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Sergeant Almador

With Tindarien's heartening words in his ears, he prepared for whatever tomorrow might bring.

The fire flickered of the steel of the Sergeant's kettle hat, as he adjusted its leather chin strap.

He flexed his arms and shoulders in his liveried brigandine, then gave a few practice swings of his flanged mace.

Satisfied and with a flinty look on his face, he tied the pommel end to his belt with the lanyard, then lashed the business end to his thigh with some cord, to stop it pummelling his leg when he moved.

Growling with restrained bravado, he straightened up and "Ooof!", gripped the small of his back in pain and walked away from the fire looking embarrassed...

Bearkiller

Bearkiller's eyes were glazed as he stared into the fire. Shadows danced across his face. Daubing his fingers in wet ashes and grease, he painted black lines under his eyes with one hand, whilst toying with the bear claws in his other.

Finally, the drew his knife and tasted its edge with his tongue...

Zoltan

He's listened to the plans being made and they seemed the best as could be done. Beakiller's information about Red Ed was interesting, and he was curious what Ed wanted in the crypt, but that would have to wait. For now, he needed to prepare for the upcoming battle.

Falling into a familiar routine he sits cross-legged on the floor, going over his weapons with a sharpening stone, getting rid of any rust or nicks from the weather and the earlier fights.

As he works he hums a fanciful tune. He doesn't know the words, but the music caught his ear one day and he's found the repetitive melody helps him when he meditates or does manual tasks.......

<Weston>

He looked up at Tindarien. "Well we will have to stay alive long enough to find anything out. And I kind of had already figured out that I would be it's target. It can apparently sense the ring from a distance", he said thoughtfully. "We might be able to use that ... me coming in from the cave entrance up top while you all sneak in from underneath ...?"

He smiled at Seyja's offer of help. "Thanks, I have never done this." He worked to make sure that none of the precious rum as they transferred it to the more fragile glass ... a strip of cloth, but it was too early to insert that. That was for tomorrow. Satisfied that the fire bomb was ready, he set to work on his blades ... checking that the grips are tight, the blades are sharp and without nicks. He checked the bindings on his bow, waxed the bowstring, checking it for frayed threads, arrowheads were secure and the fletching straight and true. There was even a little time for a bit more food and drink before settling down...

Seyja


She gave Weston a brief, crooked grin, and settled in to assist him in the preparation of the fire bomb.

Once they were mutually satisfied that the incendiary device was as good as they could manage, Seyja attended to her weapons, sharpening the edge of her greataxe and oiling her sling to make sure it regained its former flexibility.

Then she checked over her armor, attending to any damage and oiling as necessary.

D

He sat and listened. Watching the progress with the fire bomb. He had not done that before, bit could see that it would be a good thing to know. Certainly he knee how to set a trap and use them to good effect.

As he sat there never looking at what his hands were doing, a small magic show seemed to be on display. A black blade would appear in one hand, be run along a honing stone, and disappear. This seemingly mundane little act occurred over and over. It was almost as if he was repeatedly sharpening one dagger over and over again. Yet if not surely there was some sort of magic involved. No one person could or would carry so many of the same obsidian colored blades, could they?

Tindarien

He raises an eyebrow at Weston.

"I was suggesting that you might like to experiment before going into battle."

He pauses then before thinking he should say more.

"I would think it is likely that it would be something necromantic or healing maybe given the dragon's intense interest. So maybe you could scratch yourself and see if it heals? Maybe others here have magic that might aid you in finding out."

<Weston>

"Oh", he said simply.

While healing would be nice to have, the idea of something necromantic did =not= sound appealing ... especially when he thought about the 'creepy' vision.

"Based on what I saw when I put it on, I fear it is more likely the former than the latter. But if someone with magical knowledge wants to take a look", he said holding the ring up and looking at it in the fire light.

[[ just to be clear, did W notice anything like 'special healing' after the fight? ]]

Jex
The bard started to hum in unison with Zoltan but he was planning to get some rest and let his wounds heal fully. It was a long day already.

[No healing noticed by Weston. Also, One Unique Things are never straightforward magic items, they're more like quest items. They will generally have unique story mechanics, rather than bonuses/abilities.]

[[ Didn't think so, but wanted to be sure. And ... based on the 'vision', I had gathered that the was going to be a 'process' to sort out <wink> ]]

GM

As the fire burned, it brought scenes bathed in wavering yellow light and red-tinged shadows. Zoltan didn't know the name but hummed the tune to the Taming of Stormmaker, and was joined by Jex, as they saw to their arms and armour. A suit of armour, forged in hellfire. A gleaming scimitar that was quick to violence.

The bottle of Green Star whiskey was drained and passed to Weston. On Tindarien's advice, he tied some of the high elf's storm matches around the outside of the bottle.

Seyja meanwhile decanted the Eight-Score rum into a cooking pot on the fire. When it was warm, she lifted the pot off of the fire and stirred in some whale soap until the mixture was frothing. D watched with interest, whilst toying with thin, obsidian blades.

Weston held the glass bottle. D held a funnel they'd made from rolled vellum, inserted into the bottle neck. Finally, Seyja poured and corked. One fire bomb, and with their combined resources, slightly improved over their initial design.

Now Tindarien crouched next to the camp-fire to check on his pan of water. It was simmering but he wasn't poaching eggs. He poured in a vial of aphronitre, stirred then lowered in the Eternal Alchemists' bronze key. Farvi, his masked ferret perched on his shoulder and provided a squeaking critique.

Fizzing and foaming, the aphonitre dissolved the rough minerals that encrusted the key leaving pitted metal. The sorcerer then fished it out, dried and polished it with a rag and held it up to the firelight. Jex squatted beside him and they both examined.

The symbol of the Eternal Alchemists, a steaming figure-eight chalice, was moulded into the bow of the key and very obvious, but now the finer, engraved details were decipherable. There were some dwarven runes, translated roughly as 'what follows follows', a dwarf phrase usually indicating a series of instructions. These took the form of raised sigils, the first of which was clearly recognisable as the crest of the dwarven fortress of Anvil. The others in the series were possibly markers, but the first step was certainly Anvil.

***

So it was, that in the cave from a time beyond time, the party prepared for tomorrow.

They did not know its name, the Beast of Titan's Elbow had for long ages been a folk tale. If it was the Master of Winter, it was one of the Primeval dragons from before the founding of the Empire, when dragonkind went nameless, bearing only a title.

If it was the Master of Winter it had defied the legendary Wizard King and brought calamity to an entire city. A fell deed that left it broken and maimed, and for three thousand years it passed out of history, becoming a resting malice that slept in the Empire's own neglected and forgotten back yard.

The Titan's Elbow became a cursed peak, but it was the creature living under it that claimed champion gladiators, swordmages and knights as its victims.

Tomorrow, you would either become its next victims, or you would finish off the ancient white wyrm for good. Tomorrow would be a day of endings.

[Go to HHE11: Interlude 2]