ROA: Part 3, A candle in the darkness.

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fathom123
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Two weeks have passed since the uneasy reunion of the party. The apartment that Livia and Crimson once shared proved too small a space for the group so the priest of St Cuthbert, despite his first impression of these, offered the temple as a temporary home to the travelers as they sort out their near future.

The priest, a man named Father Mackie Talbraught, was weary of the idea of having an illithid and a werewolf living under his roof though after a short while, Father Mackie and Rhel became uneasy friends often having deep and meaningful conversations for hours at a time. Father Mackie sharing with Rhel the Tennants of St Cuthbert and Rhel reciting the Songs of the Star Father. Father Makie enjoying the company though more than a little on edge due to the reputation that follows the mind flayers.

For now, the lives of these adventurers has slowed down. A welcome change of pace considering the hell the last two years have been for some.

Guy, with the help of Livia and Father Mackie has made a full physical recovery in mere days. Feeling alive again, he dons his armor, griping his mace to find that the magic of the armor had left from it though the mace still burns bright. ((Treat Guy’s armor as the same material only masterwork instead of giving you the ability to teleport. The shield and mace still function as normal)). Staring into the flames he’s known night after knight. For two years, he was the slave of unholy masters driving him night after night, entertaining the masses. Now with freedom in hand it’s weight, at times, feels crushing. A mind that has known only how to survive without rest is a machine, a machine who’s function is buried in a maze and Guy seeks to find his way out. A way back to the man he once knew a lifetime ago.

For Livia, Underport has been her home for the last two years and life for her has returned to normal attending to her duties as a priestess but keeping close with the party. She has nightmares on occasion, seeing the marred face of the high priest and mark of the Necromantic King who’s power goes unchecked as his darkness consumes the land. Her prayers are frequent though she feels the power of the steward of Life waning from her. This shadow must be stopped and within Livia burns a fire that cries out for justice.

For the last two weeks, Crimson has set herself to learn all she can about the different items she found on Minather, the necromancer, and her deceased mark and father to Anna Loretta, Martin.

Crimson
Spoiler:
The black book is the necromancer’s spell book. The rod adorned with skulls was his wand. The wizard who Crimson was able to speak to insisted that the items be destroyed, their magics too dark to be allowed to exist. ((It’s your choice whether you want her to destroy them or not)). The watch found is unique. A dwarven metallurgist, the best in all of Underport, stated that he’s never seen these metals before and mentioned that the item is very precious indeed. It appears to have a tremendous magical aura hovering over it though no wizard thus far has been able to identify what the item really does or how it operates. The second sheet of paper found on Martin is a map of a village far to the north. The village is an orc village called Kor’rhantouk, roughly translated as “five sandwiches.” The village is known as a trading ground for those willing to do business with orcs, very well suited and frequented by many of ill repute of which Underport is not lacking.
Regarding the possessions found on Minather, there appears to be a monocle of True Seeing, enabling it’s user to see as the true seeing spell through one eye http://www.d20srd.org/srd/spells/trueSeeing.htm. The wand is beyond repair and the note found seems a strange thing considering that “10 days before the frost” was over two and a half weeks ago and yet there doesn’t appear to be any force readied against Underport.
In the city of rogues, Winthrop felt more at home here than he ever has elsewhere. As a priest of Olidammara many sought his wisdom and guidance. He has developed quite a following, often finding himself in a local pup playing into the wee hours of the night citing the tales of the Steward of Joy and Revelry. The local priesthood began noticing this young and ambitious priest who’s heart is to serve the steward.

Winthrop
Spoiler:
Winthrop sits at a table, fiddle in hand playing a very sad tune when he notices the old man, the drifter from the inn sitting next to the window staring out. Long brimmed had atop his head and pipe in hand as before. Trip stands to his feet and walks over to him, watching him silently he follows the man's eyes to see two boys playing outside. Both are very young, eight years old at the most, one has blonde hair and the other a brown color. Both have toys in hand, the blonde boy standing while the other sits. The blonde boy looks down at the brown haired boy, picks up a large rock and hits the other boy in the head with it. The look of evil on the blonde boy’s face was something that shook Trip, such hatred boiling inside.

He’s passed from me, my first son.” The old man’s voice cuts the weight of the silence. He looks up at Winthrop, “You take his crown Winthrop or Katastrofeas will take the last free city in Agronon.” Winthrop looks back to see the blonde haired boy meeting his gaze. A smile is plastered across his face as he holds the stone dripping with the other boy’s blood.

Winthrop wakes in his bed, shirt dripping with sweat, the images so palatable as though they happened only moments earlier. The blonde boy who’s face held such…evil.
Kratimos felt oddly at home in the world of Underport. With no sun or moon to speak of given the city’s subterranean locale, the fear of shifting while walking its streets faded from his mind. Taking strolls around the dilapidated district home to the temple of St Cuthbert, he never felt so...human.
Jeremiah 20:9-But if I say, "I will not mention him or speak any more in his name," his word is in my heart like a fire, a fire shut up in my bones. I am weary of holding it in; indeed, I cannot.
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"My father is dead."

He couldn't make those words sound right.

The news had arrived soon after his awakening. His father had died exactly as he would have wished, battling the enemies of his homeland in the name of his King and with the Blessing of his Goddess. Guy de Lyonesse, Battle Lord of Bretonnia and Captain-General of the Army of the King's Hammer had been slain in battle... a battle that was won in no small part due to his sacrifice. The tower he'd died defending was never taken from his men.

And yet his son, Guy the Younger, felt no exultation, no pride. His heart had been torn from him. The pain was so intense it was physical, and three nights after receiving the letter he finally could hold back the pain no more and he had wept like a child, alone in his bedchamber, clutching the letter his father had written him so long ago as the last remnant he still possessed.

Oh, no doubt when he eventually returned home to Lyonesse he would be given things his father had owned. His sword, certainly. His shield. Perhaps some of his titles and lands. He had no siblings and would likely inherit all of the things that had belonged to his father... But this letter... it was the last thing his father gave to him directly. He kept it tucked safely in his tunic now, next to his heart. It didn't replace the empty space, but it was the best he could do.

He struggled with his rage. Fueled by pain h is dreams were filled with the most violent and terrible images he could conceive of. The warlord who had slain Guy the Elder had fled the battle and still lived. Guy dreamt of hunting him. Running him down like a beast and burying his father's sword to the hilt in the throat of this madman, snarling with triumph as he watched the light fade from the wretch's eyes, then jerking the sword back and letting the body fester in a latrine pit. That was the mildest of his fantasies.

But revenge was not the way he'd been taught, and if his father could see into his dreams he would be deeply ashamed, and so Guy bit back his rage, he meditated, he prayed, he tried to remain as serene as he could manage. He was a Paladin, a holy warrior, a defender... And there must be no room in his heart for hate...

...but then, his heart was broken, wasn't it?
"He who takes offense when no offense is intended is a fool, and he who takes offense when offense is intended is a greater fool."
—Brigham Young

"Don't take refuge in the false security of consensus."
—Christopher Hitchens
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Seeing the young master in such grief, Michel Beauchene, honor guard of house de Lyonesse, stoically stood watch outside of Guy's door. Hearing such rage and grief flowing from Guy moved the honor guard to tears. The family of de Lyonesse was as his own being an orphan who was taken in by Lord Guy. He lived a quiet life as a squire and servant until the day came where he was inducted into the house guard. Proving himself capable in battle, he earned a minor rank among the honor guard of house de Lyonesse. He fought in many battles, led parties of different sizes and had to sacrifice so much in service. This, however, proved the most difficult task of all; handing this letter to the son of the man who rescued him from the streets those many years ago.

His orders, return to the household after delivering the news to Guy the younger. His duty to the man outweighed his orders so Michel stood watch. Sleep did not find his eyes for days and nights on end allowing his master the room needed to grieve uninterrupted. After several days and nights, Michel retrieved for his master a plate of food.

He quietly knocks on the door to find his master lying silent in his bed, exhaustion consuming him as he rests uneasy. He sets the food on the small table without a word, and turns to leave.
Jeremiah 20:9-But if I say, "I will not mention him or speak any more in his name," his word is in my heart like a fire, a fire shut up in my bones. I am weary of holding it in; indeed, I cannot.
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Crimson looks around and is getting restless knowing that the enemy forces are gathering if not already on their way to attack this place. They must be stopped! She wants to scout Kor’rhantouk to see what's going on and she has some artifacts to take care of. While she can scout on her own, she'll welcome any help in either task set before her.

She calls out to her friends

Hey does anyone feel up to scouting Kor’rhantouk with me? I have a hunch that enemy forces may be gathering there. I'd like to see what we're up against. I also have some magical artifacts that need destroying, can anyone lend a hand with that?
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Eating has become a simple maintenance task and Guy does so, tasting nothing. He goes through the motions, rising in the morning, dressing, eating, weapons practice, prayer and meditation. All done by rote.

And so it is welcome when he hears Crimson call for assistance.

"I will go with you."
"He who takes offense when no offense is intended is a fool, and he who takes offense when offense is intended is a greater fool."
—Brigham Young

"Don't take refuge in the false security of consensus."
—Christopher Hitchens
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As Kratimos walked the streets, he began to wonder about the days after this is all done. A foolishness, he assured himself, as those may never come and they certainly always end up differently than you'd expect, but he keeps finding himself asking if this would be a good place to take Anna. But would she be safe? He scanned the broken houses, and recalled the temple of Olidammara. He never really had a problem with Olidammara, more than any other god, which he more dismissive of than anything, but living in a den of thieves got a new perspective when considering Anna. He looked up at moonless cavern sky. She'll be safe from me. A far greater danger than any petty thief or drunken thug. Maybe it's best if she wasn't around him at all. He stopped from attacking her once as a beast, but could he guarantee that? He will keep working on controlling it.

His thoughts were interrupted by a burst of movement around one of the food sellers. A young man, scrawny and just beginning to grow out a mustache, nabbed some fruit from a local merchant and was running away before he was caught, but little did he know, he already was. When he turned a corner into an alley as he was scuttling away, Kratimos was waiting for him and he had nearly run into the warrior. Fear filled the lad, but Kratimos never drew his weapon. Instead, he reached out and grabbed four out of the five fruits in his hand.
"For getting caught so easily" Kratimos would have grabbed all of them, but the boy seemed hungry.
"Sir, I--" The boy began timidly.
"I'm not a sir," Kratimos interrupted. "I'm a killer."
The young thief's eyes gone wide with fear, and he voice caught.
"What is it?" Kratimos grew a little impatient.
"I have a sister..."
"And you have a fruit there." Kratimos motioned to the one fruit, and began to walk past him to leave the alley, just barely seeing the boy's shoulder's slump out of desperation. Kratimos stopped. Normally, he'd keep going, and if he's feeling generous, he'd give him a chance to win it back. But, he has a little sister... "Here."
Kratimos tossed another fruit for the boy's sister. Kratimos' sentimentality shocked him. What's going on with me? I don't even know this kid.

Kratimos returned to the shop keeper and placed two of the fruits back into their shoddy box.
"You should be a little more watchful over your wares." Kratimos said, seeing the merchant's confusion. He held up the third and other fruit. "My fee."
The shop keeper looked as if he was about to protest, but the look Kratimos gave him quickly told him that was not going to happen. He was lucky to get any back.




Back with his group, he watched the other members, while eating his fee. It was strange but sweetly sour fruit. He was leaning back in his chair and he let his head fall back as he savored the flavorful juices. Five years of eating who knows what... or whom, this fruit has opened his world. I can see why the boy was stealing this!

Guy did not seem quite so thrilled with his food. Guy did not seem quite so thrilled with him, either. Kratimos is not going to blame him for that, although, Guy did not seem quite so thrilled with anything, really. Maybe except for Livia. Kratimos got the sense she didn't really like him very much. He smirked a little to himself. They could hate him together, as a couple. It'd be romantic.
Still, didn't blame her either, he didn't like himself very much either. In fact, he's a bit surprised Crimson hasn't spurning him, not after what he's done. Paying his debt to her would be easier than the others. Well, besides Minather... So, when she asked for help, he answered without hesitation.

"You know you have my word on protecting your home. I will help you in whatever you need."

After this, he'd have to bring up Gorecht Shieldbreaker. Kratimos hoped he could count on his companions to help.
Pew Pew Pew. Science.

RoA: Kratimos/Lycan
UnHuman: Tim
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Winthrop rubs a hand over his eyes and smiles at Crimson. Although he seemed to have enjoyed his time at first, it appears that he hasn't been sleeping well the past few days.

"I would be honored to assist you," he says. "When do we leave? And where shall we go?"
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After a few hours, a man dressed as a jester strolls up to the gate outside of the shambled temple. His outfit is red and skin tight with cap and bells atop his head. His face is powdered white and his eyes are painted black. He opens the gate and does a perfect cartwheel through the opening then continues to walk toward the door. He raps on the door five times, loud, commanding.

He calls out behind the sealed door. His tone is jovial with a darker edge., "A humble jester calls for the man wearing the muscley armor. Would he come to the door to play? There are dire consequences for taking fruit that is not his own."

His voice fades into a series of indiscernible chuckles. He marches back and forth on the porch, his feet loud with each step.
Jeremiah 20:9-But if I say, "I will not mention him or speak any more in his name," his word is in my heart like a fire, a fire shut up in my bones. I am weary of holding it in; indeed, I cannot.
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((Are any of us wearing armor that could be described as "muscley?"))
"He who takes offense when no offense is intended is a fool, and he who takes offense when offense is intended is a greater fool."
—Brigham Young

"Don't take refuge in the false security of consensus."
—Christopher Hitchens
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I guess Kor’rhantouk will have to wait. Let's see what this clown wants. Maybe the enemy has finally arrived. I still want to see what this map is talking about in Kor’rhantouk afterwards though.
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Kratimos left out a big sigh. He's not entirely sure if it's because the jester came knocking for him or that he called his armor "muscley." This is Thesian armor. Heralding back to the, you know what, nevermind. He got up and started heading to the door, but stopped before opening it.

"So," He began cautiously, "Just a warning. Things might get a little complicated. There's a chance, oh, that we might have to leave real soon."
He gave one quick spot check to make sure his armor and gear was in place, and kept his sword ready for the draw. With that, he opened the door and stepped through to confront the jester.

"Yes?" Kratimos tried to be as looming as possible, while trying to assess the clown and seeing if he has anything he needs to worry about. By the stewards, he hates clowns.

Intimidate:
[dice]0[/dice]

Sense Motive:
[dice]1[/dice]

Spot:
[dice]2[/dice]

((Looking at these modifiers, and what I'm only going to assume is really bad intimidate and sense motive rolls... I think I should put a little more in them...

EDIT: BOOM! I'z scary!))
Pew Pew Pew. Science.

RoA: Kratimos/Lycan
UnHuman: Tim
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Trip watches the exchange between Kratimos and the servant of Olidammara warily. He's not sure what the fighter did to earn their attention, but he rises to his feet to stand nearby.
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