes. Tymora! he thought, he hated surrealism.

He makes his way to the one window and props it back open, looking out to see the dimmest light beginning in the east. He stretches, finds his chamber-pot, relieves his bowels, then empties the pot out the window. There was something about that dream, something important...

Like the sun, feebly trying to peak through his window, realization dawns on him--it wasn't a dream. As he suddenly recalls all the events of the past two days, he rubs at his eyes, pleased to find that his headache is gone and he feels reasonably well rested. He scurries about the room, righting the tick mattress that had been knocked askew by his tumble out of bed, finding his bags, and pulling out his spellbook and components. He casts his last spell from the day before, identifying the bracers he had taken off the kobold leader, then sits down to study spells for the upcoming journey.

Seventy minutes of study and meditation later, Donovan is feeling much more alert, and hungry. He brushes off his clothes, rearranges some things in his pack, sorting out a few items to be pawned into the backpack he had taken from Vinnie, puts on the bracelets and his earblades, checks his knives, grabs a long oaken staff from the corner of the room, and heads out the door. Pausing to lock it behind him.

Right, Donovan thinks to himself, to the temple. He beats feet down the stairs. The sun is properly up now, just cresting the mountains far to the east, and casting an ambient gray-blue light through a mostly overcast sky. A stiff, wet breeze blows off the Moonsea, threatening rain in the near future [sorry, it just sounded good]. Donovan jogs down the docks. He stops briefly at the market to sell the extra backpack and a few items to a guy he knows and to peruse the morning's catch, buying an halibut-pastry from a vendor for his breakfast, then books it up the Parkside Road. Almost exactly two hours after falling out of bed he is standing at the front doors of The Waiting.


Frantiska

Donovan arrives to find Frantiska already awake, outside, and seated strait-backed on Thistledown. From high on her horse, both literally and figuratively, she appears to be very heatedly questioning Teldicia about the nature of her upbringing and how she managed to avoid learning the "mother tongue", as she insists on referring to the Espruar language when speaking Common. Seeing Donovan come jogging up, she immediately clams up, nodding to him briefly and saying only, "You're late."

Lyra

Lyra fidgets with her backpack straps as the two older women talk, trying not to show her annoyance at being designated a 'half-person' in the 'mother tongue'.

Hrud

A moment later, Hrud saunters around the side of the temple astride his horse. The barbarian and his horse are both chewing on something - an apple most likely, based on the apples bulging from a small sack strapped to the saddle.

Donovan

Donovan puffs up in indignation, "I am not late, Madam." He looks over his shoulder at the sun. "I was up quite before dawn. Surely you understand the time it takes to commit a great many spells to memory...and I missed dinner, had to stop for a bite to eat...and had a few things to pawn, figured it'd be faster to do it at the market rather than making an extra stop at Jerome's on the way out..." He blusters a bit more, then finally settles to, "It's close enough to dawn, eh?"

He shoves the last bit of the fish pastry into his mouth, chewing noisily. "Well, now, we all here?" He does a mental count--Frantiska, Teldicia, Lyra, Hrud. "Where is Amara? Wasn't she with you Lyra?"

GM

"She is here." The doors of the temple open and Amara comes walking out, wearing a similarly indignant expression, apparently directed at the guiding hand of her new bodyguard resting on her shoulder. Brother Rant stands one step behind her, decked in full mail and coif, with a large triangular kite shield and mace strapped to his back. "I had to ask Sister Winona to wake her up, since I am not allowed in the women's quarters. Apparently Miss Lyra left the dormitories early..."

Frantiska

Frantiska nods curtly to Donovan again, then turns to Lyra and Teldicia. "So, what is our itinerary?"

Lyra

Lyra looks around at her traveling companions.  "First, we should pick up the wagon out in the slums.  Do we need additional fodder, or other supplies for the journey to Melvaunt?  It will be at least three days' travel each way."

Donovan

Donovan, trying to ignore Frantiska's obvious sexism, speaks up' "Thank you Lyra." He smiles at everyone else, "Good morning Brother Rant, Hrud, Teldicia." Then, "If everyone is ready let's just get going. The best place for cheap supplies is the Slums Market, and we can ask Ernst about fodder for the horses and the ox-team." He turns up the road and starts walking towards the gates.

He stops and pivots, "Oh? Did we figure out if anyone among us knows how to handle oxen?"

GM

Brother Rant begins translating for Hrud.  [Assume that Rant will translate all public conversation from this point on...]

Hrud

«I know a little about them» Hrud replies.

Frantiska

Frantiska considers that she might have the requisite skills, but imagines that the barbarian is much more suited to dealing with...cows. She pats Thistledown to reassure herself that being a teamster is not for her.

GM

You reach the gates in short order, and find two long lines of merchants, labors, adventurers, and even a few farmers queued up to leave the city--and almost all of them visibly armed in some fashion. The gates stand open and a double contingent of guards are ushering people through at a good pace, giving only cursory attention to everyone's papers, as they seem much more concerned with keeping the line moving and keeping the beggars and ruffians from the other side of the wall from coming in.

Donovan

Donovan asks Brother Rant to "Tell Hrud thank you for me." Then queues up at the gates.

Hrud & GM

«I'm driving a wagon?» Hrud asks Rant.

Brother Rant shrugs, «They seem to have hired a wagon for the trip to Melvaunt, but none of them know how to handle the oxen that would pull the thing.»

Hrud replies to Rant, "Dasi munggah pasukan padha ora bisa ngontrol, iku umum karo iki bangsa?"

Rant smiles, "Ya," he says simply.

Donovan

As the party makes its way through the gate, Donovan keeps a close hand on his purse, being more flush with cash than he has been in several months, if not longer. When the press of people on the far side of the gate becomes too much, he throws a large handful of coppers (pulled from a different pouch) haphazardly into the crowd off to the right-hand side of the road, then pulls the others behind him through the gap left by the beggars moving to collect the coins. "We've got a long way to travel," he mutters, his voice just barely audible to whoever is right behind him, "better to waste the coins than the time."

Frantiska

Frantiska rides along behind Donovan, pressing her last few coins, mostly gold, into the outstretched hands. While she is free with her money, she keeps a sharp eye on any hands the get too close to her fine boots, and the swords strapped to them. Once clear of the crowds, she continues to follow Donovan to their destination, keeping Thistledown at a slow walk and carefully picking their path around the refuse filling the streets.

Lyra

Lyra keeps a close eye on her belt pouch as they pass through the crowds.  "Umm....  Did anyone else hear those merchants in the queue talking about shipments from Melvaunt running into issues, or about the kobolds in the swamps having strange powers and growing to enormous size?"

Donovan

"Kobolds of unusual size? I don't think they exist..."

Hrud

Despite the crowd pressing in around the procession, no one seemed too eager to get close to Hrud, a situation the barbarian was happy to maintain. He was already feeling little confined within first the confines of the temple, then those of the city, and now the crowd surrounding them.

Hrud watched the scrawny, bedraggled forms of people - some crawling about on the ground, desperate to find a coin or two, others begging pathetically for a handout - and shook his head. He wondered if any of them ever once considered stepping outside the dirty, smelly city to dig up a root or catch a rabbit on their own.

As they gradually passed through the crowd, he began to feel it, out there ahead of him - the siren call of the open road. Well, not completely open, he reminded himself, as it appeared that he would be travelling with this caravan, but certainly better than being trapped behind stone walls. It was almost like participating in one of his tribe's Migrations. Hrud wondered what surprising and exciting new things this journey and it's unknown destination would held in store for him.

GM

You reach Ernst's Livery in short order. Up the street you can see construction on Professor Aumry's tower continuing apace, which is to say, you see the hundred or so workers slowly shuffling to their positions, and promptly laying down to rest. Three guards patrol Ernst's coral, leading a dozen or so horses about the enclosure to give them a semblance of exercise. The man himself stands just outside the coral, yoking a pair of Ayrshire steers, easily a ton a piece, to the massive wagon that the professor has contracted for you. Seeing you approach, he waves. He looks at the two riders and smiles, "Got yerselves a proper hescort, eh?"

Donovan

Donovan looks at the eighteen-foot monstrosity with its extra-wide wheels, How big IS this components shipment? he thinks to himself. "Aye, Ernst, we picked up a couple of outriders to help with the transport." He walks around the wagon, looking at the wheels, the hitch, peeking underneath, and otherwise trying to look like he knows anything about what he's looking at--and likely failing. "Is fodder for the oxen included in what the Professor gave you? Or will we have to acquire that on our own?"

GM

Ernst leads Donovan around to the back of  the covered wagon. "I want the animals back healthy, so the feeds included in the price. Thereare two bales of alfalfa hay and a bale of hops in there for them. You'll want to stake them out to graze in the evenings as well. If you want some oats for the horses, I could sell you a couple bushels..."

Hrud & GM

[assuming Rant is still translating, Hrud wants to know how much he charges for the oats for his own horse]

Ernst looks back and forth between the priest and the barbarian, listening to the exchange. "Tell yer friend that I'll charge 'im twenty gold for a thirty-two pound bushel of whole oats, bruised fer easier digestion of course, with some linseed added fer extra proteen. That's about a tenth off the going market rate, and should last 'im about three days if he's working the horse, six if the horse is an easy keeper. He'll probably want a block of salt too, which I can chip off for a silver a pound. One pound will probably cover him for the round trip to Melvaunt and back." As he talks, he walks around looking at the horses, seems not too impressed by the shaggy steppes pony, but stops and spends a long time staring at Thistledown then looks up at Frantiska. "This one's almost too young to be ridden, but I guess you elves are light, eh? She'll make an excellent brood mare in a year or so, if'n you don't break 'er. How much would you sell 'er fer?"

Hrud barely manages to stifle a gasp. 20 gold pieces - No wonder there are so many beggars here! One would have to go out of their way to starve a horse on the Ride, with its verdant rolling plains. Herds of wild horses thrive there, even through the snowy months ... Deciding not to dwell on the matter, Hrud simply nods and turns his attention to the driver's seat on the wagon.

Frantiska

Frantiska's face probably mirrors Hrud's on hearing the price, though less from surprise than the realization that she just gave away her last gold piece to a beggar. Hearing the follow-up comments, her face changes from one of mild depression to cold anger. "She is not for sale, Sir."

She turns to Lyra and addresses her in the mother tongue, «Lyrathwen, do you know anything about the possibility of forage between here and Melvaunt? Mr. Lietch mentioned some swamps. Is it such the entire way, or only partly?» She stops and thinks for a moment. «Actually, I remember passing along the swamp road to get here. It was not pleasant and took a few days to cross. Do you think this merchant would accept gems as payment? I'm afraid I gave out the last of my coins to those unfortunate's back there...»

Lyra

Lyra thinks for a moment.  «Merchants are usually happy to accept gems, especially if they are getting the better deal for it, or can transact them easily.  I could give you change for your gems if you would prefer that option.  And Frantiska ... that man you gave the gold piece to may very well be murdered in his sleep tonight for it.  Stability, not money, is what is needed to save the people of Phlan.  Someone or something tried to kill us five times yesterday, just going to that tower and back to the gates, yesterday.  It was a very eye-opening first day in town.»

Frantiska

Frantiska turns back to the liverer, pulling a large white amethyst from her pouch. "Here," she says handing it to him, "I would like two bushels of oats for the horses, and a large salt-block to share between the animals."

Without another word, she turns back to Lyra. «I saw some of that--kobold horse-thieves, animate skeletons, a gate to the nether-world, an oni, and a forest linnorm--all not more than two blocks from this very location. If it is this bad this close to the city, with such a strong Tyrran presence, I hate to imagine what it is like elsewhere in the ruins. Were it not for the pour souls unable to find shelter within the city walls, I would suggest that the Council just burn this shanty-town to the ground.» She looks around at the squatters huts and the rubble. «From the generosity that I saw at the temple, if we were to make a concerted effort to root out the more dangerous monsters and criminal elements, I'm sure the priests could do much to improve the lives of these people. Sadly though, even if bearing coin puts them at risk, I am sure these people need to eat, and in a town controlled by merchants, that means that they need money.»

GM

Ernst looks at the gem. "Aye...M'lady. I'll get that for you right away," he says, turning and heading towards a storage building inside the paddock.

"Are we about ready to leave then?" asks Brother Rant, lifting Amara up into the front wagon.

"Yeah, who's riding where?" Teldicia interjects, walking back to where Donovan is peaking under the keel. "If the barbarian is driving, will someone need to be riding his horse? Or should we tie it up and let it just follow behind?"

Hrud

Hrud, wearing pretty much all of his gear at this point, walks his horse to the rear of the wagon, where he loosely ties the reigns. «Since we raise them from birth, Eraka horses will follow their owners of their own accord. But I will keep him tied until we are out of the city»

Donovan

Donovan waits until Ernst has loaded the fodder for the horses in the back, then climbs up onto the driver's bench, making sure to leave plenty of room for the barbarian. He looks at Amara behind him, and around the rest of the wagon. "Looks like there is plenty of room for all of us up here. Hrud's driving. I'll navigate since I know the area best. Frantiska, you're riding, correct? Lyra, Amara, and Teldicia can ride in the covered section. Brother Rant, would you mind riding in the back and keeping a rear watch?"

As everyone gets in, he points to the left. "We should head towards the market first, to make sure we have food for ourselves, camping gear, and probably a tarp to string up to keep the animals dry when we camp. Then swing out to the west and circle north. There is a bridge north of the old textiles district--it's a little close to the older ruins for comfort, but the alternatives are either going strait through the ruins to the east, or trying to ford the Stojanow. Lyra, do you mind handling the shopping, or would you like me to? We should make sure two or three of us stay with the wagon to make sure the whole thing doesn't get stolen."

Lyra

Lyra nods.  "I can handle that.  What all do we need?"

Donovan

Donovan stops to consider, "Well, we'll need food for the seven of us for three days, four or five to be safe. Sleeping gear--though, if people don't mind being too cozy we can sleep in the wagon, in which case just blankets, otherwise sleeping bags for those that don't have them and at least one tent since it looks like rain. A large tarpaulin to cover the animals, especially their food, if it rains at night. I have a lantern, but we should probably have a second, plus three to four nights worth of oil. Flint, tinder, and firewood so we can have a hot meal and don't have to camp in the dark..." He stops and looks at the others. "Feel free to chime in if you think of something else we'd need for a three day trip through a swamp, or if you already have any of the such, so we can mark it off the list..."

"Oh, and you should probably take Amara along and see if you can help her find those candle or whatever she wanted to take for her grandmother."

Lyra

Lyra nods and commits the list to memory.  "Mother knows a few of the shelter spells, so I'm not really used to 'camping' in the traditional sense."

Frantiska

Frantiska turns Thistledown in the direction Donovan indicated, keeping the longsword Teldicia had given her layed across the pommel of her saddle as a warning to would-be thieves. "Lyra, do you know what sort of market this is? I can't imagine it being particularly legitimate, being in this ghetto. If it is an open-air market I should be able to follow on Thistledown to provide you and Amara with some security."

Hrud

«Can one fish in a swamp?» Hrud asks. «or hunt?»

GM

«Sure,» Brother Rant replies, «the knights of Iniarv's tower largely feed themselves on the swamp's bounty. Of course, it depends on what you prefer to eat. There are a lot of frogs, muskrats, beaver, raccoons, pope dear, furbears, though I think the tower-folk mostly hunt the big reptiles.» Once Amara is secure under the canopy, he climbs up in the back and calls up to Donovan, "If you're planning provisions, we should be able to press upon the hospitality of the Helmites at Iniarv's Hold for at least one meal."

Donovan

"Hunting and stopping at the tower both sound like good ideas, but we'll still need some amount of provisions." Donovan looks around to make sure everyone is aboard. "Alright, this ain't no hayride. Let's move 'em out of here!"

GM

The road south from the livery to the market is much wider, and, more importantly cleaner than the road running from the gates. While the road is largely clear of debris, corpses, and human waste, it is packed with people, making travel along the route very slow indeed. The crowd, for the most part, appears to be people just going about fairly normal lives--peasant women carrying baskets with babies or groceries, merchants hawking their wares, urchins running about, a farmer driving a herd of pigs to market, beggars and panhandlers asking for handouts--though the term people is used very broadly, as you see goblins, orcs, and even gnolls freely mixing with the human residents. More sinister undertones are obvious, however--you see small armed groups (mostly goblins and orcs) walking about, occasionally stopping at various merchants stalls where bribes are hastily handed over, you hear the sounds of weapons clashing and the occasional scream from side alleys, you pass collapsed buildings, both ancient and recent, and even have to stop at one point while a couple of dead adventurer-types are dragged out of the road in front of you.

Judging by the accumulation of flies and the lack of valuables, it looks as if the bodies had been lying there for several hours. The creatures that pulled them out of the road are best described as 'whats'--vaguely humanoid, they wear billowing, thread-bare robes which do little to hide their misshapeness. One has a severe hunchback, which helps to keep his face hidden in the folds of the robes, but his exposed feet are grotesque, the left is tiny and turned inward, like a child with a club-foot, the right looks like a bird's talon affected by a severe pox, his hands are wrapped in strips of rag. The second's head is uncovered, revealing a horrible, bloated mismatch of parts--one ear pointed elf-like, the other large and fan-shaped, a large porcine nose, differently sized eyes of a color that resembles urine, the vestiges of a third eye slightly off-center in the forehead, a mouth filled with bleeding gums and smattering of oddly-angled teeth, and a few loose strands of straw-coloured hair over a lumpy cranium.

Once the bodies are cleared, the two creatures both bow deeply, the better to hide their faces, and hold out chipped wooden bowls to you, as if expecting some recompense for the service.

Frantiska

Frantiska rides along slowly, torn between fascination at the ancient ruins around her and a kind of enraged horror at the violence of the city. For a time she scans the crowds, detecting evil, then gives up when she realizes how truly despicable the population of this ghetto really are. She guides Thistledown closer to the wagon and leans down to be heard by those within, "I hear screaming. Should we help?"

Donovan

Donovan watches the mongrelfolk with feigned interest while scanning the crowd around him--this smells like a set up, he thinks. When the bodies are cleared without an ambush happening he breathes an inward sigh of relief and flips a silver into each of the two misfits' bowls. As the wagon starts moving again, he suddenly realizes that that was probably the set up and looks behind to see if they were replacing the corpse-roadblock for the next passersby.

He looks up at Frantiska as they ride along, avoiding eye contact by looking at her chest, so as to not make her uncomfortable--nice view anyways--and responds, "Other than picking up the wagon this morning, the Professor didn't give us a strict timeline for his deliveries. We can't help everyone, but if you want to check out the screams, I'll back you up." After a brief pause he continues, "This place sucks, but its home. Would you guys be in for making a concerted effort to clean this place up once we get back from Melvaunt?"

GM

They wait until you are about a block away, but sure enough, Donovan looks back to see the two mongrelmen dragging the bodies back into the middle of the street.

Frantiska

Frantiska takes a deep breath, ignoring Donovan's lecherous gaze, "Alright, we may not be able to help everyone, but even one life saved is worth it." She turns Thistledown in the direction of the screams. "Hrud, kita akan memeriksa jeritan. Kau mau datang? Lyra, are you coming?"

Donovan

Donovan shakes his head at the unnecessary heroism of the elven woman, but wordless slides down out of the wagon. "Teldicia, Brother Rant, can you two guard Amara and the wagon while we check this out?"

Lyra

Lyra slips out of the back of the wagon, glancing back at the robed figures dragging bodies.  "I'm still not much help in a fight, but I'll do what I can."  She looks up at Frantiska.  "If I were to get a set of archery targets, would you be willing to teach me how to shoot sometime?"

Frantiska

"Lyra, if you get yourself a bow, I can turn you into a competent archer right now...and then would gladly train you later." Frantiska nudges Thistledown to move, using the warhorse to push a gap through the crowd for her allies to follow. «For now,» she calls over her shoulder in elvish, «we have more pressing concerns.»

Hrud

Unsure if he should leave the wagon, and even less sure of exactly what the elven woman was trying to say, Hrud sighs, unslings his short bow and hops down, knocking an arrow as he follows. «As long as someone is watching the wagon ... », he says to Rant, in passing.

GM

Teldicia moves up to the front of the wagon, cocking and loading a crossbow. "Hurry back," she calls after Donovan.

Rant maintains his perch in the back of the wagon, "Coba supaya mau metu saka alangan," he says to Hrud as everyone runs off.

Frantiska leads the way, Thistledown cleaving a path up the road and then down an angled alley towards the sounds of the screaming. Supremely used to adventurers, do-gooders, and meddlers rushing about at the slightest sign of trouble, the crowd easily parts to let you pass. Dashing down the alley you come by the back way to the northeastern edge of the market. The screams, now clearly identifiable as female, though weakening and interspersed with sobs, appear to be coming from inside a long, low stone building to your left, one of many that mark the perimeter of the old market square. To your right is a fortune-teller's stall, a triangular sign with the traditional palm symbol identifying it as "Madam Esmerelda's" in common. A brightly dressed old woman leans against one of the tent posts, arms crossed, staring dispassionately at the closed door of the building from which the screaming emanates and looking at you with a raised eyebrow as if to say, 'What can you do about it?'

Donovan

Donovan stops at the door, smiles at the Gypsy-woman, and tightens up his grip on his staff. "So, should we just rush in there and see what's up?"

Frantiska

Frantiska knocks and arrow and walks up to the door, ignoring the callous glances from the fortune-teller. "Judging by the sounds, I'm not sure we have time for detailed intelligence gathering." She looks over at Hrud, "Hrud, anda ingin menghancurkan membuka pintu?"

Lyra

Lyra peers through a gap in the crumbling building.  "It looks like at least six men surrounding someone, and I assume the screams are from the person they're hitting.  Is that sufficient intelligence for now?  Mr. Donovan, crowds seem to be your specialty."

Hrud

Hrud quickly stows his short bow and unsheathes his broad sword. Moving to the door, he tries the latch, ready to barrel through should it open ... and determined to smash it open if it does not.

GM

The door swings open easily, looking as if it was closed in a hurry and not latched at all. Inside you find what appears to be a warehouse, with many boxes piled around, and a small gang of orcs, eight in all, in various states of disrobement and disarray. Only a few are armed, though many weapons lie about on the floor in easy reach. A human girl, perhaps in her mid-teens lies naked on the stone floor. She looks severely battered, her face a mass of bruises and her nose askew, and is being held down by a particularly large orc who is forcing himself on her. The other orcs stand around, grunting "Ebe! Ebe!" presumably cheering him on. Judging from the amount of blood on the ground, he is not the first...

Frantiska

Frantiska gasps and nearly pukes in a mixture of rage, horror, and revulsion, her fingers loosing the string of her bow which, by coincidence of staring at the scene is pointed at the one currently raping the girl. Recovering her senses as the arrow strikes home, she immediately knocks another arrow, chants the words of a charged arrow spell, and lets fly at the rapist. "GET OFF OF HER!" she screams in common.

Lyra

As the door allows light into the room, the surprise, shock, and disgust are clear on Lyra's face.  She places a hand against, no, through the wall; concentrating as the space between gives way, and she pulls the girl through into the alley.

Donovan

"Crowds...right," Donovan fumbles in his bag for a pinch of sand and flings it into the building, casting a sleep spell at the orcs.

Seeing the bloody and battered girl materialize beside him, he then reaches into his backpack for the rod of health.

Hrud

Hrud rushes in, making a bee line for the nearest Orc.

GM

Frantiska's first, clumsy, instinctive shot buries itself into the orc's exposed ass-cheek, causing the creature to jerk and then fall forward as the girl vanishes out from under him. All the orcs begin to yawn as Hrud rushes in, swinging wildly. Hrud strikes mightily, but finds the orcs falling before his blows get close enough to connect, as the three closest to the floor collapse, asleep. As the remaining orcs spin around, the room is lit up by Frantiska's second arrow, crackling with electricity, striking the still dazed and confused orc rapist in the back. There is a small explosion, a spray of sparks and viscera, and the orc is left lying where it fell, a smoking hole the size of its head where its chest cavity was a moment before.

The four orcs still standing look confusedly at their prey standing outside and surrounded by armed, spellcasting ruffians, rather than lying on the ground where they expect her to be, then at their friends lying suddenly unconscious, apparently struck down just by the wind coming off the mighty barbarian's blade, then at the smoking hole that is their leader's torso, then at the face, and the bow of the enraged elf-woman standing in the doorway. Looks of unbridled terror cross their faces. They ignore the weapons lying about and make mad, scrambling dives to take cover behind the various barrels and crates filling the warehouse.

Donovan

Pulling out the rod, Donovan rushes to help Lyra catch the girl as she falls out of space. "Nice trick that..." he says, pressing the hand end of the rod lightly to the girls skin and willing it to bring forth its curative powers.

Lyra

Once the girl has her footing after being unexpectedly upright again, Lyra digs in her backpack and wraps a blanket around the girl. What could she possibly say to her?  That she's safe?  Was anywhere in the slums safe?  That it would be ok?  Would it be ever again for her?

Lyra shakily puts her hand on the wall again, this time bracing herself against the oncoming headache.

Frantiska

Frantiska knocks another arrow to her bow, "Donovan," she says, "when we get back we are definitely cleaning this place out. I'll go door to door if I have to..." and fires again, and again, at the panicking orcs.

Hrud

Hrud stalks the nearest conscious Orc, determined to feel his blade bite deep this time.

GM

The girl collapses into Lyra and Donovan's arms and promptly passes out from blood-loss. Even with the swiftly applied healing, it looks as if she may never find her footing again, judging from the awkward angle that her left knee has taken--though you might be able to set that...you think. While she seems stable, she appears to have several broken bones and...other injuries which may never heal.

As you all concentrate on the girl's health, the orcs dash for cover. Unable to find another exit from the building, one orc actually runs shoulder-first into one of the crumbling brick walls with enough force to shake the building slightly. While he seems dazed, the hole he creates is large enough for one of his friends to start climbing through...only to be nailed in the back by Frantiska's first shot, causing him to go limp, effectively blocking that mode of egress.

Hrud's swing narrowly misses the third orc, maybe even grazes it's heel, as it dives headfirst over a pile of crates, screaming "Pooš!"

The last orc, seeing no other recourse, scrambles for the pile of weapons, coming back to his feet with a strange, green-bladed, basket-hilted, broadsword in his hand. He glares at Hrud and strikes an en garde, then staggers backwards a step as Frantiska's second arrow takes him in the left shoulder, right through the iron-studded jerkin he is wearing. Growling he snaps off the arrow and looks ready to charge the door.

Lyra

Lyra picks up the girl as best she can.  "We should get her back to Brother Rant.  Maybe he can ... augh, my head."  Lyra shakes her head, eyes squeezed tightly shut. Which really only makes things worse. "If we get her back to the wagon, I have spare clothes, and Brother Rant might be able to assist with some of these injuries."

Donovan

Donovan looks at Lyra, "You've done that a few times now...How far can you go? Can you get yourself and the girl to the wagon so Brother Rant can administer to her?"

He moves over behind Frantiska, and grips his staff like a spear, ready to lash out past her at any orc that get's too close.

Frantiska

Frantiska squints to focus on the orcs as white spots begin to dance in front of her eyes and the throbbing begins again in her temples. "I hate kobolds," she mutters as she knocks another arrow. She considers stepping back to avoid the orc getting ready to charge, but with Hrud to slow it down and Lyra and the girl behind her, she decides to stand her ground. She looks for targets--five orcs down, one behind the crates, one too close to Hrud, and...that one. She unleashes both arrows at the orc who bashed that hole in the wall.

Hrud

Hrud, extremely frustrated that he can't seem to land a blow, bears down on the remaining orc.

GM

The orc with the sword feints towards Hrud, though still too far back to connect, then charges Frantiska and the door. Hrud pivots and easily hits the orc as it runs by him, causing it to stumble forward, dropping its blade much too low to stop the butt of Donovan's staff from ramming it in the stomach. The orc bends double over the staff, knocking Donovan backwards from the force of the impact, then slumps, incapacitated to the floor.

Frantiska stands her ground solidly against the oncoming orc, then calmly unleashes her arrows once it drops out of her line of fire. The other orc, still dazed from running head-first into a brick wall, however effective that might have been, is struck cleanly by the first arrow, and would have fallen to the ground, had the second arrow not come right behind it and pinned the dead orc to the wall.

From behind the pile of crates you hear the last orc screaming "E! Skrše Zab! Pooš! E bol, e bol!  Pooš! E e go kažeš! Toa e sao eda devoJka, te e se bro! Pooš! Jas zvad! Jas zvad!"

Lyra

Lyra could barely walk, carrying a girl the same size as herself.  I'm not much use in a fight, but I'll do what I can to help.  Through the haze of pain, she knew what had to be done.  The stone wall in front of her gives way to the wood and canvas cross section of their covered wagon.  As gently as she could, she lifts the girl and places her into the back of the wagon.  She leans forward, just enough.  "BROTHER RANT!"  The girl safely out of harm's way, Lyra's fingers gently caress the rough, crumbling stone of the wall for a moment.  "It's ... complicated."

Hrud

Hrud moves to the fallen Orc, takes the green broadsword from it's slack grip and executes it with its own weapon - curious to see what, if anything, happens.

GM

It dies. The sword's grip is a little thicker than you are used to, but the heft and balance are very nice. You also notice two identical swords lying near the other, sleeping orcs. Aside from the green blade, the other notable feature of these swords is that the shell-guards are made to look like a gauntletted fist, and have two black eyes painted on the back.

Hrud

Hrud turns to Frantiska and, pointing his sword at the (very soon to be) only remaining survivor, asks, "Bisa diajak Orc?"

Frantiska

Frantiska shrugs, "Saya tidak berbicara Orc," then walks in, asking over her shoulder, "Do either of you speak Daraktan, or should we just execute these barbarous pigs?" Her voice clearly conveys that the latter is the preferable option.

Lyra

Lyra shakes her head.  "I can usually pick out parts of it, but not always enough to make sense.  I think we've established that 'Pooš' is 'help', but I was a bit distracted to catch everything he was yelling.  Brother Rant may, but he's probably a bit busy at the moment, and I'm really not in the mood to negotiate for, or accept, surrender, given the circumstances."  Lyra slumps against the wall, rubbing her temples.

Hrud

Hrud sheathes one of the two swords he's carrying and walks over to the Orc cowering behind the barrel. He reaches down and yanks him up by his filthy hair, holding the other Orc's green sword to it's throat. "Pedhang wis arti. Njupuk iki siji menyang klapa lan beras."

Frantiska

Frantiska furrows her brow against the rising pain, and starts to go around, dispatching the sleeping or wounded orcs with her shortsword. She tries to follow what Hrud is saying, but is completely lost.

GM

As Hrud pulls the orc upright, it continues to scream, clearly not understanding a word Hrud is saying. Seeing his companions being executed, his eyes widen and he begins to blubber even more. "E! Dolgo zeJa, Hung Kako Bul, Ltl Topk, Ja Ebe Od Pozad, Skrše Zab, Crvea Agare, Toa Trae Vo Zadot! Ve ste g ubJa! Ve ste g ubJa! Pooš! Džudžja! Pooš! Zee ož! Zee devoJka! E e ubJat! E e ubJat!"

Hrud

"Aku bakal bali. Mbantu nindakake laro."  Hrud says, and marches the orc out of the building and back to the wagon. Upon seeing Rant, he says «A group of orcs were caught raping a girl.» Laying the green broadsword on the wagon by Rant. «And they had these swords. This one is talking, but we don't understand.»

«I have to help them carry stuff.» Hrud says, grabbing his captive's wrist and pressing the orc's hand to one of the posts on the wagon. The barbarian then grabs one of his arrows and slams it into the orc's hand, pinning him firmly to the wagon. «Stay here.»

GM

Brother Rant looks up from where he has just finished popping the girl's hip-joint back into place. Hearing Hrud's account and seeing the sword, he glares daggers at the orc, asks Teldicia to watch the girl, and climbs out of the wagon. «The sword is the mark of Xvim and the Church of Darkness. I did not think Mace and his crew would act so openly.» He pulls the mace off of his back. "Što e vašeto e ork?"

The orc, between piteous wails and attempts to dislodge his hand replies "Ebam TvoJot čerep!"

Rant then speaks loudly, drawing the attention of the passers-by.

"Ebam TvoJot čerep. Ste ble obvet za krvčo delo sluvaje, kako sle zakosk, baterJa protv ovaa devoJka, služ a teata volJa a Xvim, Sot a surovosta. Od svedočejeto a ove svedoc dokaz što se gleda tuka, ve ste se aJde va vo očte a Sovetot, a Tyr, a Zakoot. Kako sudJa Tyr, Jas ḱe rečeca da eposreda srt. Kako Tyr Zakoot se edo, eka bde taka."

He then translates into the Common tongue.

"Orc. You have been accused of the crime of rape, both forceful and statutory, and battery against this girl, and serving the dark will of Xvim, the Son of Cruelty. By the testimony of these witnesses and the evidence seen here, you are found guilt in the eyes of the Council, of Tyr, and of the Law. As Tyr's judge, I sentence you to immediate death. As Tyr and the Law are one, let it be so."

And the local language.

"Cherep Ublyudok. Vy buly zvynuvacheni u zlochyni z·hvaltuvannya, yak sylʹnyy i zakonom, i batareya proty tsiyeyi divchyny, i sluzhachy temnu volyu Zvima, Syna zhorstokosti. Za svidchennyam tsykh svidkiv i dokaziv bachyly tut, vy znayshly provynu v ochakh Rady, Tir, ta Zakonu. Yak suddi Tir, ya zasudyty vas do nehaynoyi smerti. Yak Tir i Zakon odyn, nekhay bude tak."

And again for Hrud's benefit.

"Kéwan. Sampeyan wis dipuntudhuh saka angkara saka rudo pekso, loro kuwat lan kukumipun, lan baterei iki marang prawan, lan porsi bakal peteng Xvim, Putraning kekejeman. Miturut paseksiné iki saksi, lan bukti katon kene, sampeyan ditemokaké kaluputan ing mripate Dhéwan, saka Tyr lan Hukum. Minangka Tyr kang ngadili, aku ukara sampeyan langsung mati. Minangka Tyr lan Hukum iku siji, supaya iku dadi."

He grips his mace in both hands and brings it down full-force right onto the orc's head with a sickening crunch.

"Let all who bear witness know that Tyr's law has been done." He breaks the arrow off, allowing the orc's body to fall to the street.

Hrud

Having stopped to witness the execution before rounding the corner, Hrud gives Rant a nod before setting off. The elf woman would have liked to have seen that, he thinks.

Hrud then makes his way back to the others.

Donovan

Donovan seems dazed and sits rubbing at his head for a while before finally getting up off his ass. "At least we're getting better at this whole killing things thing," he says to no-one in particular, as he watches Frantiska and Hrud dispose of the orcs. He hauls himself up and starts systematically removing valuables from the orcs. Given the interesting swords, he casts detect magic just for good measure.

Lyra

At the sight of the pile of trinkets being gathered up, Lyra turns and retches, the full force of what just happened hitting her.  She leans with her forearm against the wall, the other hand holding her skirt and cloak out of the way, her shoulders shaking until there is nothing left but dry heaves and sobs.

Lyra coughs and wipes her mouth with the back of her hand, and stands back up.  She half smooths her skirt and carefully rearranges her cloak to re-conceal the soft glow around her.  "The swords mark them as favored of the temple of Xvim.  As for the green....  Huh."  Lyra looks both confused and deeply concerned.  "The alloy is from the plane of Baator, and particularly effective against extraplanar creatures, especially the Tanar'ri."

Donovan

Donovan looks at the green swords carefully, "Carrying these would probably give us a good amount of clout with the tribes in the old city, but might get us arrested, or at least questioned, in New Phlan--Xvim not being particularly popular with the Tyrran-led government. Still, these are good weapons and might be pretty useful if we ever have to deal with the Xvimlar or the orc tribes...or if we run into demons. Matteo the Smith does some lacquer work and his shop is just on the other side of the market here. Maybe he could give the guards a coat of paint to make them less obvious religious icons. Even if he can't I think we should hang on to these."

"There are plenty of undead beasts and similar monsters that they say can only be harmed by enchanted weapons, so it's probably worthwhile for us all to have one." He picks one up and makes a clumsy swing with it. "I never really learned to fence, but 'stick them with the pointy end' seems easy enough. Frantiska has Sir Guy's Spoon [love the Price of Thieves reference], so you should probably grab the other one, Lyra.

"Lyra," he says, "you have a remarkable gift. I can understand why you would want to keep it secret--especially given how useful it would be for escaping capture or imprisonment. I promise not to speak of it openly...and I'm very glad to have you on our side." He stops and thinks for a moment, trying to ignore the growing pain behind his eyes. "You're the one who got your mother and yourself onto the boat, aren't you?" He smiles, "I thought your mother's explanation for how you got there sounded a little off. She can't teleport on her own, can she?"

Lyra

"Gift?"  Lyra scoffs.  "My mother wanted me to grow up to be a powerful mage like her.  My 'gift' ruined that."  Lyra sighs.  "This is the only time the matter will be up for discussion.  A natural telepath, untrained in defending oneself, is a very dangerous thing to be, so she grudgingly allowed me to hone my skills.  The headaches.  I don't think they were caused by Frantiska.  Mother may have done something to ... discourage ... any further public display of my abilities.  It is my understanding that my way is both easier and more precise than the more traditional magical teleportation.  And with a moving target, precision is everything.  Look through Mother's eyes as she scries the vessel, calculate the necessary adjustments for speed, acceleration and direction, and just ... go.  We made it to Phlan from Waterdeep in less than a week.  Partly Mother, partly me.  I haven't pressed her for why we left in such a hurry, but she burned most of her research before doing so.  She's trying to protect me from something, and I don't know what.  But if she thinks here of all places is safer for us than back in Waterdeep...."

Donovan

"Lyra," Donovan looks at her with narrowed eyes, "no offense, but if these headaches are your mother's doing, I may have to turn her over my knee at some point." He gathers up the rest of the weapons, armor, and other loot, using one of the orc's cloaks as a makeshift bindle. "Frantiska, can you and Hrud grab a corner here."

"Also, did you say you can see through your mother's eyes? What else can you do?"

Frantiska

Hearing Brother Rant's voice carrying [it sounded like we're only a block away or so, right?] Frantiska steps out of the building to listen to his pronouncement, pleased both that justice is being done and at his impressive linguistic skills, Maybe I can pick his brain as we journey, she thinks. Teh deed done, she walks back in and looks distastefully at the swords--only a Xvimlar would mass produce magic weapons and then give them to orcs. "Mr. Leitch, much as I hate the look of these things, your reasoning is sound. Better that you should take them than for them to end up in the hands of other creatures such as these." She leans down and grabs the other side of the tarp. "What do you intend to do with the rest of this? There are enough weapons and armor here to start a small army."

Hrud

As the group carries the load back to the wagon, he slides the leather curiass and spears over to his side and makes a mental note to retrieve the sword he left at the wagon.

Lyra

Lyra distastefully picks up the last green sword, and gives it an awkward swing.  "Wasn't there something about a broadsword course at the training hall?  We might want to look into that when we get back."

She speaks softly, as if not wishing to be overheard.  "As for what I can do, some you've seen firsthand.  Telepathic two-way conversation, which is how I arranged for us to speak with Professor Aumry.  Traveling hundreds of miles while sleeping to awaken somewhere else.  Displacing myself in time, which really isn't as interesting as I thought it would be.  With animals and a wagon there's really nothing I could do to expedite our journey, although without those, and with the liberty to operate openly, dream travel would have had us all there in Melvaunt in time for breakfast."