I wouldn't put it beyond the Little Kitten to have a certain journal squirreled away somewhere... those sticky fingers seem to stick to anything and everything.... juuuuuuuust sayin'!

I'm with you, re: paladins, O' Butterfly. Not my strong suit, either. Also, any suggestions you may have are always welcome, here!

As to Mosic - Of the two "Fellowships of Fallows," I rather see him as being more inclined to the Knights of the Hand sect. Not that he's a knight by any means. Aaaaand, yes, if either of you feel like "putting words in his mouth," please feel free. I like to think of him not so much as an NPC but, rather, an APC (All Player Character).

LMAO @ "Really bad Newhart"

Only if they ALL die, boss... and, even then, only if we all feel the need to mess around with continuing adventures of these three characters. Who knows what might happen?

Don't feel bad, dude! I'm pretty sure that all three of us knew when we started this little prequel that there was a good possibility that some or all of us might not make it out of Hidden Corruption alive... and, if it comes right down to it, we've got a contingency plan to deal with things going bad over there.

"Don't eat the mushrooms that you found in that campsite! They cause horrific mass hallucinations!!!" 

Glad you enjoyed it!

I haven't actually played many halflings in my time, tbh. Can probably count on one hand the number of small folk I've actually had in a game. That said, I have written for a few over the years and, I've gotta say, I do kind of enjoy them.

As far as his "interest" goes; clerics of Falloes have a "sense" where it comes to those in need and, despite the brains and brawn in our little ragtag group, I'm pretty sure Mosic is picking up on their need, sooo...

Anyhoo, run with any and or all of that as you will.

“…and so it is, Mother, that my brothers, sisters, and I go where there is need and loss and hopelessness,” Mosic said, dunking a bit of nut bread into the runny yolk of an egg.

Across the table, the crone nodded as she sucked the remains of her second egg from her fingers. “And ye think there’s them things, here, do ye, minister,” she queried, scooping the sop from her plate with a crust of bread, “Need, ‘opelessness, an’ loss?”

The little Pick smiled as he watched her eat. “Perhaps a bit less hopelessness than when first I arrived,” he offered after swallowing his mouthful, “but, yes, The Right Hand has led me here and, so, I can’t help but know that there is much need, here,” he took up his flagon, then, and drained the mead that remained within and, with a faint shrug, added, “and there are some that say Sendria is more lost than any other place in all the world.”

“Hmmm,” Mother murmured, her cheeks rounded out by the food stuffed between them. As the cleric’s mug plunked down on the table, she took up her own to wash down the hastily chewed mouthful of sop-bread. As she tipped the thing to her lips, the inn’s doorway opened to admit a svelte figure clad in shadowy hues. “Reckon yer right, minister,” she said, wiping her mouth on the back of a tattered sleeve as she watched the watched the younger girl survey the place before ducking back out, “Heard that said, m’self, an’ I’ve lived ‘ere nigh on m’ ‘ole life.” Turning her gaze back to the blonde Cid, she lifted the sleeve to her mouth, again, this time to muffle a burp and, following that, offered the cleric a grateful smile. “Seen more’n m’ share o’ lost souls wanderin’ these streets, I ‘ave.

There’s them, too, that don’t wander th’ streets but stay hidden be’ind their walls an’ manor ‘ouses,” she added, her eyes flitting away as the door opened, again, to readmit the shadowy girl, this time followed by a rather large figure, shrouded in cloak and cowl, and, curiously enough, a golden-eyed Syl with a blade on her hip. She watched as the trio found their way to one of the few empty tables and, as they settled into their seats, the crone shrugged her boney shoulders and turned her attentions back to Mosic. “Some say those’re more lost than th’ others, eh?”

“Some would say that is an exceedingly wise observation, Mother,” Mosic smiled, his own gaze tracking to the table which had caught the woman’s attentions…

It wasn’t difficult to see why the small group had drawn her eye. They were a curious lot, to be sure. The Sylvari woman, judging by her armor and the elegant simplicity of her blade, was a Bladesinger; unusual enough in Sendria, he imagined, but in the company of what appeared to be a half-syl thief and a hulking shape that refused to doff cloak and cowl even under the shelter of the inn’s roof… Highly curious, indeed… Being that it wasn’t a wise thing to let one’s gaze linger overlong on any group in any tavern, Mosic quickly abandoned his appraisal of the motley crew and turned his attentions back to the old woman.

… “What might you tell me of those lost souls who hide behind their walls, Mother,” he asked, lifting his flagon, again, only to find it empty.

“Only rumors an’ passin’ observations,” the beggar woman shrugged, “Tha’ sort keeps their secrets close an’ folk like me b’neath their notice, mostly.” Licking her lips, she nodded at the cleric’s plate on which there was still another soft-boiled egg and a few slices of pear; “Gonna eat that, minister?”

Chuckling softly, Mosic pushed the plate across the table and, then, as Mother set about devouring what was left, set his eyes in search of the serving girl. Oddly enough, he found her tending to the recently arrived trio and, as he waited for her gaze to turn his way, couldn’t help but study the three a bit more. Something tells me that this lot are somehow tied to what brings me here, he mused, hefting his mug to signal for a refill when the serving-girl glanced his way.

Dead4Lyfe... Ghoulbang!

Coffee sinuses for daaaaaayyyyyyzzz!!!

Just a quick post for Ch'dau... doing as Ara says and going after the priest.

At Cedric’s call upon Solanis’ might, a good number of the zombies under the dark priest’s command turned and fled and the feral grin on the kazari’s face split wider than the shambler in the doorway. Ch’dau shoved the thing out of his way even as it fell and waded into the room beyond the door with deadly intent.

With most of his minions having turned at Cedric’s prayer, the priest of D’hurgen turned and fled as the party pressed into the room.

“Coward!” Ch’dau roared at the retreating priest’s back, even as the last of the undead fell to his companions’ blades. That frustrated snarl went unanswered but was punctuated, instead, by a heavy metallic clanking from the hallway into which the dark priest had fled. The Silver Cat’s immediate desire to chase the D’hurganite down was curtailed, though; first, by the sight of yet another corridor that led from this room and, next by Aranwen’s voice.

"I may not know the details of this place," the bladesinger said, her golden eyes assessing the west-leading passage and then the northern, "But in any fortified location there necessitates passages to bypass other defenses and dangers that would otherwise slow an attacker, while letting a defender retreat. Does this match your memory as well, Gib?" She asked.

((Gib’s reply))

Aranwen nodded, "I suspect our robed adversary made good a retreat by one such passage, with the hope that a gate would suffice to force us down the other," she continued, before giving a smirk to Ch'dau, "Shall we prove them wrong, dear friend?"

“Yes, Kahtun,” the kazari nodded in return, already stalking in the direction that the priest had fled, “yes, we shall!”

I misread the sheet. 18/90 still ain't bad!

Also, Bree, if it makes you feel any better better, I'm becoming less and less convinced that Ch'dau is gonna survive this venture any more than Kith... And if he does, he'll be a much darker soul, I'm sure. Especially if Kith doesn't make it... And most certainly if he has to kill her to spare the world "the anchor."

With 18/00 STR, it's 450 lbs, I believe. Say the word, my khatun!

This stuff is just   !!!

...therein lies the dilemma, I suppose.

If pastor pee-pee pants is leading us on a wild goose chase, we run down the "Kith clock" for nothing if we go after him. On the other hand, if we don't give chase, he gets the chance to put on clean robes, gather more zombies, etc... Neither option is without its "what-ifs."

...I just wanted to taunt him a little. Maybe give him a kitty cuddle... you know?

Also - hooray for narrower tunnels! That should be fun! And, yeah, I didn't figure we'd be able to tell how many shamblers boogied down either tunnel... Fully expect to run into more of them which ever way we go, tbh (and wouldn't be surprised to have others hit us from behind, either).

Anyway - Ch'dau's thoughts are that the priest that peed in his robe probably wouldn't have fled in the direction we truly want to go but, then again, he's not the smartest guy in the room, either.

Thoughts from the rest?

...you're a tough guy when you've got a pack of zombies in front of you but let a few of them get knocked down and you run to your room? Scaredy-priest!!!

Anyhoo... I'm assuming that if we followed the path of the retreating priest, that hallway is likely to end in a locked metal door or gate. What can we see of the north-leading hallway? Any torches or other features that might be discernable from where we stand? Does it appear to be the same width as the hallway we just entered from? And, assumptions aside, I suppose it would be wise to ask the same of the western corridor, as well.

Absolutely! Especially with a side of quail eggs... and maybe some Sriracha?

I will eat those babies!!!

Yup! That about sums it up!

Meat! Eggs! My belly! NOW!!!

...unless any of our spellcasters and other clerics have anything to add. As Reralae said, I think the gist of it, now, is trying to get out of this narrow hallway and into the room beyond so we can open the fight up a bit.

But that's just my opinion... I could be wrong.

I managed a post! Sorry that took so long. This weekend was packed full of fun and recuperation and very little time for much else.

In an effort to be inconspicuous, Ch'dau's not going to speak much to anyone at the Inn aside from Ara and Kith as I imagine a Kazari's voice might be distinctive enough that it'd give away a little much... (Actually, I've been thinking about it, and I figure ol' fuzz-face sounds quite a bit like Michael Clarke Duncan. Only, you know, with a bit more of a "feline rumble" to the voice.)

Anyhoo... feel free to pick up however you so choose and, if either of you decide to approach Mosic and would like me to NPC him, just let me know. If you decide to NPC him, yourself, I'm good with that, too!

Kith and Ch’dau having provided whatever information they could in regards to Adedre and her estate, Aranwen considered all that she had heard and, after a moment, offered a solemn nod. “As to our own preparations, we should certainly see about getting a full meal. That assortment of food is suitable for the road, and will hold you over until we eat proper, but it will not sustain you through healing and the battles ahead...”

Still contentedly chewing on a mouthful of dried meat, Ch’dau nodded his enthusiastic concurrence with that idea. The bladesinger’s rations were good, of course, but the mouthfuls he had swallowed already only made him realize how truly hungry he was.

“…On the topic of healing, we may need to see a cleric about our injuries, as well as pickup more medical supplies,” Aranwen continued, “If we can enlist the aid of a cleric for the upcoming battles, that would be even better. Devotees of Kith-Jora or Falloes might be our best options there.”

The cat-man shrugged at the mention of Kith-Jora and Falloes. These were not names he was familiar with. In his time with the Wyverns, the human clerics who had tended his injuries had been followers of Therassor, Lysora, or Solanis. He couldn’t help but wonder, though, just how many gods the furless folk of Antaron might actually have and why there might be a need for so many. The Kazari only had three entities that they revered with such esteem and, in the course of his life, they had seemed plenty.

“We can likely find information in the same places we look for a full meal,” Kith said, drawing Ch’dau’s mind away from his contemplation of the many monkey-gods, “I can point us in the direction of a few taverns, and there’s an inn nearby as well that’ll serve us. As for medical supplies and such, if you have some coin to spare, I can point you in the direction of an apothecary, but if not,” she held up a palm and wiggled her fingers, “I may be able to find something…”

The Silver Cat chuffed out a faint chuckle at that and offered something of a nod. As dishonorable as Kith’s thieving ways seemed to him, he couldn’t deny that her skills were largely responsible for his new found freedom and for the rather uncomfortable clothing that would serve to hide him from curious eyes. It was this that he considered as Aranwen and Kith’s conversation turned to the topic of masks and antique stores (whatever those were). By the time that talks had turned back to venturing out into the city, once more, Ch’dau had decided that, despite Kithran’s chosen vocation, he was truly beginning to like the girl. The bladesinger fascinated him, as well. She had the heart of a warrior and the mind of a leader… This Aranwen would make a worthy khatun, he imagined as he swallowed the last morsel of the food she had offered.

“…I believe I am ready to go, whenever you lot feel up for it,” Kithran said, wincing only a little as she bounced to her feet and made for the cellar’s door, “We can go in whichever order you like. Just,” she looked at Ch’dau and smirked, “try to be as inconspicuous as possible.”

The kazari equivalent of a smirk played on Ch’dau’s features as he, too, got to his feet. “I will do the best I can, Little Kitten,” he chuffed, tucking the dagger she had given him into the waist of the trousers he wore and, then, drew the cowl of the cloak over his head.

"Indeed," Aranwen observed, "Were I a holder of a keep in this particular city, I'd make certain to have eyes in the city itself that I might know of events beyond my gates. And if her eyes are looking for you two, well, we best be cautious. Kithran, you can wear my cloak. The black should serve to obscure your appearance to an extent. Let's be on the streets as little as we can."

“Mmm, that is a good point,” Kith nodded, “Perhaps it is best if I keep ahead of you two as we wind around this city.” 

“Kithran, you can wear my cloak.” The bladesinger offered, “The black should serve to obscure your appearance to an extent. Let's be on the streets as little as we can.”

“Once again, thank you, Aranwen,” the thief said, accepting the offered cloak, “I feel a bit naked without some sort of cover while sneaking about.”

Aranwen nodded. “If we are followed, what would you suggest we do, Kithran,” she asked, then, “I expect you have more practical experience with that than myself.”

Kill them, the kazari almost suggested.

“I suppose it depends. How good are you two at disappearing,” the shadow girl asked, forestalling his answer and eyeing Ch’dau skeptically…

“I can disappear well enough,” the kazari snorted, “Your cities are unlike the jungles of Capasha but I am sure I can make due should I need to.”

There was more talk between the two women, then, and a moment or two spent with Kithran surveilling the alleyway beyond the cellar door. Then, at last, the shadow-girl led them out into the city’s streets. Ch’dau did his best to stay concealed beneath the cloak and cowl he wore and, in fact, tried to make himself appear smaller than he was in order to avoid drawing any undue attention as Kith guided them through Davnor’s crowded thoroughfares. He must have done a passable job as there had been none who tried to confront them along the way.

After a time, Kith brought them to halt beneath a sign that Ch’dau couldn’t read but, based upon the strange pictures carved into the placard, he imagined it was the Countess and Cockatrice Inn. As the thief slipped through the door of the place to perform a bit of reconnaissance, he caught scent of the food that was cooking inside and his stomach grumbled in anticipation as he and Aranwen awaited Kith’s return. It didn’t take long before the door opened, again, and Kith motioned them inside and led them to a table.

“I didn’t notice anyone following us, here,” Kith said quietly as they seated themselves, “so I believe we should be okay for now. Did either of you two see anything?”

“I saw nothing,” Ch’dau rumbled softly, his gaze slowly scanning the inn’s occupants from the depth of the cowl.

“I believe I told you to be inconspicuous, my friend,” Kith said, casting a pointed look in his direction.

“I did the best I could,” he chuffed in reply, “It is no fault of mine that you people are so small.”

The thief smirked. “If we have not joined a skeleton army by the end of this,” she smiled, “how about I give you some lessons on how to disappear, even as a giant silver cat man, and in exchange you give me some tips regarding limb-ripping and fighting as fiercely and explosively as you?”

“This is a good plan,” Ch’dau rumbled, his blue-green eyes glinting even in the shadows of the hood, “I do not know that you have the strength for limb-ripping, but I believe I can teach you a thing or two about fighting.”

“It’s a deal then!” Kith grinned before turning to Aranwen, “Have you noticed the Cidal priest a few tables away, Aranwen? Will he do?”

Cidal? Ch’dau’s gaze swept the room. Those are the very tiny monkeys, yes? Just as he caught sight of the little man to whom he thought Kith might be referring, an unfamiliar female voice snatched his attentions back…

A flaxen haired human woman, clad in a green blouse, dark skirt, and pale apron stood at the end of the table. “G’mornin’ an’ welcome ta The Countess an’ Cock’trice,” she said, “Fer breakfast this mornin’, we’re offerin’ a selection o’ meatballs, chicken or quail eggs, fresh pears, an’ nut bread. What can I get fer ye folk?”

“Meat,” the cat-man said, trying not to speak overmuch, “and eggs.”

Always nice to wake up to posts! Great stuff as always!

I'm cleaning up the aftermath of last night's festivities, now, but will try and get a post of my own going soon.

That was intense!!!

A perfect morning read for Beggars Night!

I darn well hope so!

Ch’dau hadn’t failed to notice Garn’s displeasure, nor the fact that the monkey-man had choked down words of his own… When this is over, the big cat thought, perhaps carelessly turning his back on the man, you and I will have our reckoning. Until then… He let the thought finish without words and, having heard suggested strategies from the rest, complied with Gib’s, which seemed to be the wisest and most straight forward.

In the securing of the rope to the door-handle, the kazari had, at one point, felt his fur brush against the door and, in that moment, tensed, bracing for whatever might come. However, nothing happened and, for that, he was grateful if still anxious to do away with the wooden blockade. Cedric’s call upon his god had soothed him a bit; made him more confident in his outlook and surer that, whatever might come, he was ready to face it. So it was that, when the rope was given to his hand and the signal was given, Ch’dau didn’t hesitate to pull with all his might. As the portal tore open, a dull thud, a flash of light and heat, and the smell of scorched hair followed. It was disorienting and uncomfortable to be sure, but, at the same time, he took some small pleasure in the knowledge that the abominations on the other side of the door had suffered it’s effect as well. Even as the ends of his fur still burned and the spots dancing before his vision sought to escape, the Silver Cat growled and brought his weapons to bear, stabbing and slashing at the rotting foes that pressed the doorway.

Even as he hacked away at the relentless rotters, the kazari caught sight of the ebon-robed man beyond them… likely guiding them… and, though he would have dearly loved to have shoved the zombies aside and had his way with the still living monkey, he thought better of it when he imagined what Gib might have to say about such a reckless charge. Instead, and between swipes of his own blades, Ch’dau called out to those behind him; “A priest of the Dead One! I will bring you blood, friends! Be ready!”

With that, Ch’dau’s tactics changed from simply hacking away at the dead before him to, when the opportunity presented itself, taking hold of one or two and slinging them out into the hallway behind him as he tried to force his way through the portal and make more room for the fight.

((OOC: There ya have it. Not abandoning “the plan” just making a slight modification. Given our marching order, I figure that, if Ch’dau starts hauling the random zombie or two thru the door, the others in the line will be more than capable of dealing with them and, at the same time, he’ll free up space to move further into the room. If/when he makes it through the doorway, he’ll move to one side (preferably his left) in order to open up space for ranged attacks from his cohorts and continue his hack and slash business on the undead while still trying to move toward the priest.))

...stick with the plan it is.

Likely a better "damage management" strategy, anyway. Just wanted to put the option out there, I suppose.

Not too worried about the additional hits, tbh... Angry kazari, looking for abducted besty, etc, etc... let's eat some faces!!!

If no one objects, I think that's my plan... may even go for the priest if the opportunity presents itself, and let folk in the file take care of the zombies as the hole is made. I'll wait for wiser heads to prevail before i commit too much to post, though.

P.S. I love Davena as a character, too... as much as I hate her, even! Garn, too... even if Ch'dau really wants to kill him.

"Ten or so" were the precise words, so, I'm guessing around a dozen anyway... not sure if any were set alight by the fireball trap but, yeah, help is always welcomed! Teamwork makes the dream work, right?

• Turn undead


• Raging Kazari charge and chomp


• Maximun effort, maximum carnage

Thoughts?

EDIT: The map helps... so, same plan as above but, maybe have Aranwen and Garn try to move to the front, as well, following the turn undead bit, melee fighters clear a swath on the press into the room, ranged fighters aim for the priest...