Chapter Zero: Approach to Bardosylvania

[The Widowed]

[Enter, Antinidia Zaumtor.]

[Antinidia begins as he is, a 5th Level Necromancer with all accompanying equipment. He shares a communal cottage with several other Vesperanti mages, but he may not be there for long....]


The town of Blosgärd, in the Wildlands of former Karkova.
January 3rd, 1377 SE




http://mypetdungeon.tritonius.com/AntinidiaLetter.jpg


Master Vorokai settled into his chair, a small throne crafted from a peculiar medley of dark wood and bone. The letter from Lord Darrovan of the House of Ainsley lay unfurled on the table before him, the candlelight sputtering from its nearby corner of the table and casting a wan light on the paper contours. Journeymen Belogi and Anyanka attended him, waiting to either side as he considered the matter.

"This letter preturbs me for some nameless reason," muttered Vorokai through heavy moustache and aged visage. "Our people did indeed benefit from Lord Heward's aid in the years following the war. He buried our dead, he rebuilt our homes, he offered jobs and wages to our starving and desperate workers. But then Lord Heward died very suddenly, and--one year later--he was joined in death by his son and his successor, Lord Darrovan. Or so I had heard. So imagine my surprise when a messenger from Bardosylvania arrived bearing this letter."

"I too had heard of the great slaughter which befell the Ainsleys," Belogi offered, ignoring Anyanka's incessant flipping and shuffling of her well-worn Vistani divination cards. "Could this possibly be a grim joke, or perhaps a hoax to excite our attentions?"

"Perhaps. Perhaps it is. But we dare not ignore this request, for the chance exists that the message is earnest. We owe a great debt to the House of Ainsley, and it now appears that they wish to collect on that debt."

A brief pause followed, a silence marred only by the candle's crackling tongue and Anyanka's dancing cards. One card fell into her waiting hand, and she stared at the card with grave realization as Master Vorokai resumed.

"But I fear that getting the Vesperanti involved in the fate of the House of Ainsley will not end well. If I gather Lord Darrovan's meaning, the next graves we dig could be our own. 'A clash between the holy and the unholy, the mortal and the immortal'...is that not what I read before me?"

"It would seem that your fears are not unfounded, Master Vorokai."

Vorokai and Belogi turned their eyes to Anyanka, who rolled a single divination card between her fingers. The Death card.

Anyanka, the master realized, had rarely been wrong with her premonitions before. And he cast his decision with affirmation. "Very well. We shall send but one of our necromancer adepts--and three aspirants to attend him--to the Bardosylvanian forestlands, to the crypts of the Ainsley family. But we shall not commit our foremost necromancers, no, not in the face of such grim portents."

He rose from his chair with purpose, his autumn body still firm with the musculature of his youth and his eyes burning with insight. "One of our necromancers shows great promise, but I fear that he harbors evil leanings. The task before him is as loathsome as his suspected lusts for the dead, yet it is necessary that the task be addressed. And through this errand shall the drow elf prove his mettle and decide for us if he bears the worth to be Vesperanti. He possesses diligence and an unrivaled intellect, true. But does he possess the temperance to work with death and the dead and walk away uncorrupted? Or have I judged him truly?"

He seized the Book of Names from the maple bookshelf behind him and took up the inked quill from the table, jotting in the book's pages furiously.

"Belogi, send for Antinidia. Anyanka, gather the aspirant laborers Jorgi Marravek, Piorr Fachaldo and Mayna Rubini. I shall personally attend to the details of his preparations for the journey. We shall congregate here in the Council Hall in half an hour's time. That will be all."

And as one thought, the three hale mages strode from the chamber to see to Lord Darrovan's request.


• • •

http://mypetdungeon.tritonius.com/Music.png (http://music.tritonius.com/Wood_Carving_Partita.mp3)

The dinner table had been prepared in mock fashion, with a portion of cured ham, a thick slice of pumpernickle and a half-filled goblet of Nellowswannian merlot carefully arranged on either end. The woman seated at the far end sat silently as her dark host lifted his goblet to his lips and sipped deeply. "A savory wine this is, my dear...vintage 1365. Only the best for us, my sweet. What do you think of our dinner arrangements, hmmm?"

His paramour could offer no reply, so stilled was the breath within her body. Undaunted, he strode with a genteel air to the window and gazed out across the mortuary's yard, watching the snow fall and blanket the land.

"A lovely evening this is, yes. I hope that your husband doesn't mind our torrid affair; It was he who left such a beautiful blossom as you in my gentle care, after all. Would you like more wine?"

She did not drink, or eat, or speak, and she never would again. She could only stare through her long cornsilk locks at the warmth of the fireplace's maw with her glassy green eyes and slack lips, painstakingly dyed a ruby shade as only a mortician could. The consumption had taken her life two days prior, and the drow mortician had found her pallid skin to be a most enticing hue.

The snowlight cast a thin sheen across his bald pate as be lowered his gaze into the belly of his goblet, grinning with joyous expectation. "Oh, but our time in this world is precious, my love, every passing moment of it. And how much of this precious time we waste with words. Let us leap ahead to this dinner date's most likely outcome, shall we?"

The goblet fell from his hand and bounced across the tilework floor, denting the tin and splashing the dark red wine wildly as the mortician turned from the window and dashed at the deceased subject of his erotic attentions. With spidery gray hands he violently slung her dinner settings aside, and a perfect white slipper fell from her feet and tumbled away as he heaved her comely corpse onto the table and seized her burial gown at the shoulders, popping the buttons and tearing the garment away to leave her lifeless breasts bare....

"Adept Antinidia!" Adept Korski barked from behind the door opening into the room. "Master Vorokai wishes to see you at...oh."

Korski's startled eyes met Antinidia's wary eyes somewhere in the middle of the wake parlour where they stood. Antinidia's long and sweaty hands still grasped his half-denuded charge. And a heavy, awkward silence followed.


Antinidia >

[Knightward]

Wids, you're far better than I at writing high society pompousness, so definately keep it up! Though, Antinidia may be a bit less verbose when not entertaining himself. Anyway, great job!

As for what Antinidia will do, before dealing with the point of the message he's going to try salvaging the situation by trying as hard as he can to put all the awkwardness on the messenger, through whatever airs of authority he can. Once the messenger is sufficently embarassed and face is saved, then he will handle the message itself.

[The Widowed]

[Antinidia -- untrained Diplomacy check (DC 10): Passed (12)]

Composing himself as best as he could, Antinidia deftly returned his charge to her seat and straightened himself to address Korski's intrusion, showing no hint of meekness or fear as he did.

"Adept Korski. As you can clearly see now, I am entertaining a guest. Can you not perceive her soul and see how bitterly she rues the lack of affection she received in life? I can, and I only work to lay her spirit to rest. Yet in you so boorishly storm to interrupt me without so much as a knock on the door...."

Korski seemed emotionally unseated ever so slightly. "Pardon the interruption; I should have made myself known first. Perhaps I too have known the willing embrace of departed consorts, but our place in this world...that makes such appetites no less unwelcome. And Master Vorokai suspects you of such liaisons with the dead, Antinidia."

The moment lost, chagrined Antinidia returned the lifeless woman's garments to where they had been. Korski averted his gaze and continued, "And Master Vorokai has immediate need of your service. He wishes to see you in the Council Hall. Please, conclude your business here as soon as you can, and do not keep him waiting."

Timidly, Adept Korski closed the wake chamber's maplewood door behind himself as he left. Antinidia tore a small hunk of cured ham from his plate at the table's far end and devoured it, glaring into the blazing hearth with pronounced disappointment.


Antinidia >

[Knightward]

Well, now that the mood has been completely ruined there's no fun in this! Being the spoiled rich snob that he is, Antinidia will likely throw a tantrum of some kind before cleaning things up (expect a lot of the food and drink to go into the fire), and then he will go see Master Vorokai.

[The Widowed]

A violent barrage of meat, bread and wine rained across the burning belly of the fireplace as Antinidia snarled his frustration. The fire sputtered briefly before igniting the alcohol and redoubling in fury. And the necromancer glowered as he stared into the lapping flames, his drow eyes seared with a prodding blindness which served to isolate his mind and lure it back into focus. What ever could Master Vorokai want this time?

In the cloudy water of the dish barrel, the used earthenware plates were stacked neatly atop the dishes from the last wake feast, and the goblets were set gently atop them. Composing himself, Antinidia returned young Miss Mera's corpse to her bier and drew the burial shroud back up to her shoulders. The wake had ended that day and she would be buried tomorrow morning, and it slightly panged him to leave her.

But Master Vorokai would not be kept waiting.


• • •


Of those gathered to greet Antinidia, only Master Vorokai wore the dark, silver-trimmed robes befitting the esteemed office of a necromancer. The Vesperanti did not hail from the vaunted halls of the intelligencia, nor were they steeped in pomp and formality. But what the Vesperanti lacked in written lore and mystery they made up for in pragmatism and work ethic. The Dark College of Morribord had deemed the drow elf too base and untrustworthy for their ranks; old prejudices do not die easily for historians. But the Vesperanti accepted him and provided him a releasing avenue for his peculiar tastes. And so he stayed with them...at least for now.

Belogi, the grim-faced, towering half-orc clad in gravedigger clothes which were contrarily pristine, waited on Master Vorokai at his side. Anyanka, fair in face yet dark in heart, led Antinidia into the chamber. Strong Jorgi, thick-bearded Piorr and portly Mayna--their garments reflecting their heritages as peasants and workers--followed the two in shortly after.

Without a word of greeting, Vokokai briefly regarded Antinidia with weary eyes, then held a crisp scroll before his eyes and began to read aloud.

"Dearest of all my friends, I truly hope that this message finds you in good health. Would that I could savor the same. By now you have quite certainly heard of the fate of my noble House of Ainsley...are you familiar with the House of Ainsley, Adept Antinidia?"

"Only passingly. They were the families of lords and ladies governing the dread province of Bardosylvania, but their mansion was sacked by a small army of unknown beasts and brigands, and the entirety of the House of Ainsley was put to death, including Lord Darrovan, the presiding lord of the land. The brigands have never been identified, much less found. And Bardosylvania has since been cast aside by the Empire; without the Ainsley family to lead them, the province has since fallen into a state of gloom and anarchy, with isolated pockets of order limited to the cities and villages."

"Correct," Master Vorokai answered with a thrust of his finger, "but I discern that there is more to the story. Centuries ago, Lord Bardos Ainsley--exiled from Konegheim--conquered the land which would become Bardosylvania. But untimely death was commonplace in the land: death from pestilence, death from beasts, death from villains stalking the roadways. Populace and nobility alike turned to the death goddess Wee Jas, stern yet merciful in her reign from the Underworld. Gradually, death eased her hand; mortality was still more realized in Bardosylvania than in any other province of the Empire, yet soon her people began to prosper regardless of the wolves, the diseases, the murdering bandits. But the House of Ainsley changed as well; the firm hand of governance turned cruel and corrupt. People were unjustly oppressed and punished, and many died horribly in the dungeons, the torture chambers, the dark woodlands. The people's faith in their divine matron began to falter as death returned not at the teeth of beasts or the knives of highwaymen, but by the spears and implements of their own lords and soldiers.

"But that too changed in time. Lord Heward Ainsley took the throne upon his father's demise, and his reign was a gentler one. The old ways of fear were torn down, and Lord Heward built many a shrine or temple to the Witch Goddess who judges the dead. He restored the people's faith in Wee Jas, her priests rejoiced and prosperity returned to the land. But then Lord Heward suddenly slipped into a coma from which he never awoke, and Lord Darrovan succeeded him. Lord Darrovan believed that his father had squandered the coffers on tithes and temples. He ended the tithes, closed the temples and drove many of Wee Jas' priests and paladins from the land. The money built new roads, repaired crumbling cities, armed Bardosylvania's soldiers and fattened Lord Darrovan's pockets, but Wee Jas' faithful were allowed to slip into ruin.

"But that only lasted one year. Lord Darrovan Ainsley and his House were killed exactly one year after his coronation. His body was found with the heart carved out of his breast. He was interred in the Ainsley Crypts at Saturninity Hill, his sarcophagus was closed and the crypts were sealed fast. And yet he delivered this message to me five days ago. Have you any notion at all what this could mean, Adept Antinidia?"


Antinidia >

[Knightward]

Time for Antinidia to show off his intelligence. Clearly he's been raised for someodd reason, or someone has done an excellent job forging the late lord's handwriting. If it's the latter then the fact that it was sent to us would clearly be a trap. Though as for who would want to lay a trap for us and why, you know your setting better than I do Wids. Antinidia's first instinct may be to suspect a drow trap, but it doesn't look like this would be a sure strategy to lure him out, assuming they know he's specifically here (so he'd probably omit mentioning that line of thought). If it's the former, then it's a genuine need for aid (I'm assuming you only paraphrased and they read the entire letter aloud) although the specific kind of aid would be highly questionable; or at least could be interpreted in many ways.

This then leads to the question of why they brought Antinidia in for this as it seems to be rather serious and they're showing it to an adept. Which he would specifically bring up.

And if they were looking for an emotional response of any kind to the Ainsley history, there was none.

[The Widowed]

((Man, I have to do all of your in-character speech? C'mon, be a roleplayer. :p ))


"This peculiarity could signify one of three scenarios," Antinidia answered dryly. "The first consideration is that the message could be a forgery. An old letter of correspondence could yield a sample of Lord Darrovan's handwriting from which forgeries could be drawn to fool the most familiar of acquaintences, and the lord's signet ring could have been plundered from the Ainsley crypt by grave robbers, who then proceeded to employ the ring for the illicit purpose of falsifying wax seals and missives of office. The most conceivable purpose for doing so would be to lure the Vesperanti into a trap. And do the Vesperanti not have enemies, Master Vorokai?"

"We have several convicted enemies," admitted Master Vorokai, "but there are many far more convenient ways of luring the Vesperanti into harm's way than the theft of a signet ring and a forged message. Remember our duties as the Vesperanti; if we are handed something as simple as a request for a seance or a funeral, we go to where we are needed to answer the call. And that call could quite possibly lead into the teeth of an ambush."

"True," Antinidia countered, "but for those services we send Vesperanti of lesser rank. What if someone intended to catch you--the master of our conclave--and thus strike a truly telling blow to the Vesperanti? A wise way to lay such a trap would be to pose as a nobleman who knew you--a dead nobleman who would hence be unable to defend his identity, preferably. Invoking friendship and calling on an old debt would better ensure that the one who answered the call would be none other than Master Vorokai himself. But, anticipating this possibility, you would naturally wish to test the waters by sending someone more expendable...a lesser Vesperantus who would venture first to Bardosylvania and take measure of the situation at hand. And that tactic is where I come into play, correct?"

A nonplussed gaze fell from Vorokai's eyes. "Correct. Most astute of you, Adept."

"Thank you. The second scenario," Antinidia continued without hesitation, "is that the message is genuine, and Lord Darrovan no longer lies among the dead. It could be that he is alive once more; it could just as easily be that he has joined the ranks of the undead. And if Wee Jas and her clergy were involved, then the latter would seem more likely. The third scenario is that the first two scenarios I posed are, in fact, one: rival necromancers--and I, for one, would suspect those devious knaves of the Barrow Flame--raised Lord Darrovan into undeath, so that he might serve them as bait to lure the Vesperanti into enemy hands."

"But could rival necromancers wield power enough to curse the very land of Bardosylvania?" the master retorted. "We have many accounts from many who were present at the mass funeral which spelled the end of the House of Ainsley. And we have good assurance that, the very moment Lord Darrovan was interred, the midday sky fell to darkness and gloom, the winds howled and the land around the cemetery began to wither and die. And recently, merely one year after the House of Ainsley was laid to rest, a dark fog rose from the borders of Bardosylvania. The messenger who brought the missive to us confirmed that this is true, that to cross the border out of Bardosylvania he rode through a mist which was so dense that he could only guide himself by watching the road beneath him. He was most ill at ease when we greeted him yet quite content to be outside of Bardosylvania; I've rewarded him for his trouble by paying for his weeklong stay at the Broadleaf Inn and Tavern. That should be quite enough time for him to decide where the road should take him from here. But I daresay that road shall not lead him back to Bardosylvania."

"Master Vorokai, I would like for you to read the rest of the letter to me, if you please."

"Very well," Vorokai conceded, returning his eyes to the letter. The words fell gracefully from his tongue, so many countless messages he had read in his time.

"...They should travel to the Ainsley family crypts in the cemetery of Saturninity Hill, in the heart of Bardosylvania. There I shall greet them personally. With great anticipation, Lord Darrovan Ainsley of the House of Ainsley." The message returned to the table as Vorokai regarded Antinidia pensively.

A brief still in the air was broken by the drow elf's words. "So...supposing that this curse is true, this 'clash between the holy and the unholy, the mortal and the immortal'...."

"...And that's the question, Adept Antinidia. And that is why we ask you to go to Bardosylvania, to speak with Lord Darrovan--if indeed he is no longer dead--and gauge the truth of the matter, so that I may involve myself if needs be. You are one of our most intelligent Vesperanti, perhaps the most intelligent, insightful and well-learned of us all. Your thirst for knowledge preceeds you; perhaps this errand is yet more knowledge for you to gather."

"And if I perish in the learning?"

The master paused reflectively. "If our necromantic profession teaches us anything, Antinidia, it's that we dance on the edge of death's knife every day of our lives. We should not fear death; it is simply another facet of our existence."


Antinidia >

[Knightward]

Hey check it out, I'm finally getting back to this!

Antinidia is both perturbed and intruiged by this assignment. Perturbed because of the potential danger the masters are throwing him in, and intruiged for obvious reasons surrounding the case. However he knows better than to even think there's any way to change their minds, so he'll have to go with it. But that doesn't mean he should charge in empty handed, so he's going to see how much he can get out of this.

"Due to the nature of this task you have gifted me as well as the dangers should it prove to be an elaborate trap, am I to presume that I will be supplied means to defend myself beyond a quick wit? Or am I to presume your most apt of students should take a considerably dire interpretation to the acceptance of his own death?"

Either way, since his fun earlier was ruined he doesn't have much reason to linger, so it'll be a fairly quick matter to pack up and head out. Antinidia is ready to begin as soon as need be.

[The Widowed]

[Antinidia -- Untrained Diplomacy check (DC 10): Passed (15)]

Master Vorokai lowered his narrowing eyes in thought. "Hmmph. Acerbic though your tone may be, you make your point well. We may lack centuries of trappings and artifacts, but we do have some useful supplies to spare. Belogi?"

Bowing respectfully, Belogi turned to open an elderwood chest and retrieve two cotton-wrapped vials, their brass stoppers protruding through the wrappings and catching the sheen of passing candlelight. "Two vials o' holy water consecrated t' Pelor and Evening Glory," he explained as he sauntered heavily to Antinidia, "with which to blast the spawn o' the dusk."

The vials were thrust into the drow elf's waiting hands, and his skin recoiled at the sharp sensation of warmth as the glass and cotton touched his palms. The vials' touch was tolerable, but their nature was unmistakably less than welcoming to their new bearer.

Anyanka was three steps behind Belogi, cupping two vials spun from black glass and stoppered with crude iron. "And for times when benevolence and malevolence bleed together across their bounds in that dark land, two vials of unholy water consecrated to Afflux and Vecna. Be most careful with these, Adept."

Anyanka slipped the vials into Antinidia's hands. The chill which raced from fingers to elbows was a tangible cold rooted somewhere beyond the physical. He removed a vial from its wrapping--its cotton blackened by an unseen malignance--and noted the wisps of sickly grayness which swirled through the unholy water of their own momentum.

"But not all of Bardosylvania's monsters stem wholly from the undead or the unearthly," Master Vorokai exhaled, taking up a quarterstaff from the mantlepiece and leveling it before Antinidia. Either end bore a stout metal cap with an argent shimmer, each cap riveted five ways to the durable ironwood beneath. "This quarterstaff is shod with premium silver, a substance proven baneful against many a darkling in centuries past. You are a necromancer, true, and spellcraft is your foremost art. But keep this weapon close at hand; beasts who draw too near will give no quarter for your prestidigitations. In addition..."

The spindly crystal vial seemed to fall from the lining of Master Vorokai's sleeve and settle between his thumb and his forefingers, where Antinidia beheld the thick, transluscent oil rolling within. In the dim light of the chamber, a spectral luminescence could be seen creeping across the vial's glass, betraying the fluid's necromantic nature.

"...unenchanted weapons such as your newfound quarterstaff can do nothing against the spirits of the restless dead. This oil can change that. Coat your weapon with the ghostoil and it shall smite ghosts and spectres as surely as it strikes flesh and bone. Alas, like most things in this world, the ghostoil's power will not serve forever."

[Antinidia receives two vials of holy water, two vials of unholy water, a vial of ghostoil and a silvered quarterstaff.]

"And now, Adept, your laborers will help you prepare for the journey. You may find their talents and experience useful. Old Piorr is an experienced mason who has taken a turn as a sculptor of headstones. Jorgi is a gravedigger and a capable excavator, and Mayna has expanded her carpentry talents into the peculiar art of bonecrafting. Their bodies are strong, even if their minds lack the grasp of the transcendent needed to take their first steps into the harnessing of necromantic potence. Are you now prepared in will for your passage to dread Bardosylvania?"


Antinidia >

[Knightward]

((Yay minions!))

Antinidia will nod respectfully after taking the supplies. That is the extent of his gratitude: a formality. He may speak a word or two of thanks, but it wouldn't roll off his tongue as most of his verbosity does. Either way he got something out of it, so it would be best not to press his luck and continue on.

"My mind is ready for the journey ahead, and soon my body will follow, and I will eagerly pursue the question at the heart of it to whatever end. The aspirants who will attend me have likewise been informed of this task, have they not? I will prepare my things and shall be off once they are ready. Their strong arms combine with my strong intellect should make for an effective team. Until the next, my masters..."

And with that Antinidia will depart with a rather elaborate bow, probably one of the kind that was done fairly often in the Underdark. After that he's off to pack his things, unless he's still needed for something.

EDIT: Doh! Had him bowing twice, the first has been changed to a nod.

[The Widowed]

(Oh, I'm quite sure that Vorokai wouldn't mind in the least if someone bowed to him twice...unless he suspected them of being a butt-kisser, maybe...which vain Antinidia certainly isn't. ;) )

"Good travels to all of you," Vorokai bid in farewell to the departing four. "Be certain to send messengers if you can, and inform us of what you unearth about this supposed curse...or of those afflicted by it. And do tell Lord Darrovan that I send fair tidings."

"...if indeed he is no longer reposed in the crypts," Anyanka curtly amended.

"Complete this service and your efforts will be recognized and rewarded by the Vesperanti. Keep any gifts or boons which the Ainsleys give to you, but pass on to us anything intended for the Vesperanti when you return. Farewell."

Strong Jorgi nodded in greeting to the dark elf as he strolled for the door. "Greetings, good Adept. Your reptile is outside. We shall finish loading the wagon as you attend your own preparations. Shall we?"

• • •

Antinidia now has three henchmen:

http://mypetdungeon.tritonius.com/VesperantiPog01.png
Jorgi Marravek
4th Level Human Commoner, True Neutral
Str 16, Dex 9, Con 13, Int 12, Wis 11, Cha 12, 16 HP
Profession: Gravedigger 7, Climb 4, Handle Animal 3, Spot 2, Use Rope 2

http://mypetdungeon.tritonius.com/VesperantiPog02.png
Piorr Fachaldo
3rd Level Human Expert, Lawful Neutral
Str 15, Dex 10, Con 11, Int 13, Wis 11, Cha 8, 12 HP
Craft: Stonemasonry 6, Craft: Sculpture 6, Appraise 4, Craft: Calligraphy 3, Knowledge: History 3, Spot 3, Handle Animal 2, Rope Use 2, Tumble 2, Decipher Script 1, Listen 1, Ride: Horse 1

http://mypetdungeon.tritonius.com/VesperantiPog03.png
Mayna Rubini
3rd Level Human Expert, Lawful Neutral
Str 13, Dex 13, Con 13, Int 12, Wis 10, Cha 12, 15 HP
Craft: Carpentry 6, Craft: Bonework 6, Craft: Pottery 5, Wilderness Lore 4, Craft: Sculpture 3, Knowledge: Religion 3, Balance 2, Diplomacy 2, Ride: Horse 2


Party possessions:
Two mules
The wagon, with yoke
30 packs of rations (mostly hardtack, dried fruit and smoked jerky, enough to feed four people for a little over a week)
14 sacks of mule feed (mostly dried oats, corn and barley seed, a weeks' worth for two mules...longer if graze-worthy grass is available. Too bad it's winter...)
Three live hens, with small wooden cages and covers (three days of emergency food for the giant skink if no prey can be found; feed them with the mule feed and collect the eggs each morning for an extra treat)
A bundle of 12 torches
A common lantern
4 flasks of lamp oil
Flint and steel
A 50' coil of hemp rope
Two shovels
Two knives
Two hatchets
A timber axe
A maul
A miner's pick
Two wooden buckets
Three tents (each sleeps two, but Antinidia and Mayna may prefer to sleep alone, and someone should keep watch at all hours...)
Four bedrolls
Six wool blankets
Two ink quills
Two bottles of black ink
One bottle of red ink
Seventeen sheets of blank parchment
Piorr's sculpting tools
Piorr's masonry tools
Mayna's carpentry tools
Mayna's bonecarving tools
A box of carpentry nails


In the patch of pea gravel aside the road which led east out of town, Zebeyual tore blood-weeping strips of flesh and hair from the freshly killed goat between her foreclaws, lashing her tail in contentment. Mayna stood in the bed of the wagon, placing and arranging the foodstocks and other bundles which Piorr handed up to her. The chill in the evening breeze pulled at the trim of her humble gray skirt and swept it around her knees, and Piorr's thick beard swam across his breast in kind. The brown mules at the wagon's fore protested in their yoke, stirring their hooves and swatting their tails at the unrelenting wind.

In the depths of his mind, Antinidia could hear Adinaxle speaking in a nattering tone. "Are we to be saddled with no better company than draft mules and failed necromancers for our journey? I already dislike the travel ahead. Are you certain that you know what you are doing?"

"Adept," interrupted Jorgi with a gesture to the wagon. "We are almost ready to depart, but we leave by your command. When should that be?"


(The hour is currently dusk, and here Antinidia faces a decision: does the party travel by night or by day? The three humans are diurnal and will fare better during the day, but Antinidia's light blindness will impede him harshly during these hours. Conversely, Antinidia is a more nocturnal sort, and his darkvision--and the darkvision of his mount--will serve well during the hours of darkness. But the wagon has a bundle of torches stocked, and the laborers will use these to see during the nighttime; torches can be seen from a mile off and will negate Antinidia's darkvision if he gets too close. Not that stealth will be a concern anyway; wagons and mules are anything but silent.)


Antinidia >

[Knightward]

Hmm.... I certainly don't want to be impeded by hellishly early hours, but forcing diurnal companions to hold my hours wouldn't make them much help. At the same time, I'm much more powerful than them anyway and Antinidia is certainly egotistical; and as such he is a much higher priority. I'll split it half and half. We'll travel later in the day and the early evening. Being an elf Antinidia doesn't need as much rest as everyone else (I believe it's 4 hours of meditation instead of 8 of sleep) so he can rest during the brighter hours. If it's possible for the servants to get a relatively good amount of rest while the wagon is moving we can keep it going as hard as the animals can be pushed. If not, well we're already traveling later in the day and early in the evening. Obviously during the light hours Antinidia will do anything and everything to shield his vision... which is probably limited to staying inside the wagon and keeping a hood over his head.

As for his toad, when he gets the chance Antinidia will respond, "Distasteful though it may be, there is little choice in the matter. However, the Ainsleys were a powerful and more importantly, a wealthy house. Given the fear and superstition the surface dwellers regard their passing it is safe to assume that any looting of said wealth will be considerably less. Ergo, I'm sure that during our investigation we can acquire many valuables befitting ones such as we."

".... If any of the Ainsleys truly have returned though, I doubt the wealth will be as forthcoming."

[The Widowed]

Hours later, the sun descended slowly behind the hills and the trees as if drawn from the heavens by a trail of laboring, ethereal ants. The countless pebbles of the broken road continued to grind and groan beneath the wagon's wheels as the party ventured along. Driving the mules from his seat at the wagon's prow, Piorr gripped the reins with callused, spotted hands and eyed the hills uneasily, hoping that their trek would meet no peril. Jorgi's tenor snores issued from beneath the blanket draped across the wagon's bed, and Mayna wove strips of dried venison and beef into braids to be boiled and seared. Seated where she was on the wagon's tail step, her sandaled feet skipped and dragged lazily on the retreating road as she watched the travelling clouds swallow the setting sun.

Within the folds of the necromancer's travelling garb, Adinaxle continued the conversation. "All the same, did Lord Darrovan not assure that any Vesperantus who answered his summons and aided the Ainsley family in breaking the curse would be paid well? Clearly he has considerable means, even beyond death...."

"...That or he has handed us a promise which he cannot or will not keep. I assure you that I'll not enter into this service on faith alone."

The roughly hewn mile marker greeted the Vesperanti travellers silently, its stark sandstone visage proclaiming that three miles lay between them and the border of Konegheim. The comforts of Kursten lay further beyond the border, but the guards and soldiers of Konegheim were known to be less than welcoming towards their former enemies. The Vesperanti enjoyed a better reputation among the commonfolk than other necromancer schools did, in great part due to the Vesperanti's services to the dead and the bereft. Perhaps the Konegheim patrols and checkpoints would honor the badge of the Vesperanti. Perhaps they would not.

Perhaps they as a people were cosmopolitan enough to lay eyes on a dark elf with no immediate hostility.

Perhaps they were not.

In light of such possibilities, Antinidia also considered a departure from the road, a path to be blazed through the wild lands southward. Such a path could skirt the borders of Konegheim almost the entire way to Bardosylvania, and nomadic camps of Karkovan refugees dotted those hills and plains with assurances of respite and replenishments. But the wilderness away from the roads and the camps would be fraught with the menaces of beasts and monsters, and somewhere in the expanse the shunned, cryptic tower of Gal Agiesse cast its forboding shadow over its borderless domain....

With a rolling wave of his hand, Antinidia beckoned Piorr to stop the wagon. The great skink settled on the road, breathing deeply as the necromancer astride her came to his decision: East to Konegheim and to Kursten, or southeast to a less certain path.

(Unfortunately, no one in the party has Geography Knowledge to aid with this decision, and knowledge skills cannot be used untrained.)


http://mypetdungeon.tritonius.com/MapAntinidia002.jpg


Antinidia >

[Knightward]

Alas! No geography! As such I can't see how we'd end up going off road, as we'd almost be guaranteed to get lost... which would be far more problem than it's worth. As such, we'll have to take our chances in Kursten. If things get particularly ugly we'll be going off road anyway. I don't recall the history of the hostilities, and I'd be inclined to believe Antinidia probably doesn't know it very well either, what with surface politics.

Antinidia will wake up Jorgi and address his servants. "As you well know, we are nearing the border of Konegheim. I suspect we may have difficulties, if not outright hostilities from the locals. While our status as Vespertani may alleviate such challenges we cannot rely on mere chance. Dare I say, should the situation become dire enough we may need to continue our journey far from civilization to the South. Furthermore, the folk of Konegheim may bear a degree of animosity toward myself, as they may not be enlightened enough to... appreciate an individual of my pedigree. Therefor I must implore you three to do most of the interaction with any locals or guards we come across. I greatly doubt the masters or Lord Darrovan (or any scoundrels who are using his name to entrap us) would be pleased at my passing before reaching our destination."

After that Antinidia will hang around the back of the group as they continue on the path, and will continue to debate the possibilities (and the pros, cons, and strategies for dealing with such scenarios) of what will be found at the Ainsley crypts with his toad.

[The Widowed]

"Perhaps Mayna should do most of the talking, Adept," old Piorr advised. "She has a far more congenial tongue and even temperament than Jorgi and I can muster."

Jorgi nodded his agreement. Mayna nodded her consent and clambered to the fore of the wagon to take Piorr's place at the reins.

The wagon rolled past the miles as the cave skink and her rider crept along at the wagon's rear. Hills turned to lowlands, then to hills again. And from roughly two-thousand feet off the party crested a hill and eyed the checkpoint at the border. Two small limestone towers stood flanking the forsaken highway into Konegheim, their appearance far more forbidding than welcoming. Even from that distance Antinidia's sun-weary eyes caught sight of torches flickering in the dusk, illuminating the peculiar brass glints of Konegheimer chainmail lined across the road. Already the border guards silently stood in wait for them.

The Vesperanti party compliantly came to a halt at the guard sergeant's bidding. Two archers atop each guard tower watched the visitors carefully, arrows nocked and ready for the first treacherous motion. Astride a young roan stallion, the guard sergeant rode up alongside the Vesperanti and their transports as another mounted guard followed in kind along their left parallel.

Lantern light swayed across the wagon as the guards moved forward to inspect the wayfarers and their cargo. The scar which crossed a jagged path across the sergeant's cheek seemed to dance as he challenged Mayna and those with her. "State your business in Konegheim, travellers," he demanded without grace or formality, his battle axe menacingly borne in a steadfast hand at his horse's shoulder.

(Mayna - Diplomacy check (DC 15): Success (19))

"Our business lies not within Konegheim but beyond her," Mayna explained. "We are Vesperanti bound for Bardosylvania, and we cannot linger in Konegheim any longer than we must."

The sergeant peered at her proffered brass Vesperanti seal with healthy scrutiny. "No one dares venture to Bardosylvania anymore. Why do you?"

"There has been a rash of Bardosylvanian mortalities of late...disease, we suspect, perhaps supernatural predators. So we have been summoned to attend the dead. I understand that the priesthood of Wee Jas can yet be found to execute funerary services...."

A harsh lantern light intruded under Antinidia's cowl as the mounted guard came around to him. Zebeyual growled her warning at the nearing horse, but her elven rider nudged her to silence.

"A drow elf? Here?" the guard barked in consternation, raising his spear not at all subtly. "Why are you bringing a blighted drow elf into our fair land?"

"He is simply the finest mortician in all of Blösgard," Mayna patiently clarified with a touch of falsehood, "with well over a century of experience with funerals and preparation of the dead. And with such a great death toll in need of swift burial the Vesperanti cannot afford to settle for lesser undertakers."

"Furthermore," Antinidia spoke up, laying bare his lack of anything to hide, "I am an exile from the Underdark, not a spy for the drow. We mean no harm to anyone, I sincerely assure you."

"I'll just wager that," the guard snorted bitterly as his steed circled past the giant skink and cantered to the sergeant.

From the formation which barred the road, one bold guard made her voice heard. "The Vesperanti buried my grandmother, and the funeral they provided was very dignified and uplifting. Perhaps we should let them pass."

The sergeant's eyes burned at the guard who dared to speak out of turn, but a deep voice struck from the parapet of the south guard tower. "Let them pass, Sergeant Adom," commanded the guard captain. "And travellers, though we grant you leave to enter Konegheim, we cannot assure you of safety within her borders. And we can assure you of far less safety once you pass into dread Bardosylvania. I would advise you to abandon your duties and shy from tempting fate, but my will is not yours. Be on your way."

• • •

http://mypetdungeon.tritonius.com/Music.png (http://music.tritonius.com/Resurrection.mp3)

The third hour past midnight approached, and the townlights of Kursten flickered from windows and pillars around the Vesperanti travellers, casting glimmers on the first descending snowflakes of the night as the party rattled into town. From her cold seat on the wagon, Mayna drew her woolen blanket tighter around herself as she sought directions from a passing lamplighter. As the lamplighter tipped his comical little hat and departed, Mayna crawled past the resting forms of Jorgi and Piorr to address her leader.

"Adept, I asked directions from the lamplighter and he said that there are three inns not far from here. The Dancing Rat is in the slums somewhere north of here; they have no stables--though there are tethering posts outside--and the fare, shoddy as it may be, is most affordable. There is also the Iron Pot and Ladle in the artisan district ahead of us, and that inn mostly caters to the working class. The lamplighter warned that their stables may be a bit crowded, even for this time of year. And beyond the artisan district is the merchant district; there we'll find Sunas' Golden Stag, a tavern with an inn which caters to the more opulent sorts. Even the stables are enclosed and warmed with a hearth, I understand. I expect that Sunas' Golden Stag will be none too kind to our coinpurses, of course."

"None too kind to my coinpurse, she means," Antinidia scowled inwardly. "If I opt for the Golden Stag, they and their petty savings will expect me to pay for what they cannot...which may amount to quite a sum, come that."

"Ah, the burden of being the leader," Adinaxle sneered somewhere inside the dark elf's mind. "Command equals responsibility, does it not?"


Antinidia >

[Knightward]

Oh joy, total brain fart here. Anyway, here it goes.

More than anything else, Antinidia is just annoyed to no end that he doesn't have the money to burn to go with the expensive choice. He would prefer it, obviously enough, but he's not exactly rolling in the money these days.

"While the Dancing Rat is clearly the shrewd choice in this matter, I imagine that the Iron Pot and Ladle is the least likely establishment in which a dagger in our sleep will rob us of the rest of our money. The stables may be a burden, such crowding will likewise keep our beasts warm."

[The Widowed]

"A sound choice there," agreed Mayna. "Let us see about getting our lodging for the morning."

The pressed clay walls and ashwood supports of the Iron Pot and Kettle lent the inn a humble yet comforting appearance. Even in the late morning hours, lanterns flickered through the green panes of the lobby windows and lively conversations murmured from the adjoining tavern and wine cellar. The inn rooms overhead were dark and quiet, save for the occasional snore.

The young innkeeper's eyes were half-hidden beneath his wild brown mane, and he greeted Mayna openly. To his credit, he welcomed Antinidia equally well; clearly the dark reputation of the drow elves held no concern for him.

"...So I hope that you'll be staying with us tonight, what with the heavy snow sweeping in on us and whatnot," the innkeeper emphasized, looking to each of the four visitors in turn. "The stables in the rear aren't as crowded as usual, as those merchants finally decided to press their caravan on to Drakolicht yesterday morning. So the stablehand should have a place for your mules, your wagon and your giant reptile...an interesting mount there, I must say."

Mayna glanced assuringly to Antinidia before returning her focus to the innkeeper. "I'm glad to hear that. So what would the toll to our purses be?"

(Mayna - Diplomacy check (DC 10): Failure (6). No discount. :( )

"Oh, the usual rates: five Argents per person per night--which includes the use of the stables--and eight Argents if you want meals in the public house. They serve breakfast, lunch and dinner periodically through the day and night for our guests, and the cooks are hashing together a meaty chicken stew for the special today. What would you say, then? Shall we fetch your bags and ready your baths?" He finished his question with an inviting grin.

(Translation: 5 SP for each person's lodging, 8 SP if meals are included. The henchmen will pay their own fares.)


Antinidia >

[Knightward]

Well, there's no telling how many meals we'll be offered later in the journey, so we'd better not waste our rations. 8 SP per person it is!

Antinidia can certainly use a bath. After all, it's been too long since he had anyone properly serving him.

[The Widowed]

(Good points, good points. :) )
(Antinidia pays 8 Silver for food and lodging.)


"Very good," the innkeeper smiled as he poured the handfuls of silver coins into the inn's coffer and handed brass room keys to the dark elf and his attendants. "Your rooms are on the third floor towards the west end of the hall. Feel free to treat yourselves to the baths, and the great hearth in the tavern is always ablaze. Good night to you all."

Antinidia and his cohorts took a brief turn outside to see their mounts to the stables. The stablehand nodded at seeing the room keys but continued to express concern with the stable's ability to accomodate the giant skink. In the end, a more remote stall was prepared for Zebeyual, who was eerily calm as she was led past the rows of cold, shivering horses and mules. "Everything will be fine and well," Antinidia assured the stout-bodied stablehand. "She won't eat much, and she certainly won't eat your horses...."

That being done, the four travellers sauntered into the tavern, speculating on what meals were to be served at such a late hour. The wafting aroma of seasoned roast chicken and fresh barley bread put such concerns to rest.

"Oh, we have the roast chicken with pepper, of course," the barmaid prodded her memory, showing them to their seats with a toss of her ample brown hair, "and the beer-and-barley soup is delightful. We have a wide selection of ales and lagers, and the red wine is of a fair vintage...nothing too fancy, but quite good all the same. I'll return when you are ready."

Somewhere out of view, the cook shouted for his kitchen hand to turn the pork. The great hearth at the far side of the tavern did not fail its description; as wide as an ogre was tall, its scorched and sooted flagstones told of its decades of service. A crude iron cauldron dangled over the burning logs therein, its soup frothing with cream and minced carrots.

There were few customers in the tavern so early in the morning. One of them introduced herself in short order.

"You should have never left the Underdark, wicked cousin."

Antinidia looked up from his conversation with Jorgi to face the bearer of such bitter words, words spoken appropriately in the tongue of the Underdark, no less. The blonde mane of the wood elf wound itself around her neck as she transfixed him with narrow, resentful emerald eyes. Her battered and mended mithril chainmail told of many battles...perhaps battles in the Underdark, Antinidia had already guessed by her cold tone.

She continued hurling her caustic, accusing words in Antinidia's native language. "I watched my beloved perish at the hands of your priestesses. I had to fight blind in the darkness against your devilish drider outcasts. And now it seems that the drow are no longer content to remain below. Why have you come here?"

"En'Moritaura. Come back to breakfast," the chubby halfling lad at the table behind her demanded as he split his bread with the plate-clad warrior seated next to him. "We need to further discuss these mines. Come."

The wood elf lingered instead. The old man seated next to the hearth shood his head dismissively, then drew his broad hat over his eyes and took up his poker to stoke the hearth fire anew.


Antinidia >

[Knightward]

Oh this is going to be fun.

Antinidia will respond in Elven with as much caustic sarcasm as he can muster. "I have come here for roasted chicken with surface 'spices.' I came up here because I had heard such wonderful tales of how the sun sears skin and burns eyes and after waking up one night and deciding to be a suicidal masochist for no reason whatsoever I concluded that perhaps such would be good for my complexion. I came here because I tired of efficient social structure and craved weakness and stupidity, along with mediocracy befitting a peasant. I heard that up here they did not know how to properly prepare even the most basic of fungal dishes and wanted to see just how bad the food here can get. I came furthermore, because the bloated abdomen of the Spider wiggled at me in such a way that enticed greater and greater acts of stupidity and pointless degredation until suddenly I was up here! And while I am pleased to see that worship has not stripped my brethren of the wisdom to take out the smarter opponent first, I would rather the remainder of such foes destroy themselves through their own devices than ask me to finish my siblings' work. So go and discuss the mines with your friends, I have no interest in your doom, presumptuous twit."

[The Widowed]

(Yeah, let me just check Antinidia's Charisma bonus and roll a Diplomacy check for that...not! Oh, hell no! :lmao: )

With each word from Antinidia's lips, En'Moritaura seemed to slip further and further from the legendary calm and stoicism of the elves, laying fingers on the polished wooden sheen of her stowed shortbow as her otherwise enchanting eyes sharpened in uncharacteristic rage. The anger-addled retort came in her native tongue as well. "You...you...hateful...arrogant...black-hearted...gggrrrgh!"

Between the two tongues, none of the other tavern denizens had comprehended one word that had passed between the two elves. The cook inquisitively peered out from the kitchen window behind the bar. "What's the matter? Did somebody not like the food?"

Mayna leaped quickly from her seat and gestured for peace. "No...no, the food is good. They just...I think this is how elves greet each other...."

"It looks like a racial spat to me. Are they arguing about the food?"

"It's not the food! And we would like the peppered roast chicken. Four plates! Thank you."

The cook scratched his bald pate as he vanished from the window, muttering some halfhearted idea under his breath. Mayna turned her attention to Antinidia as the burly, scowling warrior rose from his seat to take back his elven comrade. "Adept, what is wrong? What are you talking about?"


Antinidia >

[Knightward]

Antinidia sat rather calmly. "Oh, it was nothing. She blamed me for the death of her mate and intended to do us harm. I pointed out the stupidity of her assumptions. Oh as for the food, while I do enjoy the variety of meats found up here, I am sorry but no surface cook knows how to properly prepare fungal dishes. Your... mushrooms are... well the less said the better. Trust me, culinary issues were an important part in describing the flaws in her assumptions."

[The Widowed]

"Culinary issues were poppy husks, cave dweller!" the wood elf snapped, at last resorting to the common tongue. "Murdering demons of the Underdark! You come to taint our fair world...unhand me, Jorgurd!"

She shook her shoulder free from the armored fighter's grasp as she turned away, fuming intensely. Slightly irked with her behavior, Jorgurd straightened his braided beard and brushed his cornsilk Hrothjurganin hair behind his shoulders again, regarding Antinidia sternly as he followed En'Moritaura back to their table.

The old man at the hearth stifled a slight cackle. "The dark elf is right about one thing: this tavern couldn't prepare a proper mushroom stew to save the Emperor's hide...."

"I heard that!" the cook shot back from the kitchen.

The old man continued to cackle as he battered a scorching timber with his poker, sending sparks scattering through the hearth. "I see no portents of any great drow elf invasion, contrary to the fair elf's words, though I too must wonder why the Underdark has given a lone son up to the surface in such unkind times."


Antinidia >

[Knightward]

With a weary sigh Antinidia stands up to calm the situation. Not with the elf, but with everyone else instead. "Frankly I must confess that I see little reason as to why I should make my personal business a public matter, especially as I see no one else leaping up to share their life stories. I very well could ask the same regarding the wood elf: staying in this city as opposed to the woods with the rest of her brethren. Would that everyone of the same kin never leave their home you would never know of mine nor I yours; but clearly it happens... without needless genocide. I can assure you however, that unlike others who wish to stain the good name of this establishment with a bloody brawl, I intend no harm. I am merely passing through to attend to my own, private, business." And with that he will sit back down, making sure his Vespertani seal is visible to anyone continuing to stare.

[The Widowed]

"...and I hope that your business does not venture anywhere near the old Lord Teufel mines," En'Moritaura sulked, glaring into her stew. "There is an unfathomable evil rising from those mines. Mubble and I go to end that evil, and I begin to wonder if the accursed drow will be found at its roots. I would not be pleased to find you nearby. Jorgurd is only with us to get his hands on Lord Teufel's treasure, of course."

Jorgurd smiled knowlingly, leaning back in his chair and raising his ale-filled tankard to his lips again. The barmaid emerged from behind Antinidia and Piorr with a steaming platter in each hand.

"There we are, then!" she beamed as she slid their plates of roast chicken and fresh vegetables before Antinidia and Piorr. "I'll return with the other two plates and your tankards of ale in a moment. Is there anything else I can bring back for you?"


Antinidia >

[Knightward]

"If you can spare any more chicken, I will gladly take it off your hands." Antinidia will then turn to Mayna, "This is what I was talking about with meats. Never before have I had anything as exotic as bird. It's delightfully unique!"

As for the Wood Elf's sulking, Antinidia's response will depend on the geographic location of these mines. With the matter of the Ainsleys there really isn't much time to go digging around in haunted, poorly constructed caverns for rumor of "treasures." A quick detour may not be so much of an issue, but this doesn't sound quick. If these mines aren't in the way of his path at all he'll just make fun of her some more. If they are, well, he'll probably just laugh at her anyway. Not in a public spectacle way but more of a "Heh, how cute," way. If he doesn't know then assume it's the latter response.

[The Widowed]

"I thought that you preferred the fine fungal dishes of the Underdark instead of our bad surface food prepared by our inefficient social structures and our weak and stupid cooks!" the wood elf shot from halfway across the room.

Her retaliatory snipe did not go unheard by the cook. "What? Is that what you elves were yammering about? Why, I oughtta close the kitchen for the night and paddle your pointy-eared backsides...."

"No!" the halfling yelped and lunged from his chair. "Don't close the kitchen! My companion was just putting words in the drow's mouth...."

"I was not!"

"...yes...yes, she truly was! We find your chicken worthy of a king's feast! She simply has no taste for human food, being an elf and whatnot...."

"Be silent, Mubble!"

"...you know those elves, so accustomed to eating pine needles and the like. Though I imagine that drow elf there grew up on a diet of snails instead...."

"He likes the chicken quite nicely," Mayna spoke in Antinidia's defense. "Now be silent, Mubble."

The halfling sniffed the air indignantly and climbed back onto his stool. The amused barmaid went back to the kitchen to see to Antinidia's request as the cook continued to fume. "Tell that elf that she can go outside and help herself to all the pine needles she wants. I'll be in here, cooking for my appreciative diners."

En'Moritaura returned to her sulking. "Continue with your cooking and regard me not, chef. I and my cohorts will be leaving and heading north towards Harhagg's Cove and the mountains within the hour. Surely Jorgurd will be back here alone by the week's end, spending that orc chieftain's gold on your finest rums. You'll not see me again."

The displeased cook continued to peer at her from the window. "Fine. Be that way. I've no need for your apologies." With those words, he took up a bowl and returned to tending the spit in the kitchen's rear.

In short order the barmaid returned, bearing a large tin plate with four more peppered chicken breasts, some sauteed leaves of cabbage and a bowl of burgundy ale for dipping the meat. "Here you are, friends. Enjoy!"

Gladdened, Jorgi took the plate, set it on the table among them and greedily snatched a chicken breast, tearing at the meat with eager teeth.


Antinidia >

[Knightward]

I'm dying over here Wids, this is great!

Antinidia will tear into the chicken, unable to hide his grin from watching En'Moritaura dig a bigger and bigger hole for herself. If ever there were a surer sign of success....

After the meal he'll apologize to the cook for the ruckus caused by his presence. Not genuinely apologize, but just go through the formality. After all, the less of a scene caused, the less likely word will spread and potentially catch wind in the Underdark. Even if it doesn't look all that sincere, it's not like people deal with drow often enough to notice whether that's how it goes with them or not.

When he does have some relatively alone time with his crew he will quietly say, "Let's hope the rest of our travel doesn't go like that... entertaining though it was."

[The Widowed]

(Hey, you started it with that wood-elf-blasting sarcasmfest.... :D )


The cook accepted Antinidia's apology, not entirely concerned with its sincerity. "Hmmm. You elves are strange sorts, I'll say that. But at least the drow elves seem to have the decency to apologize for the trouble they cause. Narwa? Give this gray fellow a tankard of port without cost, will you?"

The barmaid smiled a thick-lipped smile and obliged, bringing the tankard to Antinidia even as she filled it with frothing brown refreshment. "Breakfast will be served at first light, if you're awake by then. I hope to see ye here."

Soon the four Vesperanti left the tavern and the angry elf with her companions, winding their way up the inn's stairs to their rented quarters. Warm with port and ale in his blood, Antinidia quietly expressed his concern with the social discord just recently past them. "Let's hope the rest of our travel doesn't go like that... entertaining though it was."

"It was entertaining for a spell, watching that elf be dismissed by her own friends," Piorr chuckled beneath his beard. "Halflings certainly take strong favor to food and comfort, do they not? Very strong."

Four travellers, four keys, four small rooms. Antinidia found his quarters quaint and his bed lumpy with old down, but comfortable nonetheless. While a human would sleep, an elf would not, and Antinidia lay silently on the bed, casting glazed eyes to the wood-paneled ceiling as he slipped into a deathlike trance.

• • •

A little over four hours had passed, and the sun's rays shone over the peaks and valleys of southern Konegheim. Disregarding the snoring and wheezing of his cohorts and other inn-renters behind their closed doors, Antinidia rolled from the bed and stumbled downstairs, pleased to find that the warm baths had already been prepared for the morning.

Half an hour later, Antinidia donned his traveller garb once more and emerged from the bathroom. The aromatic enticement of honey, frying eggs and toasted muffins wafted from across the hallway and greeted him. Inside the tavern, he could hear subdued mumbling between two voices but could not discern what was being said. The innkeeper was away from his desk, if indeed the same innkeeper were on duty at this hour. No others were present in the hallway or on the stair, though plenty continued to sleep upstairs.


Antinidia >

[Knightward]

Hey, as far as Antinidia is concerned, she started it by initiating the conversation with guns blazing.

Antinidia will give a slight snarl at the exposure to light and throw his hood back up emerging from the baths. He will also attempt to listen in on the conversation, perhaps even sneak closer for a better listen. If it's relevant, all the better that he isn't noticed, if it's irrelevant then all the better he isn't barging in on whatever it is.

[The Widowed]

(Yeah, but she lacked style. All angry, no funny. :P)


(Antinidia - Move Silently check (DC 10): Success (20))

His curiosity stoked, Antinidia rose to the balls of his feet and crept over to the tavern's doorway, undetected by either end of the conversation.

"...but what if the duke suspects?" one voice continued. "His messengers are known well for their punctuality."

"Duke Eowuld? By the time he learns of his messenger's death and the coffer's disappearance, our debt will be paid, the Thieves Guild will leave us in peace and we might still be able to afford passage to the Amethyst Coast. We can wait for nightfall, go back to the well...."

"Nightfall? So we can be beset by wolves instead of orcs?"

"You worry too much," the second voice admonished in a Brustaggan brogue. "The guards at the east gate are more of a concern to me than the wolves. In daylight they may well recognize us, and we're not exactly welcome in three Imperial provinces, true? So nightfall it is."

"But how will we find our way back to that old witch's shack and her well in the dead of night?"

"How hard can it be? It was due north from Mile Marker 7 on the road to Drakolicht. We just keep walking until we see the ghost lights in the hills, then look around. We climb down the well, we grab the coffer and climb back up...abracadabra! We're rich."

"I still have a bad feeling about this...."

A third voice--a woman's voice--joined them. "Here you go, gentlemen. Quail eggs, barley cakes and wine."

"Mmmm...thank you, miss. These look delicious."


Interesting enough. If Antinidia knew anything about Duke Eowuld, the duke typically punished the murderers of the duchy's appointed servants with execution by beheading. Those two scoundrels certainly could have chosen a more private location to discuss their ignoble deeds....


Antinidia >

[Knightward]

Perfect!

Antinidia will go have his meal, and once everyone's up and moving we'll set out on this well. Out of character I don't know if ghost lights are visible if it isn't dark. Cause if so he'll wait until it starts getting dark to go. Either way the plan is to swing by there, get the loot, and get out before the brigands arrive. When his aides ask he'll let them know exactly what they're doing. After all, their mission is more important. He will however, add to his toad, "And anyone stupid enough to lay out the details of their plans in public deserves to lose their reward."

[The Widowed]

Breakfast was cooked and eaten without incident, and conversations with the tavern's transients were started and joined as Antinidia awaited his companions. Eventually, Mayna arrived for breakfast, followed by Jorgi and old Piorr. The foursome discussed the day's agenda as Adinaxle squatted at the table's edge, idly lapping at a saucer of brown ale and apparently enjoying it grandly, judging by the warm humming felt inside Antinidia's brain.

The wagon was rolled out of the stables, and the mules were expediently yoked by Piorr's trained hands. Zebeyual slinked out of the shelter and stretched her long legs, batting the nictating membranes over her irritated eyes as she weathered the offending sun. Saddling the giant cave skink and mounting lithely, Antinidia gestured eastward with a sure hand, and the party departed Kursten.

Heading east towards Drakolicht, the Vesperanti slowed their pace as they passed the sixth mile. The seventh mile marker was soon found, and their procession turned and ventured north into the grasslands. Zebeyual murmured contently, finding the soft earth more to her liking than the hard stones of the road behind.

The hills rose patiently before them to the north and the northwest. A brief camp was staked, the mounts were eased of their burdens and rations were savored for what little flavor they had. Soon, nightfall would come, and the travellers might then behold the ghost lights...wills o' the wisp, likely. Such phenomena often preceded doom, but the drow elf would not deign to follow them. His objective lay nearer.

"This treasure you heard mentioned," Jorgi inquired, "did these brigands mention what exactly was inside the coffer?"

"No. But I expect that we'll find out soon enough. The coffer certainly isn't trapped, if its contents were meant for the duke, but we may have to deal with a sturdy lock first. I wonder if the brigands may have abandoned the box for just that reason, to come back and open it when they were better prepared."


(Random encounter check (d%): 06)
(Dice, dice, dice....)


http://mypetdungeon.tritonius.com/Music.png (http://music.tritonius.com/06_-_battle.mp3)


The mules beat the ground with their hooves and snorted in protest moments before the trouble was realized. Lugging sacks laden with plunder, a trio of gnolls wove through the uneven land, emitting guffaws and howls of delight. And they were happening towards Antinidia and company.

Jorgi took up the maul, Piorr his lumber axe. And Mayna, equally wary, seized a shovel from the wagon and returned swiftly to the circle. Gnolls were not known for their compassion or their friendliness, especially when treasure was to be had. And the Vesperanti party had quite a few things that the gnolls might find worth coveting....

(As Antinidia's party did not make camp long enough to warrant lighting any campfires, the noisy gnolls are not yet aware of their presence and the party has the element of surprise. But if the gnolls venture any nearer, the mules and the chickens will alert them for sure....)


http://mypetdungeon.tritonius.com/MapAntinidia003.jpg

http://mypetdungeon.tritonius.com/Gnoll.png Gnoll


Antinidia >

[Knightward]

Hmm... I'm feeling a bit nasty right now. I think I'm going to lob Melf's Acid Arrow at the first one. Stealth is pretty much nil on account of all we're hauling, so I might as well do something painful to scare the crap out of them as well as hurt them. If we're lucky they'll freak out. If we're not so lucky they'll freak out after we butcher them.

[The Widowed]

Awaiting their leader's signal to attack, Jorgi, Piorr and Mayna held their makeshift weapons at the ready as Antinidia reached into his belt pouches and wove his magicks. Rhubarb powder and ashes from a reptilian stomach burst into the breeze as the elf incanted in a subdued tongue and thrust his fingers towards the nearest foe.

(Antinidia - Ranged touch attack on Gnoll 1 (Touch AC 10): Hit (15))
(The gnoll takes 6 points of acid damage. The acid will continue to burn the gnoll for 1 more round.)

"GYAAAAGGRRRRHhhh!" screamed the gnoll as the arrow crashed into his ramshackle breastplate and splashed across him in corrosive gouts, eating deep pits into armor, skin and muscle. The sack of coins fell from his shoulder, spilling its gold for all to see. And his alarmed comrades readied their battle axes for the counterattack.

"Killlllll!!!" bellowed the wounded gnoll, swinging his axe wildly above him as the acid coursed down his body, injuring him further.


Antinidia (Init 23) > Casting Magic Missile, one missile per gnoll
Jorgi (Init 19) > Charging Gnoll 1
Piorr (Init 16) > Charging Gnoll 1
Mayna (Init 14) > Charging Gnoll 1
Gnoll 1 (Init 4) > Charging Antinidia
Gnolls 2 & 3 (Init 4) > Charging Mayna


(Ooh. Lucky break, huh? :) )

[Knightward]

Very lucky. I'm gonna continue softening them up while they work their way over here. Magic Missile on all of them!

EDIT: And by all of them, I mean one missile on each of them.

[The Widowed]

(Oops. Disregard the pre-edit. As a Level 5 Necromancer, Antinidia gets three missiles from the Magic Missile spell. Now to pick their targets. Hmmm...to finish off the wounded gnoll with a missile or two, or to direct all the missiles at the fresh gnolls and hope that the acid arrow finishes the first gnoll off. Decisions, decisions....)

[The Widowed]

Draconic words spilled from the drow elf's tongue as he crossed his hands before him and thrust his fingers forth, pointing to each gnoll one after the other. Dark bullets of pure pulsing energy screeched through the cold expanse and struck their advancing prey without error.

(Gnoll 1 takes 3 Damage from Magic Missile and 8 more Damage from Melf's Acid Arrow. Gnoll 1 is now dying.)
(The missiles also deal 4 Damage to Gnoll 2 and 3 Damage to Gnoll 3.)

Howling for blood as he ran limping at Antinidia, the gnoll's wounded howl reached a screaming crescendo once the small bullet of concentrated force struck home. The reeking steam of corroding metal and flesh continued to rise from the beastman until he pitched forward and collapsed, and the necromancer noted with ghoulish satisfaction that the gnoll's breathless wheezing was burbling through a deepening acid-eaten hole in his breast as surely as that shallow breath whispered through mouth and nose alike. The gnoll would not be much longer for the world.

"Well struck, Master!" the familiar toad on Antinidia's shoulder encouraged. "Now for the others!"

Flicking her blue tongue in the snow-peppered breeze, Zebeyual watched with trained calm as two more missiles screeched through the air, ignoring crude steel armor and striking the flesh beneath. Rivulets of bursting humors fell free as the gnolls gasped and recoiled briefly in pain. The missiles had dealt their wounds yet enraged the beastmen further; there would be no quarter, no backing down from this battle.

"Grrrarrrgh!!! Kill the dark elf before he kills us both!"

Their voiced intent came to an expectant resistance as Antinidia's cohorts met the charge of the surviving marauders halfway. The thin layer of snow was crushed and hurled aside beneath storming boots and sandals. Soon the snow would assume a more scarlet hue once the blood began to rain.

(Jorgi - Maul attack on Gnoll 2 (AC 17): Hit (19))
(Gnoll 2 takes 9 Damage. Gnoll 2 is now dying.)
(Piorr - Axe attack on Gnoll 3 (AC 17): Missed (14))
(Mayna - Shovel attack on Gnoll 3 (AC 17): Hit (22))
(Gnoll 3 takes 7 Damage.)

No sooner had the gnolls closed with the Vesperanti laborers than one gnoll ducked into Jorgi's feinted strike; the shattering of the beastly raider's jaw resounded loudly amid the pattering shower of broken teeth as the maul's iron head rammed the underside of the gnoll's skull with terrible force. Though it too contributed to the base foe's defeat, the magic missile's wound suddenly seemed trivial as the hammer's impact sent the gnoll flopping headfirst to the barren earth behind him.

Piorr was not as fortunate. His axe rose and fell and rose again, but the gnoll's shield held fast, and its bearer cackled derisively beneath it. Yet so intent was the gnoll on staving off the dancing bit of Piorr's axe that he did not regard the spade of a shovel lunging at him....

The tapering tip of Mayna's shovel plunged into the gnoll's throat; though dulled with years of its intended use, the shovel's blade crumpled the cartilage rings of her enemy's windpipe quite well. Shaking away the haze of shock and struggling for the simple luxury of breath, the gnoll reared back with his war axe and swung at his wounder.

(Gnoll 3 - Battle axe attack on Mayna (AC 11): Missed (10))
(...missed! Rolled a natural 7. These dice hate gnolls, apparently. Good thing for Antinidia and friends, huh?)

Deft Mayna saw the stroke of the axe coming and withdrew her shovel to avert it. Harmlessly the axe's bit skipped along the tool's shaft as the otherwise defenseless woman turned the savage's blow aside.

Wounded near death and standing against three fresh commoners, the surviving gnoll sunk to the threshold of desperation. Engaged as he was, he did not see the drow elf's hands gesturing at him from the corner of his eye....

Adinaxle's small, cruel voice chortled into the heart of Antinidia's mind. "Yes! Finish him, Master! Finish him!"


http://mypetdungeon.tritonius.com/MapAntinidia004.jpg


Antinidia (Init 23) >
Jorgi (Init 19) > Attacking Gnoll 3
Piorr (Init 16) > Attacking Gnoll 3
Mayna (Init 14) > Attacking Gnoll 3
Gnoll 3 (Init 4) > Attacking Jorgi. Fleeing at this point would be suicide.

[Knightward]

Let's just say I have another magic missile (largely as I'm heading to work soon and don't have time to determine all the spells I planned for the day, suffice to say I came up with combat ones on account of the brigands). Guess where all 3 missiles are going?

[The Widowed]

(Gnoll 3 takes a total of 12 Damage from the three magic missiles.)
(Gnoll 3 dies.)

Jorgi raised his hammer to deliver the fatal blow. But his was a wasted effort.

Mayna and Piorr lurched with fright as three more dark missiles screamed through the scant inches between them. The missiles punched through the gnoll's weathered hide and blasted his breast and neck in a perfectly equilateral pattern. Stunned unto death, the gnoll could only issue a stifled croak when wails and screams failed him. Toppling from his heels, he thundered squarely onto his back, spilling coins and releasing his axe as eternal torpor gripped him.


(Antinidia and his henchmen have defeated the gnoll raiders. Experience will be awarded later.)


Steadying himself on the butt of his hammer, Jorgi heaved a deep sigh of relief. "Well fought, Adept Antinidia. Master Vorokai did our hearts justice to send us under your apprenticeship, hmmm?"

"It will take a while to bury the three of them," Piorr surmised, "but it is only proper respect to inter the dead, true?"

"Them? They are unfit for a proper burial, and our mission demands timeliness. We must leave the gnolls here to rot."

"But the scavengers and predators who find them may follow us...."

Mayna silenced the two with separating prods of her hands. "I believe the matter is one for our leader to decide. He is an experienced mortician and a necromancer, after all."


Antinidia >

[Knightward]

In all honesty Antinidia really doesn't care about this situation. Leave the gnolls to rot or have his aides bury them... it doesn't make a difference. Except for the fact that he wants to get to the well before the criminals and steal their prize. However, he does need able bodies with him in the long run, so he will attempt to diffuse the situation in a way that will keep him on their good side.

"Unfortunate though it is, I'm afraid we have little chance to bury these beasts. It would be a far greater honor for them then they would do for us, but sadly we have little time. We must reach this well before the brigands, and if we take the time for a proper burial we may need to dig our own as well as they come upon us. If you feel it is important enough, Piorr, we could always load their remains onto our wagon and bury them once our task is accomplished and we are a safe distance away. Unpleasant though it would be, we are Vespertani and deal with many unpleasantries, do we not?"

[The Widowed]

"This is true," Piorr consigned, hefting a gnoll by the shoulders and dragging the corpse towards the wagon. Jorgi joined him in dragging the slain gnolls and loading them into the wagon's bed as Mayna divested the bodies of their belongings.


(Among them, the gnolls had 206 Gold in two sacks, three battle axes, 3 crude suits of scale mail, 3 battered large wooden shields, 3 goatskin loincloths, a pouch full of teeth (human, elven or similar), a headband woven from brown beads, a simple wooden ring, a tinderbox, three corked bottles of green glass labeled "Old Miser's Creek Brew, XXX" and filled with a brownish liquid (possibly rum or liquor) and a foot-tall ivory statuette of a standing dragon with jaws closed and wings folded to its sides.)


"That's done," Piorr said, dusting his hands together. "North to the well, then?"


• • •


The hills soon shone with a small number of orbs of luminescent vapor, dancing around the dusk-lit hills. Antinidia felt far more at ease in the low light, and soon he beheld a plume of gray, thick smoke rising from the lowlands beyond the hill. The well was not yet to be seen.

"The smoke...what could it be?" Mayna inquired. "Are we already too late?"


Antinidia >

[Knightward]

"Let us pray that we are not..." Antinidia will say with a sneer.He may try to hide it some, but he's annoyed because there's now a new complication with what was originally a relatively simple task. After all, what good is snobbery without an instant gratification mindset?

"Quickly then, we shall investigate this and press on to the well!"

[The Widowed]

(Also, Anti has the authority to divide the loot however he sees fit. Including the loincloths. ;) )


As things turned out, the well was found near the source of the smoke: a quaint wooden cottage, with oaken shingles and a cream plaster laid between the support timbers. The appearance of the small cottage was humble yet charming.

Firelight flickered inside the home, and a shadow paced before the half-opaque windows. But the wagons ground and creaked as they traversed the expanse of snow-littered rock, and the dweller soon swung open the front door and capered merrily outside to greet them.

"Good evening, friends!" the comely blonde maiden called with a wave of her fair and slender hand, beckoning the Vesperanti to approach. "I was not expecting company, but you are most welcome here. What brings you to the Monnover Lowlands this eve?"


http://mypetdungeon.tritonius.com/Music.png (http://music.tritonius.com/409-expansion-1-winter-day.mp3)

http://mypetdungeon.tritonius.com/MapAntinidia005.jpg


Antinidia >

[Knightward]

Oh yeah, spells for the day!

Level 0: Detect Magic, Ghost Sound, Daze, Mage Hand
Level 1: Mage Armor, Magic Missile (used), Magic Missile (used), Spider Climb, Charm Person
Level 2: Mel'f Acid Arrow (used), Mirror Image, Melf's Acid Arrow
Level 3: Vampiric Touch, Summon Monster III

Necro bonus spells: Disrupt Undead (level 0), Chill Touch (level 1), Scare (level 2), Vampiric Touch (level 3)

So anyway, the thieves mentioned something about an old witch, but this woman looks to be young. Seems suspicious. So if it can be done covertly, Antinidia will cast Detect Magic. After all, better to be on guard and wrong than off guard and in a trap. If it can't be done without obviously drawing attention Antinida will call back "Pleasant darkness to you! My companions and I were heading East when we were come upon by brigands. May we take some rest here for the moment?"

[The Widowed]

(A fine selection of spells, sir. :) )


(Antinidia - Hide check (DC 5): Success (21))
(Antinidia casts Detect Magic.)

(Opposed Spot check: 6)
(Opposed Hide check: 4)


With an almost painful subtlety, Antinidia drew back on the skink's bridle and slowed well to the rear of the procession, whispering an incantation and prestidigitating behind Zebeyual's broad head as Mayna engaged their greeter in conversation.

"Well met, madam. We seem to be lost and are trying to find the town of Drakolicht. Perhaps you could help us."

To Antinidia's alarm, the entire cottage was thick with magic! A great aura swam across every wall and every shingle, ghostly glows drifted through the air beyond the windows...even the blonde maiden herself had a bright and potent dweomer to her very being.

The blonde maiden who then gestured to a burial cairn and a tree near to the west.

"I understand. And are those two men with you?"

Antinidia gazed with consternation. The two brigands from the tavern, never too far behind the Vesperanti, had finally arrived.

Sheepishly emerging from behind the stones, the human rogue replied with false bluster as his gnome companion glanced about timidly, looking for a way to escape. "Er...aye! We were...scouting ahead for them, making certain that the passage was clear! Our apologies if we frightened you. And we are a mite weary, come to that...."

Adinaxle's small voice snorted with disbelief within the drow elf's mind. "What's this? Can you believe the gall of these two imbeciles, Master? Why, I never...."

Sending the brigands away might have simply given them the means to escape and return for the coffer while Antinidia and his cohorts were engaged with the ensorcelled maiden. Attacking them could get very messy, especially if their hostess took umbrage to the assault on her land. And permitting the brigands to join them could well mean two likely betrayers to keep eyes on as the lot of them strode towards an enchanted lair...a potential trap.

This turn of events certainly stood to complicate matters.


http://mypetdungeon.tritonius.com/MapAntinidia006.jpg


Antinidia >

[Knightward]

Antinidia, getting as close to the wagon as he can, will whisper, "Be on your guard, there is magic everywhere here, even the hostess herself bears such energy. For now, we will keep our enemies close. It is an old Underdark trick to prevent the dagger in your back, holding them too close to unsheathe it." Calling out to everyone else he says "Please, brave scouts, hurry on in and warm up! Without the warmth of the wagon you must be freezing in this cold! Fear not, Jorgi and I will attend to the beasts!"

"And to the treasures within the well when you fools aren't looking," he thought to himself.

[The Widowed]

"By all means, come in! I offer refuge from the cold in exchange for your travelling tales, which I'm certain are plentiful..." the maiden lilted. Piorr seemed unnerved with Antinidia's half-whispered revelation yet had little choice but to trust his leader's methods and experiences.

As if he recognized the drow elf from the tavern, the halfling looked up to Antinidia with wry scrutiny in his eyes, pondering the apparent coincidence of this meeting. But to the bandit's credit, he sought to neither exchange introductions with the Vesperanti nor reveal any other signs of unfamiliarity. Following his taller accomplice and the dark elf inside, he simply played along.


• • •


Hasty introductions and civilities were indeed exchanged between the hostess and her six guests once all were inside and the moment had become wholly appropriate. The warm air in the cottage was suffused with the heavy scent of lavender, and the low light cast from candle flames danced from sticks in every window and sconces leaning from every wall. Suspended from the ceiling beams which crossed not high overhead was a large green scale with iridescent rays, easily the size of a buckler; Antinidia immediately identified the scale as that from the hide of a green dragon--possibly a dragon of mature age, though not likely older than that--and silently wondered if any of his companions--true companions or not--had recognized the same. The dark elf's spell had not yet lapsed, and a particularly potent dweomer over the doorway from the bedrooms invited Antinidia's gaze: a magic wand reclined on two mounting hooks there, its length fashioned from sprigs of willow root twisted around a copper core and topped with a spindle of jet. What magicks the wand would cast--and why the wand was displayed so openly--were questions for which Antinidia had no immediate answers. Even the dweomer of the twig broom leaning aside the doorway paled in contrast, suggesting that the wand had some degree of desirable power. But then, curses and jinxes emitted auras as well; the wand could just as easily be junk steeped in sorceries, he also considered.

Naturally, creature comforts had been readily offered for the travellers. Two large roasted pheasants lay carved on a platter atop the hearth's wide mantle, and cups of pipegrass tea had been passed around. Their hostess Linimeira seemed most comfortable reclining on her velvet cushion as she sipped her tea gladly, but the human brigand Rummick seemed very ill at ease. His eyes darted wildly about as he held his teacup with trembling hands, searching urgently for something familiar yet finding none. His wary emotional state did not go unnoticed.

"Is something wrong?" the lady of the house inquired with heartfelt concern as she lowered her own teacup from her lips. "Do you not like the tea?"

The brigand reacted with a start. "Uh...no! No. I mean yes! I like the tea. It's...it's good, thank you. It tastes a bit minty, even! Uhhh...."

The halfling spoke up on his accomplice's behalf, careful not to tip his hand. "I think Rummick's concern is that...that there used to be an old witch in these hills, right? A witch or a hag or somesuch...black, foul, ugly old thing...."

"Have you ever seen her personally? You sound as if you have."


(Scuffs - Opposed Bluff check: 23)
(Linimeira - Opposed Sense Motive check: 5)


"Oh...no, of course not!" the halfling replied with an assuring grin, laughing falsely to Antinidia and the other Vesperanti as if old friends. "Why, all six of us were in the Black Elk tavern in Grundenstag, just talking for hours and hours about the legends in these hills and elsewhere in the Empire, having some good laughs...weren't we?"

"Da, that we were," Mayna confirmed the lie, not skipping a beat.

Encouraged, the halfling resumed. "So that was when Rummick here mentioned the Witch of Dansel Hills, and our elven friend there pointed out that we would be travelling through Dansel Hills on our way to Drakolicht...." The halfling paused to suppress a slight giggle. "Oh, you know these dark elves, always trying to scare people...."

"Mmmm, I suppose," their hostess replied. "But the Duke's knights put that old witch to flight almost four years ago, and she hasn't been seen since. Her old shack is just north across the hills, and I can lead you there if you wish to see it."

From across the sofa, Rummick fixed Scuffs with pronounced disbelief in his anxious eyes. Just then, the window glass began to creak as a sudden gale rose from the hills, casting a battering blast of snow across the pane. Tucked safely inside his master's pocket, Adinaxle began to idly wonder if the lean-to and the woolen blankets would be enough to keep Zebeyual and the mules warm enough. The journey would become so very tedious if his necromancer were forced to walk to Drakolicht....

"Oh, dear," Linimeira started, "I hope that isn't a blizzard coming on! I suppose I might have to show you to the witch's shack in the morning, then. Curse these long winters."

Antinidia's keen elven ears heard the tiny hammering of icy drops against the roof well before the ice made its way down to the windows. The voices in the room seemed to drone and fade for a moment before he realized that his hostess was addressing him.

"...are you? Oh. Have you tried the pheasant yet?" she asked him, slipping a meaty fowl morsel between her lips. "I think I used too much lemon, but I hope it tastes passable. What do you think of it?"


http://mypetdungeon.tritonius.com/MapAntinidia007.jpg


Antinidia >

[Knightward]

Drat, I was hoping earlier to get the chance to go spelunking in the well!

"Hm? Oh yes, my apologies!" Antinidia will tear off a piece of pheasant and eat it. "It is quite good, excessive lemon or not. Truth be told it is difficult to tell, poultry being such an exotic dish as it is... My apologies, I was drifting off earlier. You see, with such a freezing storm as this I fear for Zebeyual, my pet. I'm afraid she and I aren't accustom to winters like this. And while your hearth has done a remarkable job keeping us warm, I fear what would happen if her shelter outside is not be enough. By your leave, may I go to check on her?"

'And then perhaps to check on the well afterward,' Antinidia hoped.

[The Widowed]

Though Zebeyual had weathered worse chills in the dampest reaches of the Underdark, perhaps his hostess was not aware of reptilian resilience and would permit the excuse. If not, there were always the mules....

The fair woman looked fearfully to the nearest window, gauging the sleetstorm rising outside. "Very well," she sighed, "but please mind your own health while you're out there! Hurry back inside as soon as you can."

A swift sprint to the lean-to at the far side of the house confirmed that Zebeyual and the mules remained well enough out of the wind and the sleet, curled or huddling on the mounds of straw and sod which served the animals as crude beds. His concern satisfied, Antinidia circled around the rear of the house. The hard, cold droplets of sleet continued to pelt his leggings and melt into the folds of his coat as the winds lashed his body...winds heavy with magic's energy, he observed with consternation. Something was most unnatural about the storm which now tore at the warmth of his own body as he trudged his way to the well. He could certainly not remain outside indefinitely.


(Antinidia - Constitution check (DC 8): Success (18))
(Antinidia takes no damage from the biting cold...yet.)


Fending off the chills for the moment, he peered into the depths of the well. Thirty feet down in the darkness, his darkvision permitted him to behold the hardening layer of ice which crept across the well water. Somewhere in that freezing depth beneath the ice he could barely perceive the glint of brass...one such glint for each corner of a submerged cuboid box.


Antinidia >

[Knightward]

Damn, if only I had fire spells! Well, at least I know the storm has the same source as everything else here: probably that woman playing dumb. Actually, if it looks like there'd be a rat-ass chance in Hell of Melf's Acid Arrow getting through enough of the ice.... but I doubt it. Particularly with where water lies on the pH scale. So since that's a no-go Antinidia will go back inside and say "She is well, it is a relief."

[The Widowed]

His every step seemed more and more heavy as he plodded back to the house. Was his tired state the onset of hypothermia? Surely it was not the hour, scarcely the edge of night as it was. Perhaps the toil of trudging through such snow and foul weather was sufficient to sap his vigor and lead him to crave little more than a warm place to sleep.

The heat which washed over Antinidia as he pulled open the door seemed twice as comforting as before, welcoming him back in from the sleet-riddled miasma outside. He turned with a start as a deep snore erupted from his left; the scoundrel Rummick had chosen that spot to prop back his chair and slumber off his repast. Strong Jorgi had moved to a cushion nearer to the fireplace before closing his eyes and slipping into torpor, and old Piorr, lounging in a broad wicker chair at the aft of the den, was no more wakeful. Her head bowed drowsily, Linimeira busied herself with arranging two pillows beneath Piorr's bulk and greatening his comfort, the better for a restful repose.


(Secret checks (DC ??): ??)


"She is well," the drow elf confirmed. "It is a relief."

"How good to hear," Linimeira beamed through groggy eyes, satisfied that Piorr would not sleep with any kinks or cricks in his aging joints. "This storm could be the death of anyone happening outside. I should see myself to bed soon. There are two downy beds in the guest rooms, if anyone would prefer one. I'll be preparing breakfast in the morn if any of you are up and about."

Scuffs finished his tea before stifling a yawn as he looked about the room. "Aye, it's been a long enough day," he mused, glancing to Antinidia, then Mayna, and then to his hostess. "Heh...it seems Rummick has his eyes on the door, eh? If it's all the same, I'll sleep on the other side of the door. We'll keep watch for anyone coming in, surely enough."

...or keep watch for a chance to sneak outside and snatch the coffer, Antinidia inwardly conferred with his toad. But Adinaxle had no reply save a psychic snore, for he too had already fallen fast asleep, curled neatly in his master's cozy pocket.


http://mypetdungeon.tritonius.com/MapAntinidia008.jpg


Antinidia >

[Knightward]

OOC I am so very happy about having spell resistance, but that's just my suspicion. Antinidia will make himself a tea or some other consumable that helps one stay awake. If asked, his justification is that being elven, he needs less rest and as they were attacked by brigands before it would be wise to have someone up should any other ill-sorts seek refuge from the storm. And with that he'll wait until Linimeira goes to bed.

[The Widowed]

(Shhh, quit reading off my script! :p )


"Oh, I understand completely," Linimeira concurred. "These hills are teeming with brigands, even in the dead of winter! I fear that Konegheim's attempts to keep the wolves and other beasts under control has worked too well...."

For almost an hour the two imbibed tea and chatted among the slumbering guests. But then his lucidity began to slip away without warning. He could barely hear his hostess inquiring about his health as he fell back into the cushions, his teacup tumbling across wooden floorboards as he reclined.


• • •


Antinidia appeared to be asleep, albeit with open eyes. Yet even beneath the powerful magicks he could not truly sleep. Not by virtue of his elven heritage. Not from the drow's innate resistance to the most potent of spells.

He was aware of his surroundings yet not entirely comprehending in his mind-drained state. And in his inert yet sleepless state he felt iron hands lift him from the floor, iron hands which could belong to no willowy maiden. Iron hands bearing him somewhere, setting him down somewhere. But there he did not stay.

The door to the bedroom closed, and Antinidia easily rose from the ruse of slumber as the mind-numbing powers left him and followed the presence of their wielder. Adinaxle had been found and placed on the bed's pillow, and the toad continued to hibernate with eyes closed and chest rising and falling with slow breaths.

Magic continued to swirl with the ice and the wind outside his window. Clearly an enchantment was to blame, and there was an undeniable likelihood that Antinidia and his cohorts were in great danger. The time had come for the necromancer to finish this game of traps and enchantments.


http://mypetdungeon.tritonius.com/MapAntinidia009.jpg


Antinidia >

[Knightward]

Indeed the jig is up. Antinidia will wake up Adinaxle (and certainly not gently) and cast mage armor. Then he'll see about sneaking out.

[The Widowed]

The dark elf's spidery fingers clamped around the toad's ribs just beneath the forelegs, and there he shook Adinaxle vigorously until the latter woke from the enchantment.

"...wuhwuhwuhwuhstop that!" the toad demanded. "Oh...I mean, stop that please...Master. I was asleep? What did I miss?"

"There will be time to explain later," his master retorted as he set the toad on his shoulder and swiftly slid through the door into the hallway. The door to the other guest room was near where he stood, and stone stairs spiraled upward into darkness just south of him. No sounds eminated from either place, only the soft sounds of fire and snores from the north, from the narrow passage leading back to the den.


http://mypetdungeon.tritonius.com/MapAntinidia010.jpg


Antinidia >

[Knightward]

Why face danger alone when you can have meatshields? Antinidia is gonna see about this first room with the snoring and wake up whoever it is.

Oh and Wids, you did note that Antinidia has cast Mage Armor, right?

[The Widowed]

(I forget to describe that, didn't I? Well, it's not too late....)


Antinidia drew the spindled leather patch and held it to his breast as he pronounced the incantation for a spell of arcane shielding. A slight rippling of the air began to pass within an inch of his skin.

Satisfied, he stowed the treated leather as he nudged open the door. The room had been perceived silent from the hall, and a brief check of the dark room confirmed that no one lay within. Perhaps the other guests had not been moved from where they slept yet.

(There was no snoring from the other bedroom, remember? Not from upstairs, either. :P )


http://mypetdungeon.tritonius.com/MapAntinidia011.jpg


Antinidia >

[Knightward]

Doh, misread it. Ok then, Antinidia will steathily go upstairs.

[The Widowed]

A sudden chill took the air as Antinidia made his way upstairs. Somewhere below, sibilant voices were heard among the snoring. Perhaps he would do well to first find better means of combating the threat, and perhaps those means lay upstairs.

He crept ponderously into the bedchamber above. Though the room was quaintly furnished with rustic trappings, there lay a far more sinister malaise about it. Floorboards crossed beneath a broad span of carpet, its odor gone musty with age. Various animal skulls had been affixed to the rafters with nails and cords, and a cover crudely stitched from several bearskins and wolf pelts lay tightly drawn across the large bed, its lumpy mattress reeking of damp thatchgrass. Against the headboard of cut logs leaned a heavy mace with a thick, finned head and a shaft of either silvered iron or mithril, one easily the length of a man's leg; that a slight maid like Linimeira would even consider wielding such a weapon lent further testimony to the dark elf's suspicions that she was not as she appeared.

The other side of the room featured grim sorcerous trappings; surely it was Linimeira's book of spells which lay open on the crude table fashioned from elderwood and black basalt, and the recesses of the stone had been caked with months, even years of old blood. Two black candles stood at attention on the table of sorcery, their dim flames burning steadily in the stagnant air.

The forboding table rose between two other noteworthy features of the room. To one side, a maplewood chest with bolted brass trim; the iron lock which secured its contents would not yield easily. To the other side, a small yet perfect black pearl lay seated in a recess flawlessly contoured from the face of the simple limestone pedestal beneath.

The level under the bedchamber grew silent, the snores more subdued. Quite likely, something new had gone amiss.


http://mypetdungeon.tritonius.com/MapAntinidia012.jpg


Antinidia >

[Knightward]

Oh you know I'm stealing that spellbook! I'm sure that black pearl would also be quite nice, but my PC senses are tingling.

So having stolen the book, Antinidia will creep back downstairs. If it sounds like something's approaching he'll go hide... um.... somewhere.

[The Widowed]

(Your "PC sense is tingling"? :lol: Really, it's just a pearl.)


Silently returning downstairs with a gait which was more slithering than walking, Antinidia found that events had transpired in the den while he was upstairs poking through his hostess' belongings.

Linimeira kneeled aside the slumbering Rummick, cradling his head in the crook of her arm and parting his eyelids with her delicate fingers. Low in the air before Rummick hovered the white, wispy form of a haggard woman's ghost. Antinidia, no stranger to ghosts, suspected the phantasmal being's malevolence even before she proved it.

Lowering herself almost nose to nose with the brigand, the ghost stared into his unwaking gaze. As she stared, Rummick's breath began to falter. Hair faded to a soft, ghostly gray. Liver spots spread across limp, withering skin. Spectral shreds and flickers of soul-ether passed from Rummick's body and vanished into the ghost's translucence. And only halfway through the horrid draining did Rummick wake with a start, his breath racing and a failing gasp dying on his lips.

"...hhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh..."

He realized what he beheld. He realized what was happening to him. But he was powerless to stop it. Linimeira's unseemly powerful hands and arms clamped down on his head, locking his body in place. And as she betrayed her true strength, so too did Linimeira's true form emerge. Creamy skin shifted hue into a dark cobalt-gray. Gorgeous and silky blonde tendrils turned matted, foul and blacker than night, and a crooked pair of small brown horns curled outward from among them. Clean and neatly trimmed nails grew longer and sharper than daggers, with steely red talons for her fingers and cracked black talons for her toes. And the illusion of her leisurely green day gown fell away to reveal the wretched and ichor-stained brown rags beneath.

Antinidia's hostess was in truth never a fair maiden but rather a young night hag disguised in a sorcerous mirage. His spellwrought perceptions of magery about her form had not been wrong. The brigands had not lied when they spoke of a hag in these hills, and they had never been able to disguise their fear of the cottage. But fearful of having their ambitions for the coffer found out, they had entered the lair of their feared destroyer willingly. And their discretion stood to cost them their lives.

Even the den and the cottage proper revealed their veiled truths in that moment. The well-planed and polished planks in the walls became pitted, ridden with termite tunnels and cloaked in a century of dusty cobwebs. The stout iron poker aside the fireplace lost its sheen and submitted to rust. The dragon scale suspended from the rafters was beheld in the light of truth as a ghoulish banner woven from crude yarn and yellowing humanoid rib bones. The broomstick which leaned against the doorway where Antinidia lingered shifted in appearance from a finely shaved shaft of maple to a rickety branch torn directly from a dead tree, and the twigs and straws crumbled and fell away in a damp, moldy mess as the cord binding the broom's head together revealed how it had rotted away in decades past. Most telling, the ornamental sconces were brass no more, revealing the true materials for their craftsmanship: bleached skulls harvested from a score of humans and near-humans.

Rummick rolled from his chair, his skin pallid and cold, his sightless eyes mortified with the horror of his death. And still the ghost hungered for more as she rose from Rummick's spent mortal shell.

"Yes, my beloved, come," Linimeira softly cooed as she rose to stand two heads taller than before and crossed past the door, her voice oddly seductive even through a hag's nasal snarl. "Here are more for our feast. Mine are their flesh, yours are their souls. Ah, how these two plundering fools thought to rob my dear home two days ago...but now they shall both fill our bellies, as shall these hapless laborers. But how brightly I had sensed the dark wizard who followed with them...ah, he shall be the most delectable of them all."

Linimeira the hag then knelt beside the small, sleeping figure of Scuffs, cradling his head in the crook of her arm and pulling open his eyelids with her merciless talons as the ghost loomed over him.

"Come. Partake."


http://mypetdungeon.tritonius.com/MapAntinidia013.jpg


Antinidia >

[Knightward]

I have a plan... hopefully it'll work. Hooray sleeplessness!

Antinidia will fire Melf's Acid Arrow at the hag and call out, "A delectable meal? In this pitiful web you've attempted to weave? Do you know WHAT I am? Do you know WHERE I'm from?"

Once he has her attention he'll run back upstairs.

[The Widowed]

(Antinidia casts Melf's Acid Arrow)
(Antinidia - Touch attack on Linimeira (Flatfooted Touch AC 10): Miss (8))
(Antinidia - Touch attack on manifested Ghost (Flatfooted Touch AC 12): Hit (20))


The small dart's steel felt surprisingly warm in Antinidia's hand as he stepped out from behind the corner, drew the dart from his tunic and leveled it at the night hag's back. But his aim was not precise enough for his wishes; as he finished the incantation for his spell, the acid arrow leaped from the dart's tip and sped through the air, missing the hag's shoulder by a bare inch. But beyond that shoulder lingered the ghost, still gazing into the helpless halfling's eyes as the arrow struck. The acid splashed and bore into the door beyond, dispelling the ghost's form and evoking a pained, powerful scream as the dark soul retreated beyond the shroud.

"EEEEEAAAAAAAHHHHHHhhh...."

"No! NO!" Linimeira wailed, releasing Scuffs' head and springing to her feet to face the dark elf. "You!"

"So," Antinidia mocked, "a delectable meal? In this pitiful web you've attempted to weave? Do you know WHAT I am? Do you know WHERE I'm from?"

The hag raised a vengeful fist to her attacker. "You harmed her...ruined our evening together! You dare to attack us? I may know not what you are or whence you come, but I know where you are going! Your blood will boil in my cauldron for this affront, elven cur! And you will be but bones!"

"Wuhuhuh oh oh oh ow! Be careful, Master! I'm not made of iron!" Adinaxle cursed, bouncing around under Antinidia's collar as the necromancer raced swiftly to the stairs and up into the hag's bedchamber. The hag would be on him in moments. There would be little time for decision and less for preparation.


http://mypetdungeon.tritonius.com/MapAntinidia014.jpg


Antinidia >

[Knightward]

Jeebus! A flatfooted touch AC of 18!?! This is gonna be rough.

So now that he's up here Antinidia figures he might as well nab the pearl (good thing he already has her book). Once she's up here Antinida will use his spell-like ability of Darkness to blind her (even if she has darkvision!) while, as the caster, he is immune (unless I'm making a majorly wrong assumption here). Once that's done he'll sneak back downstairs and wake everyone up.

EDIT: Doh! Misread the AC. Or was that a quick edit on your part?

[The Widowed]

(Yeah, it was a quick edit. The Edit clickie and I are good friends. :D )


(Antinidia - Reflex Save (DC 13): Success (13))


With deft fingers did Antinidia snatch the black pearl from his recess with a sweep of his hand. In that moment his ears caught the clicking of the two opposed pins which pressed in on the pearl's sides moments before as they finally came together, and he instinctively dropped to all fours a split-second before a fan of flame erupted from a narrow concealed duct running just beneath the pedestal's upper face and blasted halfway across the room. "Waaahhhhh!" Adinaxle screamed, cringing beneath the fire as it passed over his and his master's heads.


(Experience for encountering the flame jet trap will come later.)


His nose wrinkled at the strong odor of burnt sulfur, its acrid yellow smoke spilling outward from somewhere inside the pedestal. Below, the hag's warted feet fell heavily on the steps as she bolted upstairs, salivating in expectation of her catch to be.


(...and after reading the description for Darkness one more time, I see nothing which says that the caster is immune to his own spell...typical for most Area of Effect spells. So Antinidia would be blinded as well as the hag. After that, it would be a matter of feeling his way back downstairs and hoping that the hag didn't stumble over him. Did you still want to do this?)


Antinidia >

[Knightward]

Damn! Oh well. I got a better idea then. Mirror Image! And then I'll show her what true friends are like when I pull out a Fiendish Leopard with Summon Monster III!

[The Widowed]

(Antinidia casts Mirror Image. 5 mirror images are created.)
(Linimeira casts Ray of Enfeeblement. (Mirror Image check: 3) A mirror image is targeted.)
(Linimeira - Touch attack on mirror image (Touch AC 12): Hit (15))
(One of Antinidia's mirror images is destroyed. 4 images remain.)


"Garrrrrrhhh!" the hag screamed as she crested the stairs just in time to see her would-be meal diverge into six dark elves. Only one Antinidia was real, but which?

A black entropic ray leaped from her thrusting palm and struck Antinidia in the belly...a false Antinidia, nothing more than an illusion which promptly shattered into a thousand phantasmal shards as the black ray of enfeeblement connected.

Linimeira grew even more furious. "Now you shall die, wizard! I'll whack your illusions to dust until I find you!" With that threat she cantered to the bed and snatched the heavy mace leaning at the headboard. She advanced, raising the mace wrathfully over her head as the dark elf quickly wove another spell.

"Do you see this mace?" she leered with peculiar glee. "This once belonged to a mighty priest who thought he could best me! He still screamed for his beloved Saint Cuthbert even as I tore his windpipe free from his neck! Better than you have perished here, wizard! Better than you have fallen to my hand!"

"They did not have friends like this," Antinidia sneered as the shadows welled from the floor at his side. And from that mass of darkness, a distant chorus of a thousand infernal screams and wails rose, and the darkness boiled and swelled as if to burst and birth something wicked.

And it did. The leopard which sprung from the darkness and landed beside the necromancer was in no way native to this world. Its fur was whiter than the ash of a crematory and its yellow eyes burned with a hellfire within. Rising to pounce at its master's command, there was no mercy or reservation in that hellbeast's stare, only diabolical hunger and naked malevolence.


http://mypetdungeon.tritonius.com/MapAntinidia015.jpg


Antinidia (Init 21) > Delaying to slap the hag with Vampiric Touch and get the hell away
Linimeira the Night Hag (Init 18) > Heavy mace attack on Antinidia (or the leopard, if it gets in her way)
Fiendish Leopard (Init 11) > Whatever Antinidia commands...

[Knightward]

If she actually gets close enough to attack Antinidia is gonna slap her with Vampiric Touch. Following such a touch attack he will move away from her in just about any direction but the corner (and making sure to weave through his mirrors to keep her clueless). The fiendish leopard is free to rend her apart.

Antinidia will laugh at her. "Better than me? More uptight than myself certainly, but no fool who stumbled into as clumsy a trap as yours is my better. You dare to presume that one who has survived the machinations of the Underdark, who has escaped the many eyes and limbs of The Spider herself is not your superior!?! Fret not oaf, you will be reunited with your lover soon."

[The Widowed]

(Antinidia casts Vampiric Touch.)
(Antinidia - Touch attack on Linimeira (Touch AC 11): Miss (6))
(Vampiric Touch dissipates without effect.)


"Pompous-tongued cur! Die already!" The hag stormed around the bed and closed with the necromancer, who was ready for her strike. A dark scarlet nimbus came into being around his right hand, sifting along his skin and bleeding into the cold surrounding air. But her body curved away from his sweeping hand at the last possible moment. Having missed its opportunity to feed on a living lifeforce, the nimbus faded back into nothingness as the cruel steel head of Linimeira's heavy mace swooped downward.


(Linimeira attacks. Mirror Image check: 1. A mirror image is targeted.)
(Linimeira - Heavy mace attack on mirror image (AC 12): Hit (21))
(One of Antinidia's mirror images is destroyed. 3 images remain.)


The hag ground her jagged teeth in frustration as another false Antinidia shattered into a thousand illusionary fragments. Four more Antinidias taunted her as they retreated to the far side of the bed, and she moved to pursue. But the elf's hellish beast would not let her pass unchallenged.


(Fiendish Leopard - Attack of opportunity - Bite on Linimeira (AC 18): Miss (17))
(Fiendish Leopard - Two claws and one bite on Linimeira (AC 18): Miss (10), Miss (13), Miss (12))


With claws bared and eyes ablaze, the leopard lunged at the passing hag. With tooth and nail he ripped and tore the hag's gown terribly, pulling it from her shoulders without once drawing blood from the stalwart layers of dark skin beneath.

"And get your devil cat off of me before I'm truly angry!" screeched Linimeira as she continued after Antinidia with her mace swinging a frenzy.


http://mypetdungeon.tritonius.com/MapAntinidia016.jpg


Fiendish Leopard (Init 10) > Mauling Linimeira
Antinidia (Init 9) >
Linimeira (Init 4) > Heavy mace attack on Antinidia

[Knightward]

So I'm Corwin now? :P

Antinidia will laugh at her as he does his necromantic bonus Vampiric Touch. And damn these rolls, I need a hit! I'm running out of attack spells, and once that's done I can't do much of anything. What good's a +2 dagger if you can't hit?

[The Widowed]

(Also, refresh your page. :P )


(Fiendish Leopard - Two claws and one bite on Linimeira (AC 18): Miss (11), Hit (20), Hit (22))
(Linimeira takes a total of 11 (4 + 7) Damage.)


Snarling with infernal resonance, the hellbeast plunged one claw deeply into Linimeira's rump and climbed from that foothold, sinking his fangs up to their gums in the hag's underarm.

"GRAAARRR!" howled the embattled hag as her body recoiled from the pain and stumbled beneath the shifting weight of her feline attacker, never once noticing the scarlet numbus which curled around Antinidia's thrusting hand again....


(Antinidia casts Vampiric Touch.)
(Antinidia - Touch attack on Linimeira (Touch AC 11): Hit (19))
(Linimeira takes 9 Damage. Antinidia gains 9 temporary Hit Points and currently has 27/18 HP.)


Antinidia's spidery fingers briefly clasped the breastbone just between the hag's dangling breasts, sending dark red tendrils of spectral ether lashing outward across her torso. Her head lowered in violent shuddering as the chilling grasp shot through sinew and bone, leeching away a goodly fraction of what meager warmth her body possessed.

"You...you dare touch me? Nevermore!" she tongue-lashed the dark elf, noticing with grim consternation that his dusky flesh seemed to moisten and stretch into a healthier and more consistent hue, swollen with stolen lifeforce. The mace fell again with heightening rage as she lost sight of the offending hand among the meandering phantasms.


(Linimeira attacks. Mirror Image check: 2. A mirror image is targeted.)
(Linimeira - Mace attack on mirror image (AC 12): Miss (10))


All four dark elves ducked as one, and the bedframe creaked and split as the mace struck Linimeira's large, fur-draped bed. Her wart-spotted free hand reached up to tear the mounting leopard from her shoulders, but the endeavor promised to be anything but easy.


Antinidia (Init 23) > Chill Touch and touch attack on Linimeira
Fiendish Leopard (Init 20) > Mauling Linimeira
Linimeira (Init 14) > Bite attack on the fiendish leopard

[Knightward]

Ok, I'm down to my last attack spell. Chill Touch the hag and hope it's enough. And if it hits, make sure it's a slap!

EDIT: And after that I'll make my way to the stairs.

[The Widowed]

(Antinidia casts Chill Touch.)
(Antinidia - Touch attack on Linimeira (Touch AC 11): Miss (6))


"...botharl bot-yualzaam!" uttered the dark elf, finishing his incantation as his fingertips began to radiate a bleak blue luminescence. Rearing back with his hand, he and his three duplicates swung broadly in their attempt to swat the hag across her chin. Unfortunately, the hag anticipated the blow and leaned back nimbly as the dark hands swung past harmlessly.


(Antinidia has four Chill Touch attacks remaining. Did he still wish to retreat to the stairs?)

(Fiendish Leopard - Two claws and a bite on Linimeira (AC 18): Critical Hit (22/Nat 20), Miss (15), Hit (23). Critical Threat: 12)
(Linimeira takes a total of 9 (3 + 6) Damage.)
(Linimeira - Bite on Fiendish Leopard (AC 15): Hit (25))
(Fiendish Leopard takes 13 Damage. Its Hit Points are now 6/19.)
(Fiendish Leopard - Fortitude save (DC 18): Success (23). No disease is contracted.)


The hell-leopard continued clambering up the hag's body, clawing at her ribs and chomping down on her shoulders. The black blood flowed freely from Linimeira's body before she decided that she had endured enough. Taking the leopard under her powerful arm, her head lunged downward with browned teeth bared, tearing away a meaty portion of the leopard's breast as the beast fell to the floor and limped back two paces, still baring its claws and glaring at the hag malevolently. Mildly impressed with the great cat's persistence despite its grievous wound, Linimeira chewed thrice before sucking the chunk into her stomach with a resounding gulp.

"Hmmm...properly seasoned, this wicked beast will make a scrumptious dish," the hag surmised with contrary warmth, "a fine appetizer for tonight's main course: drow elf brisket with a honey sauce marinade."

So saying, she raised her mace to finish Antinidia's hellbeast.


Antinidia (Init 15) > Chill Touch attack on Linimeira
Fiendish Leopard (Init 7) > Mauling Linimeira again
Linimeira (Init 4) > Mace attack on the leopard

[Knightward]

I get 4 shots with it? Damn right I'll keep swatting her with it!

Geez, she's already taken 29 damage.... I really need to find a way to up my constitution!

EDIT: And on the last page you still call Antinidia by Corwin. Nyah nyah!

[The Widowed]

(One attack per Wizard level, actually. The spell description doesn't say how long Chill Touch will remain if you don't use up all those touch attacks, so I generally assume it's an hour maximum.)
(And she's taken all that damage, but she's getting pretty close. I guess I should be adding some "She's looking pretty worn out" flavor text, huh? :) )


(Antinidia - Chill Touch attack on Linimeira (Touch AC 11): Hit (19))
(Linimeira takes 3 Damage.)
(Linimeira - Fortitude save (DC 16 (...20 Intelligence! :D) ): Success (24))


Lunging out from his illusionary doubles, the dark elf swatted again with an open palm cloaked in an ominous, cold haze. This time, his strike was more true.

The night hag recoiled away at the slap and at the biting psychic sting of the cold which burst inside her jaw. Her limbs seemed very heavy with her wounds and her exertions, but still she fought. And he fought, for he was well aware of the price of mercy against such a wrathful and compassionless foe.

Defying its horrid wound, the leopard did not falter either. Seeing the hag's knees buckling with weakness, it leaped in expectation of finishing her off.


(Fiendish Leopard - Two claws and a bite on Linimeira (AC 18): Miss (9), Miss (10), Critical Hit (26/Nat 20). Critical Threat: 23)
(Linimeira takes 14 Damage. Linimeira is now dead.)


The hag drew further back with her mace, leaving her body exposed for a pre-emptive attack as the leopard jumped. Clawing her gown and her skin, the creature darted up her body and clamped its bestial maw around her neck, plunging its cruel fangs deeply into the viscera beneath. Gurgling on black ichor and vile humors, Linimeira fell with the great cat embracing her with all fours, denying her any chance for last words as its carnivorous jaws wrenched at the neck, crushed her trachea and tore the cartilage to ribbons.

The leopard began to rip and devour the quivering hulk of its wounder before recovering its composure. The leopard limped at the foot of the bed as it turned to face the necromancer again, anticipating his next command.


http://mypetdungeon.tritonius.com/MusicOff.png

http://mypetdungeon.tritonius.com/MapAntinidia017.jpg


(Antinidia has defeated Linimeira the Night Hag. Experience will be awarded later.)


Antinidia >

[Knightward]

Let's see if that leopard can smash open that locked chest in the corner. In the meantime I'll loot the possessions on her remains (but not the rags themselves!).

Once this is all done Antinidia will pull out his dagger to cut off her head. If he finds a key he'll use that to open the chest, if the leopard can smash it open, all the better. After the looting the leopard is free to eat as much of the hag as he wants... except the head. Antinidia is going to have a fun time waking everyone up!

[The Widowed]

(Fiendish Leopard - Bashing the wooden chest: 4 Damage and 2 Damage)
(Wooden chest resists both strikes (Hardness 5))


Wheezing from its injuries, the leopard followed Antinidia's gesture and threw itself on the chest, pummeling and tearing at the stout wood. But the sturdy maplewood chest held fast beneath the punishment, suffering no more than a number of shallow scratches.


(Antinidia - Untrained Appraise check (DC 10): Success (10). The heavy mace is a masterwork.)


The hag's heavy mace lay where it had silently fallen across the bed as she perished; a cruel weapon, the necromancer briefly marveled at its craftsmanship, the flawless balance and symmetry of the cylindrical dwarven steel head, the perfect equilateral positioning of the fins and the spikes, the straightness and sturdiness of the silver-plated steel shaft. Surely the mace was a master's work if ever there was.


(Fiendish Leopard - Chewing on the wooden chest: 7 Damage.)
(Wooden chest resists (Hardness 5) and takes 2 Damage.)


Antinidia found no other possessions on her person...at least not until he went to carve off her head. Halfway through her neck he rolled the head to one side and noticed the glint of tarnished brass beneath her tongue. Fighting off a wave of repugnance, he slipped two fingers beneath that thick, warted, purple tongue and drew forth a small brass key, greened with months of fetid saliva. Fiercely shaking the thick, yellow, foul-reeking slime from the key, he strode to the chest, brushed the leopard aside and slid the key into the lock.

The key fit perfectly. Moments later, Antinidia and the leopard were peering into the belly of the treasure chest and examining the stowings.


(Antinidia opens the chest and finds 225 Gold, a crude iron scarab, a simple shaved oak rolling pin, three black pillar candles, a pair of hobnailed boots, a wooden holy symbol of St. Cuthbert, a pair of sky blue satin woman's slippers (too small for the hag's feet) and a grimy brown broadcloth cloak with a tin scale collar and a burgundy patch sewn onto the middle of the back to mend the claw rents from an unknown creature. He'll also get Linimeira's head after he finishes carving it off.)


Antinidia >

[Knightward]

Yay loot for me!

The leopard is free to do as he pleases with the rest of Linimeira. Antinidia will go back downstairs, carrying the head. Once he's in the room everyone's sleeping in Antinidia will hold up the head to each person one at a time and wake them up, be it shaking (violently if need be) or even a light swat to the face. When they wake up and react as you would expect them to react seeing a night hag's face Antinidia will reply "She's dead."

Whatever order Antinidia wakes them up in, the halfling he'll save for last. It'll be so nice to have a 4th servant!

[The Widowed]

(So Antinidia takes all the loot. :D )


Content with finding a reward for the preceding turmoil, Antinidia permitted the leopard to finish its unpleasant yet somehow satisfying meal in peace...a simple mercy he could afford the hellbeast before the spell expired.

The leopard did not remain there for long. As he lifted the folded cloak from the chest and examined it, Antinidia's keen ears perceived the fabric of the cosmos again parting behind him and spiriting the beast back to the Hell which spawned it. At least the summoned beast had served its purpose.

The coins were scooped hand over hand into Antinidia's waiting sack of gold. Rolling the holy symbol, the boots, the slippers, the candles, the rolling pin and the scarab inside the cloak, Antinidia slipped the rolled cloak into his backpack, returned the backpack to his shoulders, sliced the hag's head away with a vigorous slash and cleaned his dagger on the hag's ruined gown, sheathing the blade and returning downstairs.


http://mypetdungeon.tritonius.com/Music.png (http://music.tritonius.com/27_-_catacombs_-_entrance.mp3)


Though his skin still shimmered with mage armor, Antinidia's illusionary doppelgangers faded into nonexistence one by one with every step he took into the living room. There Mayna slept peacefully on the cushions, her skin-veiled eyes rolling in dreams. Dark elven fingers prodded her forehead and shook her head about until her eyes opened to behold the unexpected and unwelcome visage of a hideous, slack-jawed night hag baring its teeth at her.

As would be expected, Mayna bolted away across the cushions with a panicked wail before looking back and taking measure of the hag: a severed head dangling by the oily black hair in her leader's hand. "Uggghhh...you...you...."

"She's dead. This was our hostess," Antinidia explained impassively, stifling a mischievous grin as he walked slowly to Jorgi's side....

One minute later, all three Vesperanti laborers, their breaths still quickened from having been so terribly spooked, huddled near the fireplace, looking about at their surroundings all freshly revealed in all their decrepitude. "So why was Linimeira disguised so?" Jorgi inquired as the necromancer positioned himself over the slumbering halfling brigand.


http://mypetdungeon.tritonius.com/MapAntinidia018.jpg


Antinidia >

[Knightward]

"Her intention was to lure us into a crude web as though we were flies. Once trapped, her ghostly lover would drain us of our life force as she did with this poor fool," he said gesturing to what was left of the dead thief, "and then our 'hostess' herself would devour what was left of our bodies. As you attract more flies with honey than vinager, or however the saying goes up here, she wove an elaborate illusion around herself and her shack to make sure we'd stay. That storm was her doing as well. Now if you'll excuse me, I must wake our brigand 'friend.'" And with that Antinidia will hold the hag's head over the halfling and wake him in a similar fashion. Once awake however, he intended to have some words with him...

[The Widowed]

(Also, I assume that Antinidia already dispelled his Chill Touch mentally. Otherwise, his underlings would have had a very rude awakening....)


Jorgi, Piorr and Mayna briefly discussed the revelations among themselves, applauding Antinidia's perception and speculating on the ease with which the hag had enticed them into her lair, vowing to guard themselves against such subterfuge in the future.

Scuffs snoozed in placid contentment, but not for long. A sharp slap across his cheek startled him to wakefulness. Linimeira's awful face did the rest.

"EEEIIIGGGHHH! What...what in the name...gah!" The halfling's eyes raced this way and that, beholding everything around him. The hag's severed head. The drow elf he had sought to deceive, holding it. The decaying hovel around him. The calm dusk skies outside, where once had roared a snowstorm. His slain friend in a twisted repose, with mouth agape and eyes staring into eternity.

"What is this? Who are you, really? What...where's Linimeira? What goes here? Somebody help me! Get away!" Scuffs scurried from the cushion and lunged for the exit, but the drow elf leered down at him and pressed his boot firmly against the door, securing it closed as the halfling yanked futilely on the doorknob.


Antinidia >

[Knightward]

"Linimeira is dead, my short friend. I saw to that. I have saved your life. Unfortunately I could not aid your companion in time," gesturing once again to the husk of a corpse, "But worry not, small one, I have an offer for you. While you are now alone and helpless in the world there is still gainful employment to be had. You know these lands better than I or my companions. We could use someone of your knowledge and.... other skills you possess, on our journey."

"We will be taking the treasure in the well, however. You forfeit the right to have it when you so brazenly spoke of it in public. Let it not be said that we are unmerciful however, as employment is certainly a far better fate than most criminals earn. Particularly those who have sought to decieve or otherwise harm us..." with that last sentence Antinidia will shake the head at Scuffs.

"So... Scruffs. What say you? Will you join our band, or will you fend for yourself in this harsh, unforgiving world?"

[The Widowed]

(Antinidia - Intimidation check (DC 5): Success (8))

Scuffs considered the matter as thoroughly as he could in three seconds, concluded his considerations and flashed the drow elf the biggest, brightest, most sincere-looking grin he could manage in spite of his dread and quailing.

"Uhhh...Scuffs O'Bair at your service...uh, sir. So...what kind of coin do I get from this partnership, if you don't mind me asking, friend...I mean, sir? Yeh. My apologies. Sir."


Antinidia >

[Knightward]

"You will have a portion of any plunder we may find on the way to our destination, and plenty more I suspect, when we get there. In the meantime take this as a token of our... goodwill." Antinidia will say handing Scuffs 25 gold.

"And now, to the well." Assuming the ice at the bottom of the well has since thawed, Antinidia will cast Spider Climb and go down to retrieve the loot and bring it back up.

[The Widowed]

(Antinidia casts Spider Climb. All Climb checks up and down the well shall be waived.)


Though content with his life and Antinidia's gesture of coins, Scuffs could not help but choke back a dejected sigh as the dark elf handed his boots to Mayna and scaled down the throat of the well in pursuit of the coffer...his coffer, Scuffs glowered, which he and his fallen cohort had risked much to liberate.

To the dark elf's satisfaction, the water at the bottom of the well was not frozen, though its wetness still bore a potent bone-cutting chill. The spring-fed water bubbled slowly from the bedrock below, and the silver coffer sat angled between the bedrock and the walls of the well. He had witnessed all degrees of masonic proficiency in the Underdark, and he could not help but wonder whether it was a drow elf or a dwarf who had built such a sturdy well all the way through the topsoil to reach the porous stone layers beneath...though perhaps the hag herself was in some way responsible for constructing such an oasis amid the inhospitably barren clay-heavy hills.

Hooking the coffer's handle with his free foot and bringing the booty above the waterline, Antinidia grasped the stonework and made his way back to the open air. The heavy coffer was set to the ground as he quickly brushed the water from his tunic and sleeves. As expected, the small chest was locked, but Jorgi's axe soon made short work of the mechanism, and the coffer bared its holdings for the victors.


(The coffer contains 10 Platinum, 72 Gold, 2,188 Silver, 5,005 Copper and a note...not a bad bonus for singlehandedly striking down an angry night hag. The coffer is a bit heavy, but that's what the wagon is for.)


The necromancer took the note from the coffer, a note which revealed that the Imperial officer whom Scuffs and Rummick had accosted was not a messenger but a tax collector, as it turned out...a condition which could have swiftly earned the two brigands a fate at the end of the noose, had anyone but Antinidia found them out.


"The Writ of Provost Fulschaff,


All tax collectors are to speak with the mayor of each city or town before tax collection begins; the mayor will inform us if any deviations from our records have arisen. For this quarter, collections from each settlement in Southern Konegheim should sum to these estimations:

Alfstein - 1 Florin, 5 Schilling, 200 Groschen, 1,950 Pfennig
Bardoston - 8 Fl, 28 S, 1,350 Gr, 4,800 Pf
Dansel Hills mining colony - 1 S, 75 Gr, 800 Pf
Dartan's Wood farmsteads - 50 Gr, 450 Pf
Drakolicht - 4 Fl, 6 S, 525 Gr, 2,400 Pf
Grundenstag - 3 Fl, 8 S, 600 Gr, 2,750 Pf
Kurdenburg - 20 S, 300 Gr, 600 Pf
Kursten - 3 Fl, 7 S, 550 Gr, 3,550 Pf

The town of Vensbaden is exempt from tax collection for this year, as Vensbaden lies too close to the border of Bardosylvania. As previously ordered, no servants of the Duchy of Konegheim are to venture anywhere within three miles of the Bardosylvanian border until the Duke's decree assures us of safety. Otherwise, tax collectors will be charged with their usual routes. Have your collections finished by February 1.

--Provost Nerrin Fulschaff
of the Treasury of Konegheim"


It seemed that Scuffs and Rummick were at least capable of timing their larceny ideally, given how they had pilfered a sizeable portion of the tax money for the prior three months. A pity it was--for them, at least--that they were far more luckless at timing the coffer's recovery.

And though the coffer provided a convenient way of carrying so much coin, the coffer itself was branded on each face and stamped along the trim with the Noble Seal of Konegheim, marking the coffer as property of Duke Eowuld and his court. Were anyone to find Antinidia and his party with the coffer, trouble would surely come of it. This and several other concerns raced through Antinidia's vast intellect as he considered the next leg of their journey.


http://mypetdungeon.tritonius.com/MapAntinidia019.jpg

• Antinidia knows his way back to the road leading to the garrisoned city of Drakolicht; no Geography or Intuit Direction checks would be needed for Antinidia to return to civilization that way.

• Though his recollection is hazy, Scuffs confirms that the road to Grundenstag is very near their location, and that Grundenstag lies not far beyond that. This path might be the swiftest and easiest way back to civilization, if the party can keep from getting lost on the way.

• The lands to the east of the Dansel Hills is mainly plains, and the great city of Bardoston lies in that direction. Though it is a longer trek through the wild, if Antinidia wishes to avoid the roads entirely while deciding what to do about the coffer, this would be the route to take.


Antinidia >

[Knightward]

Now that we finally have time to breathe, we'll divide the loot from the gnolls and the coffer.

From the gnolls, the original 3 attendants get 40 gold each, each a battle axe, a wooden shield, and the scale mail. The booze will be for the party as a whole and Antinidia will take the remaining 86 gold and the remaining objects. From the hag, Antinidia will keep it all since he was the only one awake for it, although he will give the mace to whoever could wield it best.

From the coffer he'll give each attendant 10 gold, 500 silver, and 1,000 copper. Looking over the money he'll say "Ah, we are most fortunate to have your company now, Scruffs. An able mind as is necessary to mastermind a heist such as this is an invaluable asset. I look forward to our journey together." Addressing everyone he'll say, "I have been thinking... considering the monstrosities we have dealt with thus far on our journey it is wise to suspect there will be many more along our way. To properly prepare I imagine we'll need armaments to combat such threats. As they say back home, 'The best defense is your enemies already dead.' Thus I believe I must learn to forge weapons, and use my talents to enchant them. After all, gnolls fall faster to magical blades then makeshift weapons, do they not?" Antinidia will begrudgingly admit to Adinaxle, "Though such physical labors are below me, I fear it may be the only way we'll survive."

Once everything has been loaded onto the wagon a thought will strike Antinidia. "Piorr, you wanted to bury the gnolls, yes? How would a funeral pyre strike you? A pyre made with say, the ruinous shack before us? We are in no great hurry now, and so have the time to dispose of their remains in a befitting manner."

If the gnolls do get burned with the house I'm making sure the loinclothes go with them! :P

[The Widowed]

(So all in all, between the tax coffer and the gnoll loot, Antinidia comes away with a profit of 10 Platinum, 103 Gold, 688 Silver and 2,005 Copper...not bad for a brief side quest, eh? Just don't let the duke know where you got this income when you file your tax return...assuming that Antinidia moves to Konegheim within the next three months. :D )

(Also, Antinidia will have an ample chance to add Linimeira's spells to his spellbook the next time the party rests.)


Piorr, Mayna and Jorgi all shone with joy as Antinidia handed them their wages, wages well beyond what they expected to earn. "Our journey with you has been both enlightening and profitable, Adept Antinidia," old Piorr beamed. "Perhaps we should attend to the rites of dead noble houses more often!"

"Ah, we are most fortunate to have your company now, Scuffs," the dark elf appraised as he turned to the rogue. "An able mind as is necessary to mastermind a heist such as this is an invaluable asset. I look forward to our journey together."


(Scuffs - opposed Bluff check: 9)
(Antinidia - opposed untrained Sense Motive check: 14)


"Oh, yes!" the halfling thundered for one so small, leaping atop a nearby rock and trumpetting his prowess. "It was no simple task, but we showed the duke's men, we did! There they were, twenty...no, forty men-at-arms guarding the tax collector, and Rummick blocked the door to the Duke's palace and fended off their blades, four at a time! And I lashed a rope around the drawbridge chain and swung down and landed right at the tax man's feet, snatched his coffer and parried six blades from his guardsmen as Rummick hewed his way through the guards and met me halfway! Then we sprung onto our horses as the arrows fell from the parapets like rain, leaving two-score dead in our wake! And suddenly, this chimera burst through the wooden bridge ahead of us, and we...uhh, and...."

Scuffs lost his resolve the moment he looked up again to see that his new employer's eyes had moved from approving glances to a penetrating stare, displeased as he was with the wee bringand's obvious yarn.

"...Well...actually, Your Darkness," Scuffs then stammered bashfully, "we simply ambushed the tax collector and his wagon while his guards were taking turns at the privy."

Weighing his crude gnoll battle axe in his hands, strong Jorgi approached Antinidia as fair Mayna placed her share of the plunder beneath the seat of the wagon and clambered aboard. "Adept, we are ready to quit this unhallowed place at your word."

But the necromancer had another idea to resolve first. "Piorr, you wanted to bury the gnolls, yes? How would a funeral pyre strike you? A pyre made with say, the ruinous shack before us? We are in no great hurry now, and so have the time to dispose of their remains in a befitting manner."

The wizened face of Piorr nodded solemnly. "That is an ideal solution. The hag's hovel burns to the ground and the remains of the dead are returned to their soil. Perhaps Mayna will remain here with the wagon and watch Scuffs as Jorgi and I aid you in this task."

"No, no," the rogue sighed, "I'll help too. That is my dead friend in there, you know."


• • •


Opening every oil lamp in the shack and setting fabrics, shaved kindling and firewood against every wall, the four walked through the house, smashing every windowpane and splashing flaxseed oil across the tinders, into the bedsheets and around the five corpses laid in state. Linimeira's severed head seemed to clench her jaw miserably as Antinidia personally dribbled his lamp oil across her lax face. Even amid the snowfall, the old, bare wood of the shack's hearth-dried interior would go up in flames with remarkable speed, leaving only the stones of the foundation and the chimney intact if all went as planned.


(Antinidia - untrained Spot check (DC 7): Success (17))


As he moved from the den to the bedrooms, Antinidia noticed what he had only passingly noticed before: the wand of braided willow roots grasping the jet spindle at their end, laid across the top mantle of the doorway. A tap of the nearby broom handle sent the wand tumbling towards the floor, intercepted in its fall by Antinidia's swift snatching hand.


(Antinidia gets a willowroot wand, its magic and charges presently unknown.)


Satisfied that the entire hovel had been doused in flammable oil, the four lit their crude torches from the hearth embers and went outside again.


• • •


Seeing no use for the gnolls' filthy loincloths, Antinidia wadded them up and vigorously hurled them in through the open front door as the bonfire within the den rose into an inferno. Mayna finished her firm-voiced recitation of a grim prayer as the flames rose higher, billowing from the shattered windows and lashing against the tarred lumber of the outer walls.

"...For as long as we live, let us always consider that the darkness from which we were birthed should always be the darkness which awaits us when our last breaths still. As it is written, so shall it be."

Only Scuffs seemed emotionally shaken by the burning. Perhaps he held a genuine attachment to his cohort in crime after all.

The fires of the house aflame rose to such intensity that a pulsing firelight was cast against all the surrounding hills. The thick layer of snow melted from the shingles and chimney mouth, melted by a heat of such magnitude that the droplets boiled and sizzled, leaving deep pits in the concealing snow as they rained to the earth at the masoned foot of the foundation.

Zebeyual grunted as she bore her rider to the wagon's side, where Piorr beckoned down to his leader. "The morning is late, and sunrise shall come soon. Whither are we bound for the next leg of our journey, necromancer?"


Antinidia >

[Knightward]

No stats for Scruffs? Ah well. Maybe later, when I know he's mine, as opposed to being a wild card I have at the moment.

"Yes, it is time to leave this wretched place. Unfortunate that it must be as the sun rises. No matter. We shall follow Scruff's direction to Grundenstag." Antinidia will also see to getting as much cash out of the coffer and into other reliable containers along the way, so as to better ditch it and not have that danger. Either one at a time, or at an ideal moment when Scruffs is away, he will warn the rest to make sure there's always an eye on the thief. He may be ours now but that doesn't mean he can be trusted. Best not to give him the chance to rob us blind and run off in our sleep.

[The Widowed]

(Yeah, that's exactly my thinking. Make sure that Scuffs can be trusted first. If he helps the party ward off a band of gnolls, that's a good sign. If he stays with the party after they reach the next town, that's a good sign too. But if he plunders the party's wagon and tries to make off with their loot, Fireball him, leave him to rot and try to find someone more reliable. >:] )

(And it's too bad that they didn't get the hag's chest from upstairs, huh? :p )


"If nothing else, we have our sacks and backpacks," Mayna helpfully offered. "But we should find another chest or some lockable strongboxes before long. Perhaps Grundenstag will have something of use."

With that said, Mayna and Piorr snapped the reigns and drove the mules onward, with Zebeyual quietly bearing her rider in the wagon's shadow.


http://mypetdungeon.tritonius.com/Music.png (http://music.tritonius.com/28_bloody_tears.mp3)


(Random Encounter check: 84)


Through the hills and across the valleys the party wove towards the small city to the north. Seated in the bed of the wagon, Scuffs offered glib conversation but was not received well by distrustful Jorgi, who never took his eyes from the brigand for the entire leg of the journey.

Less than half a mile from the city of Grundenstag, Piorr stuffed the last fistful of copper coins among the sacks of implements, then hurled the emptied tax coffer over the aft of the wagon. The coffer struck the stony ground with a hollow "crunk," sending its face panel tumbling free from its brass-bolted moorings.

The perimeter of the city was defended by low limestone walls and gracefully trimmed hedgerows, leaving only four city gates to admit access into Grundenstag. The buildings shared a homogeneous charm, with skins of white plaster and exterior frames and beamwork the same rustic hue of cedarwood. At the southmost gate which spread before Antinidia's travelling party, two halberdiers flanked the entrance as their red-caped sergeant paced the line of peasants and merchants seeking entrance to the city. Five people away, the thick-jowled sergeant paced the line slowly, examining each wagon, each cart and each comer for contraband or other cause for suspicion and collecting tolls as he greeted each person in a dull tone.

"Welcome to Grundenstag, marketplace of all Konegheim. Th' toll's one pfennig per person...thank you, sir. You, there! Welcome to Grundenstag! Th' toll's one pfennig per person. Pay here...no, madam, we'll not charge for small children. Thank you. Welcome to Grundenstag, the great market of Konegheim...is that a barrel of pitch, Sir? You'll need to leave it at the gate. And the toll for your party will be three pfennig...ah, thank you. Serseig, this cart has a barrel of pitch! Take it and write a note of holding for this party. You, Madam! Welcome to Grundenstag...."

His great beltpouch heavy with jingling copper coins, the sergeant strolled up to the two milkmaids who conversed just before the Vesperanti's mules. Behind him, the halberdiers at the guardhouse moved forward towards the brass merchant's cart, not returning until they were rolling the wax-sealed cask of pitch between them.


Antinidia >

[Knightward]

Geez, good thing we managed to ditch the coffer! Antinidia will leave the talking to Mayna again, but stressing the importance of saying they're on Vespertani business as it may lessen the inherent suspicion of the party.

[The Widowed]

His counsel imparted, Antinidia pulled away from Mayna as the milkmaids walked through the gate. Mayna took the advantage, addressing the sergeant before he could recite his tired greeting.

"Greetings, guardsman. We have come in service to the Vesperanti. May we pass?"

"Business?" the sergeant peered at Mayna briefly before continuing his pass around the wagon. "We have our own funerary bodies at each temple. What need has Grundenstag for th' Vesper...I say."

His hand rolled aside one of the bags in the wagon bed, revealing a small pile of copper and silver coins. "That is quite a sum of coin you have here. Where did you find such a trove?"


(Antinidia can either let Mayna come up with her own answer or step forward, confident in his own ability to provide an acceptable answer. And if he lies or tells a half-truth (as they surely can't reveal the tax collector's fate, unless they wish to rid themselves of Scuffs while drawing a jaundiced eye to themselves), the subject matter of the fib or the rebuttal--as well as its delivery--will determine the difficulty of the Bluff check. Mayna would default to DC 12 on the Bluff, but perhaps Antinidia can do better....)


Antinidia >

[Knightward]

Antinidia will come forward, "Pardon, good sir. We have been traveling across Konegheim performing various funerary rites. Why just this morning we provided a funeral for folk in the countryside! We have a record of excellent service, though we do try not to brag about it. But, *gesturing to the bag of coins* in many cases our work tends to speak for itself in spite of our modesty. While I'm sure the funerary bodies in your temples here are quite talented, this city is one of our stops."

[The Widowed]

(Antinidia - untrained Diplomacy check (DC 10): Success (21/Nat 20))


The sergeant seemed quite satisfied with Antinidia's answer. "Hmmph. It seems you lot've been quite busy, then. With the Karkovans still dying from a war that ended five years ago, Nellowswann's outbreak of ghoul fever and the Bardosylvanians getting killed by th' little pieces of hellspawn that keep cropping up in that forsaken land of theirs, the Vesperanti must have you five barrellin' madly about th' countryside. An' Konegheim's right in the middle of th' three, catching th' migrant dead and dying from all sides. I imagine you're here to see th' bailiff about th' mercy-killing, though. His name's Sergeant Grandt Mursching. Go to th' House of Justice th' moment I wave you through th' gate. No tolls for you lot today."

The sergeant brushed his cape aside and turned to the peddler cart behind them, offering a friendly yet habitual dismissal as he left. "Enjoy your time in Grundenstag. Move along, then."

The halberdiers parted and allowed the Vesperanti and their allied knave into the city, casting curious glances at the dark elf and the great reptile he rode beneath the archway into Grundenstag. The city square lay less than a mile off directly ahead, and the surrounding district was less like any civilized zone and more like a great, chaotic bazaar. The truly cemented buildings and their residents lay to the four corners of Grundenstag, and as loudly as the city bustled, there would be little trouble in finding anything the city had to offer.


http://mypetdungeon.tritonius.com/Music.png (http://music.tritonius.com/09-commandment.mp3)


http://mypetdungeon.tritonius.com/MapGrundenstag.jpg


Antinidia >

[Knightward]

I have to say, the theme song for this city is a lot more.... metal than I would have expected. :P

Hmm... maybe we could get some money seeing about this mercy-killing. As for shopping, obviously arms and armor are out of the question for Antinidia, but he would certainly try to find smithing tools. Masterwork, if he can. And training in the forge, if there's the time. Since he's aiming more for weaponsmithing than anything else I suppose that would mean hitting up The Jade Dragon. As for finding any magic items, do we have cash enough for that? I guess Antinidia will be peeking in Mila's House of Exotic Wares too then.

[The Widowed]

I have to say, the theme song for this city is a lot more.... metal than I would have expected. :P
(It's a typical large cosmopolitan Lawful Neutral settlement with hardnosed enforcers of the law, a subtle caste system in place and a nasty layer of corruption across the underbelly. I got the city's name from the German translation of "Day of Reasons" too, hinting at the city's attempts to control and balance their moral elements. I thought Commandment from Hunter: The Reckoning fit the city perfectly. :) )

(Man, this could be a bit of work you've set up for me. I'll have it done tonight, if all goes well. Or did Antinidia want to focus on one place first? :think: )

[Knightward]

Let's look at the mercy-killing thing first. Then worry about shopping.

[The Widowed]

Seated in the wagon bed, Scuffs grew distinctly anxious with so many constables and guards patrolling about. His wary gaze glanced this way and that, fearful that the hand of the law would reach up and snatch him away at any moment.

The buildings which lined the perimeter of Grundenstag and towered over the walls were similarly crafted, clean, neat and proper...too neat and proper, Antinidia noted, for a settlement of such size. But as the great skink and the mules bore the party inward, the buildings grew less and less glamorous, with the purely functional structures standing further within. The beautiful homes and businesses which comprised the city's skin were a thin facade for what squalor clung to the bosom of Grundenstag, for the truly wretched shacks, boardinghouses and peddler booths were planted in the city's core. And there among them stood the House of Justice, its walls of white granite looming over the lowly denizens of the core as if presiding over the apparent filth of society's Lower Class and daring them to sin against the letter of the law.

A row of city watchmen stood along the lowest step of the House of Justice's great stair, and the nearest guard lowered her spear and approached Mayna, her scale mail casting metallic whispers as she challenged them without greeting or pleasantry. "State your business at the House of Justice."

"We are on business for the Vesperanti..." Mayna stated before the guardswoman interrupted, fixing the dark elf with a discerning stare.

"Grundenstag's clergies do not cater to Lolth or her funerary services. There are three temples in the Black Ward: one for Gruumsh, one for Vecna and one for Hextor. Speak with them to secure a burial service."

"We are not here for that," countered Mayna. "The gate watch instructed us to speak with your bailiff, Sergeant Grandt Mursching. It concerns a matter of euthanasia."

"I see," the guard acknowledged, rearing her head. "And the drow..."

"...is our leader and the Vesperanti mortician appointed to the task of overseeing our party's errands."

The guard glanced back to her comrades, seeking assurance before offering her cooperation. "Very well. Bring your wagon, your mules and your...lizard to the hitching posts at the rear of the building. Our lieutenant shall see you to the bailiff immediately."


• • •


"So many troubles lie mere miles beyond our walls."

The courtroom's marble tilework was remarkably clean and well-finished in accordance with the proper appearances of all other features in the chamber, and the tin hobnails on Sergeant Mursching's boots clacked and scraped loudly as he paced before the Vesperanti, resignation weighing heavily on his shoulders.

With a sweep of his three-fingered hand the bailiff gestured high, as if to hurl his intentions far over the city walls. "The Black Hag of Dansel Hills eats our children and our miners yet vanishes without a trace whenever our heroes go to find her. Raubritter Aarn Schulz...that robber-knight and his brigands accost our travellers, our merchants, even our tax collectors as they travel the highway east from Grundenstag. And all attempts to claim King Teufel's Mines fail, the survivors of those intrepid parties falling one and all to diabolical fates...one fate of which has befallen my son."

Antinidia glanced briefly to Scuffs, who had started squirming in his seat the moment the bailiff had mentioned the raubritter. Mayna pursed her lips in her leader's direction before turning her focus back on Mursching.

"So how did this happen?"

"A quasit's poison, I believe," the bailiff sighed painfully, "or perhaps a giant scorpion of some sort, judging from the depth of the one puncture wound. In my son's delirium he can offer us few answers. It pains me to think that he was a good son and a noble guardsman of Grundenstag for years before he got the idea to become a hero...to reclaim those damned mines from their infernal squatters and that orc king's ghost. He...is in the watch council chamber...dying, if you would speak with him. But I cannot promise that he will give any suitable answers."

"So he had no last requests of any sort? No instructions? No...."

"He did lament the loss of his battle axe," Mursching suddenly amended. "He said that he had leaped across a broken bridge spanning an open mine shaft as he fled from...uhh, a 'poisonous, primordial hellbeast,' as he put it. His axe fell down the shaft as he leaped and caught the other side of the bridge. And, during his brief spell of lucidity, he asked that, should he perish from the poison, he would be buried with it, for it had served him and defended his life from enemies ever since his fifteenth birthday."

Mursching turned towards the window, a hardened man fearful that others might see the grief welling in his eyes.

"...a pity that it could not defend him from one more, eh?"


Antinidia >

[Knightward]

Well crap, a request is a request. Although, if poison falls under the alchemy skill (and it would be most likely to for a drow than anything else), Antinidia could theoretically examine the poison to see if it can be treated in any way. That would certainly be easier than wandering an infested mine that kills everything!

If the alchemy isn't viable, or if it isn't enough to save the son then with a sigh Antinida will say "Well then, it is a funerary request and therefore must be upheld. We shall seek his axe in those mines. Tomorrow we will seek them, as the journey here has been both arduous and tiresome. Mursching, sir, I ask for all information you have on these mines. Their location, any maps you possess, whatever you know of the vile creatures that inhabit it, anything you can think of. Furthermore if the guard can spare an escort that would be most ideal. We shall recover this axe and your son will be allowed to pass properly."

The rest of the day Antinidia will spend with that shopping plan. And then he can finally get some rest and renew his spells/check the hag's spellbook.

[The Widowed]

(Actually, the Heal skill would be required to identify poisons. But if the poison is very unusual or unearthly in nature, Alchemy may be needed to devise a more arcane cure, and other skills may be invoked as well. Hold that thought a moment....)


The doors to the watch council chamber parted with a tin growl. Into the room swept the bailiff, leading the Vesperanti and their acquaintence behind him towards a large and comfortable cot which had been assembled and laid thick with pillows at the western wall of the room.

"This is my son, Otto Mursching. It grieves me to see him in such a state as this."

The young man's skin had grown pale and cold, blanketed by a layer of perspiration which was not in the least warm. As if startled by the party's approach, Otto's fingers splayed and seized his earthy hair at the roots, threatening to pull the hair free as his wide, maddened eyes raced wildly across the ceiling and an audibly dismayed gulping rose from his throat. And only when the guttural noise abruptly halted with no evident cause did his body fall back into relative ease, allowing his eyes to roll back into his head as his sibbilant, incoherent whispers rose once more.

His cold pupils peering deeply, Antinidia drew back the lad's tunic and unbound the blood-caked bandages which concealed the open wound. With his cursed mystic dagger did Antinidia slice and peel away the violet-tinged scabs, much to the bailiff's wary concern.

"Please...do not hurt my son."

The necromancer offered no reply. Silently he slid Fool Nettle back into its sheath and pried the wound apart with gray, spidery fingers, examining the layers of flesh with vigilant analysis.


(Antinidia - untrained Heal check (DC 10): Success (14))
(Antinidia - Arcana Knowledge check (DC 10): Success (28))
(Antinidia - Alchemy check (DC 20): Success (25))


The dark elf appraised the youth's wound intently. "It seems that young Otto need not perish at all."

A gasp of hope rose from Mursching's lips, a sharp contrast to the despair in which he wallowed scant moments before. "What is this? He can be saved? How do you mean?"

"His injury was indeed inflicted by the large sting of a giant scorpion or some similar arachnid," Antinidia answered patiently, "but not an earthly one. With my keen vision I perceive dark strata of flesh rippling inside the walls of the wound, not a mundane necrosis but a more psychic form of decay: infernal power. Negative energy.

"In my studies as a necromancer I have grown familiar with many arcane topics of interest, among them the outsiders and their native planes of existence...and among them, devils, demons and the many Hells. I do not pretend to know everything about the Infernal, but I know more than most folk can even so much as speculate. And I can soundly assure you that the venom which courses through young Otto's veins is steeped in negative energy, an added vector of harm for the venom's normal necrotic properties. So I would wager that your son was attacked and wounded by a fiendish giant scorpion in the bowels of King Teufel's Mines, not a common one."

"My son...poisoned by hellspawned poison!" the bailiff lamented loudly. "Is there any way to purge it out of him before it takes his life?"

"I believe I can concoct such a cure. Normally, the antidote for giant scorpion venom would require crushed blueberry pulp, bitterweed, charcoal, salt and pure water. But with a fiendish scorpion the infernal taint will need to be dispersed simultaneously. Therefore, at least one of these five ingredients would need to be blessed or otherwise infused with positive energy...."

Antinidia paused momentarily, considering first if he might have any recourse to this.


Antinidia >


(As an aside, Antinidia is about to perform a Good deed. Or does he have a less benevolent justification for this? :think: )

(And you know something? I've been forgetting to do the daily checks on Fool Nettle's curse, haven't I? Ah, well. The impunity was good while it lasted, wasn't it? :p )

[Knightward]

Well, for one thing this is much easier than heading to the mines fighting Nerull knows what in the hopes of finding an axe... and for another this guy better be paying me out the ass! Money, family heirlooms that are either really useful magic items or worth a lot of money, any combination of the two....

Not to mention that it's much easier to get around in this city without issue if he's in good with the local guard. And as always, getting around without issue is good because that's less likely for word to travel back to the Underdark. It's a good deed, superficially, but Antinidia isn't concerned because it's the right thing to do, but rather the risks are much less and the rewards probably greater. I could see as a more neutral action than good though. It's self serving so it's not truly benevolent, but isn't malicious either.

[The Widowed]

(Good points. Evil dudes are all about self-interest, and he can bet that he will be rewarded for doing an otherwise icky good deed. So...any ideas about the antidote?)

[Knightward]

I'll cook one up after the guard brings in the supplies and a cleric to bless whatever portion of them.

[The Widowed]

(So he doesn't already have any blessed stuff in his inventory then? :D )

[Knightward]

Oh yeah, that. Screw it, why use something I already have when I've got an authority by the balls? He doesn't have to know I have it already, so I can get it from him!

And on that note, I'm sleeping now. I'll get back to this tomorrow.

[The Widowed]

(Another good point. :D )


"Sergeant Mursching," Antinidia continued with a request of the bailiff, "I will need these ingredients if I am to concoct a cure, but have your people procure a vial of purified holy water, not any sort of common water. Do this for me and your son shall live."

"Yes, of course! At once!" the bailiff readily agreed and raced to the chamber doors, throwing them apart with a commanding shout. "Constables, attend me! I have instructions for you!"


• • •


The diminutive priest scratched his long gnomish nose and shifted uneasily in his stance. "Bailiff Mursching, this...oh, nevermind."

"Do you have a reservation, Brother Dodderbuck?" the bailiff inquired of the gnome, leading him aside and away from the Vesperanti. "I would hear it."

"Well, then...for one, your son's healer is a...necromancer?"

"Yes. Truly ironic in a way, is it not? But he seems well-versed in the arts which will spare Otto an early grave."

"Oh, yes, yes, yes! I can understand, truly. But this necromancer is...oh, how can I say this...?"

"A drow elf?"

"Yes," the gnome consigned, "a drow elf. I suppose it's quite obvious. But are you certain that you can...well, trust him?"

Mursching lowered his gaze to the floor between them, pondering. "He is an educated sort, a true merit to the inglorious yet diligent Vesperanti, who among the necromancers are not reputed for their scholastic pursuits yet are lauded widely among the commoners for their willing services to the bereaved and the departed. And if this drow elf can indeed save my son's life, then I will trust him explicitly. And only the gravest of betrayals could shatter such trust."

"Ah...I...I see," the gnome stammered. "Then I suppose that I must offer the aid of the clergy and the temple of Great Garl Glittergold. Let us go and speak to the necromancer now."

Sergeant Mursching led Brother Dodderbuck to where the Vesperanti sat at Otto's bedside. On a nearby desk, Antinidia busied himself with a borrowed alchemist's kit, grinding the blueberries to pulp within the belly of a clay mortar.

The bailiff cleared his throat, drawing the dark elf's attentive eyes from across the desk. "Adept Antinidia? Brother Gindy Dodderbuck, priest from the temple of Garl Glittergold, has come at your behest."

Brother Dodderbuck met Antinidia's gaze, hoping to find the compassionate warmth of a humane tender to the sick within those pearly eyes set deeply into their dark gray orbits. But his hopes sank when the eyes he beheld were cold and unsettling, and even somewhat bored. So perished the priest's resolve to lend his assistance.


(Antinidia - untrained Sense Motive check (DC 10): Success (10))


"You have the holy water, Brother Dodderbuck?"

"Well..." hesitated the priest, crossing his toes uncertainly, "I worry if our temple and our services are...how shall we say...appropriate for your purposes...."

A long, disapproving nasal sigh hissed from Antinidia's narrow nose. "You are a gnome. I am a drow elf. Your kind is familiar with the history of my kind. And you fear that I am a deceitful villain who will use your holy water towards unholy ends. Is that the root of the matter here, Brother Dodderbuck?"

"Oh...no! I mean...."

"You came swiftly at the constables' request, and I believe that while the constables saw fit to describe the need for your aid, they did not see fit to speak of their alchemist's lineage. And now that you can behold it in person, you hesitate to hand over your holy water. But while we delay with petty qualms and bickerings over morality, young Otto inches none too slowly towards the point of no return. Has your temple ever attempted to resurrect someone who perished from negative energy, Brother Dodderbuck?"

The gnome priest anxiously examined his fingernails, searching for answers which lay not there. "I...I believe there was one plainsman...a barbarian who fell to a foul necromancer's black, unhallowed arts...."

"Another prejudice revealed, I see. But was there great difficulty in restoring the barbarian's life?"

"Indeed," Dodderbuck frowned. "We could not resurrect him at all."

"Then would it surprise you to learn that, as necromancers can inflict negative power, so can they also withdraw it? And I wish to do so here. But in this case, I cannot purge the infernal taint alone. For that, I will need your help...or, more astutely, the help of your holy water."

The spidery gray hand reached down across the desk to Brother Dodderbuck, accompanied by an impassive choice. "If I have holy water, young Otto Mursching might survive. But if I am denied the holy water, he will surely die. How might your conscience rest with such a burden, Brother?"

In silent admission of defeat, Brother Dodderbuck slumped his shoulders and laid the holy water in Antinidia's hand. Satisfied, the necromancer offered the barest of gratitude and set himself to his work, moving a candleflame beneath a retort as he poured the salt into the crushed berries.


• • •


Only ten minutes later, Antinidia emerged from behind the desk, bearing forth a bulbous glass bottle in his confident hand. Inside the bottle swirled a thick blue mixture which almost shone with a celestial radiance.

All watched on as the necromancer knelt aside the young man, his breath rising and falling in fevered ramblings.

"Today is not your deathday, Otto Mursching."


http://mypetdungeon.tritonius.com/Music.png (http://music.tritonius.com/TheBattleEnds.mp3)


A quarter of the bottle's azure contents were dribbled into the gaping wound. Immediately the dark ripples within the tissues faded to nothingness, and the deep violet veins racing from the wound's proximity consigned their violet hue for their normal subdermal teal.

Turning Otto's head towards him, Antinidia slowly emptied the remainder of the fluid into the corner of the lad's mouth, bidding him to swallow from one moment to the next. Otto's lapping tongue promptly lost all signs of sickliness, his blue lips returned to their full healthiness and a rosy, vibrant tone crept slowly from his face and across the entirety of his body. Otto's arms settled peacefully to his sides, and jade irises regained the focus of awareness.

"...hhh...f...Father?"

"Otto! Otto!" Gripped with a forceful tide of joy at hearing his son's address, Bailiff Mursching fell to Otto's bedside, his tearful eyes beholding the death of the affliction and his child's swift return to health. The constables who had procured most of the cure's reagents smiled broadly and laughed in congratulation, exchanging pleased glances with the Vesperanti. And when Brother Dodderbuck again met the dark elf's gaze, it was with softening eyes which almost pleaded silently for Antinidia's forgiveness.

The whole of the scene was thick with joy and compassion, enough to warm even the cold and arrogant heart which beat within Antinidia's breast. Enough to visit the hope of benevolence and redemption unto a wicked heart.

But Antinidia realized that he found the joy, the laughs and the tears quite irritating. And in that moment the warmth in his heart was extinguished.


(Antinidia has cured Otto Mursching of his infernal poison. Experience will be awarded later.)


"Otto...my son," babbled his father, "all is well. All has become well when once I thought that all was lost, and now we shall raise you to your former grace. I shall sound the call to retrieve your prized axe from King Teufel's Mines at once, and...."

"No, Father," Otto refuted, "for as well as it served me through these years, it is only an axe. I still have my life, when so many have perished in those diabolical mines. And for that alone I am grateful to you and to the dark elf who attended me. Thank you, dark angel, for your alchemies."

"Yes...yes, thank you, Adept Antinidia," the bailiff rose, following Otto's gaze to their benefactor. "For sparing my son from Death's joyless and eternal grasp, I am deeply indebted to you. Name the reward for your mercy, and if it is within my power, it shall be granted."


Antinidia >

[The Widowed]

(Understand that Antinidia need not name any reward at this time; it would be acceptable to call in a favor from the bailiff later, if Antinidia desires.)

(As a bailiff of Konegheim, Sergeant Mursching has limited yet useful influence, as he has the ears of magistrates and constables alike. Were a favor to be called in at a later time, he could conceivably help Antinidia as far as tampering with a coming trial, freeing prisoners of Konegheim, having a person of Antinidia's choosing arrested and jailed (under the pretense of interrogation, most likely) or moving prisoners from one jail or prison to another. Mursching might not make such arrangements gladly--whether due to his conscience or his fear of legal consequence for, say, falsifying evidence to keep a thief out of jail or having an innocent milkmaid jailed on a mere rumor--but, being the Lawful sort that he is, he understands his debt to Antinidia and will most likely honor it. His influence would be strongest in Grundenstag, of course, but he could coordinate with the courts of other cities in Konegheim, arrange extraditions to Grundenstag or put a few choice words in the ears of other bailiffs in service to Konegheim's other cities.)

(The exact effects of such influence depend largely on the details of the people being subjected to the legal proceedings. It would be far easier for Mursching to free four pickpockets than one murderer, just as he would meet far less resistance in having a small handful of common folk temporarily jailed on suspicion of vandalism or minor theft than in having a renowned hero held on suspicion of murder or treason against the Crown.)

[Knightward]

Antinidia will take a moment or two to think on the matter. The annoyance of all the merrymaking is quite distracting.

"At the moment, I have little to ask for. If you have any tomes of arcane wisdom I would be most interested in perusing them. Such knowledge is of critical importance in my profession, after all. Aside from that trifling matter I have no more to ask, for now. Rest assured, Sergeant Mursching, if I have further need of your services I will call on you for such."

[The Widowed]

"I understand," Mursching concurred. "Should you ever have need of my aid in the future, come to Grundenstag and I shall help however I can. But for now, I shall escort you to the library of City Hall. The library mainly exists for city records and educational resources, and at times wizardry does fall under the purview of both. Our chief librarian is also a wizardess; wizards, we have found, typically have talents with books and scribery as well as the arcane arts, all of which make them ideal as librarians and keepers of knowledge. Please follow me. Brother Dodderbuck and Corporal Vunst? Keep watch over Otto while I am away. I shall return shortly."


• • •


The dry air, heavy with frankincense and dust, washed over Mursching, Corporal Keun and the Vesperanti visitors as the brass-bound double doors opened outward. The young librarian who had answered Mursching's heavy knocking looked to him with inquisitive eyes.

"Bailiff? What brings you here?"

Sergeant Mursching had not yet conceived his answer for her when a matronly voice thrust forth from within the library. "I may have the answer to that. Stand aside, Heidi."

The bookish maid scurried aside the doorway, her maroon robe striking up tufts of dust along the carpet as she made way. A wrought iron flight of spiral stairs loomed behind her, and down those stairs descended the gaunt form of an elder woman, her robe the most intricately decorated of all the librarians' robes therein. Gold patterns wove arcane patterns across maroon sleeves and black cuffs and lapels, framing the properly braided gray mane and the beakish jaw which remained so firmly set and cold for a human woman of so many years.

"The stones said that I would receive an interesting visitor this day," the matron stated plainly, "and I assume that this is him. Grundenstag does not receive many dark elves, nor does her library...and not without good reason."

"This drow elf defies the reputation of his kin," Mursching contested. "He cured my son of the demonic poison which had laid him low and would soon have killed him! Please, Madam Lamkovitz, entertain his request."

"And what might that request be, then?" the chief librarian retorted. "Our tomes have a sizeable collection of volumes of lore and spell formulae from all schools of magic, and we have a private study area for those who wish to pursue their own comprehendings. But whom might our guest and his fellow Vesperanti be, by name and calling?"

The hag's book of spells weighed heavily in Antinidia's backpack as he considered his answer.


Antinidia >

[Knightward]

Oh yeah, I still have spells to grab from that book! Eh, I have all the time in the world to look through those, I only have while I'm hear to look through the library. Because I'm too lazy to remember the names of my companions at the moment, I leave the introductions to you, Wids. :P

"My lust for knowledge is twofold at the moment. A larger collection of spells is always useful in my profession and thus I would eagerly spend as many hours here as I could afford studying them."

With some reluctance, Antinidia will add,

"On perhaps a stranger note, my second interest is considerably more mundane. My companions are not so fortunate as to have the arcane arts at their disposal, and as the road ahead is long and uncertain I must look after them in whatever way I can. In short, if you have any volumes that instruct in the ways of forging arms or armor, I would like to peruse them as well."

[The Widowed]

"If there is no further need for my presence," Mursching interrupted as introductions were exchanged, "I shall go see to my son's recovery. Be well, all."

The bailiff and the guards promptly departed, closing the library's doors behind them. With Jorgi, Piorr and Mayna two steps behind them, Madam Lamkovitz led Antinidia to the library's atrium, casting her eyes among the towering heights of the two-story bookshelves, ever watchful for the slightest disorder among her collections of lore.

"You are certainly a bold one to come among the cities of man, Antinidia," the chief librarian surmised. "In history have I endured my share of confrontations with the drow below, but in their own way they are quite wise and resourceful as scholars, I must admit. That is the beauty of magic: no matter one's lineage, or alliances or enmities, every race has something to contribute to the fields of wizardry. Even the orcs, for all the difficulty that civilization comes to them, have groomed a small number of wizards...usually not the greatest minds of wizardry, but their natural willingness to embrace great risks and to court injury and death at every turn make the orcs bold and resourceful--if short-lived--as wizards. All wizards of all races can learn a thing or two from all their peers, even from wizards who hail from enemy cultures.

"That said, the Vesperanti are renowned as necromancers, humble of learning yet pragmatic and watchful. And it surprises me to find a drow elf among the necromancers; elves, long-lived as they are, typically pay little mind to death or the afterlife and certainly do not obsess over the subject as deeply as the shorter-lived races do. I can only speculate on how death's finger touched you so soundly that you would pursue the knowledge of necromancy."

A slight, knowing smirk crept to one corner of Antinidia's lips as he kept his own council for the moment. The aged wizardess resumed, taking up a thick catalogue by its rune-scribed cover from a waiting lectern.

"As an abjurer of great experience I have a strong personal distaste for necromancy, yet I cannot deny its presence, worth or significance in the studies of magic. So our library does offer a collection of necromantic lore...spell formulae, arcane rites, copies of various Books of the Dead and such. Mind that we are no college of wizardry, but we are not without our resources and historical accounts. You desire to collect spells, and we have several formulae for spells at hand. Is there any particular school that you would focus on today?"


(The library does not include all of the spells in the Players Handbook, and none of the 8th or 9th Level spells can be found here at all. The chief librarian will allow the scribing of spells into spellbooks or scrolls, but a fee to support the library's upkeep--and to replenish any reagents and components that go into the spell's scribing--is expected; Lamkovitz will gladly state a spell's scribing fee on request, and fees may vary depending on whether a spellbook or a scroll is to be scribed with the spell.)

(Of course, simply browsing and reading up on a spell's descriptions, components, theory and history costs nothing; though he will still not have the spell available for casting, such knowledge may serve Antinidia as a taste of things to come, should he hope to research or acquire such a spell for himself one day.)


Antinidia >

[Knightward]

((Don't have time today, but I'll be skimming through the Player's Handbook for spells and see about scribing them. I'll edit this entry once I do.))

[The Widowed]

The chief librarian continues to regard Antinidia with muted interest.

( :P )


Antinidia >