Log: Clever Title

Date	Title	People	Location
May 4, 2015	Log: Clever Title	Kyson, Xiuhcoatl, Drok'thar, Ganbaatar and Terewin	Rune, Dran

Ah, Rune.

Transport to Rune is not an easy thing to arrange... unless you're a member of the Guild of the Explorers. In which case, you're blind folded, escorted somewhere, and then told that you're going to feel disoriented for a time before you arrive in Rune. The upside of a magical city is that teleportation is easy to come by....far easier than it is anywhere else.

The next thing you know, you're seated in a briefing room... somewhere else. Somewhere other than where you were.

"Ho," says a bright, sunny, chipper red haired gnomish fellow.

"It's nice to meet all of you!"

Kyson raises a hand to block the bright light for a second until his eyes adjust. Glancing around the chambers to orient himself, the young mage looks to the others gathered and notes the tiger-skinned warrior with an eyebrow raised in question. Seeming to ignore the non-humans, his deep-blue eyes glance side-long to the other man and then to the gnome, "Greetings...uh...Master... ?" he tries to fish for the red-haired fellow's name.

Ganbaatar folds his arms at the sight of a gnome, looking skeptical. "Nice. Really. Very well, what is it that you need?"

Xiuhcoatl 's posture isn't as tall, slightly slumped, but still predatory. There is a purpose and force in his step, claws on his hands flexing in and out intermitantly. He flares his nostrils occasionaly, deep breaths almost seeming like a statement. He nods in greeting to the gnome, casually observing his companions.

Terewin leans forward and slaps his hand down on the table "Lets cut to the chase! What can I do for you?" the young swordman intones with a grin. "We will take of your problems in a jiffy."

Cast forward through the daemonic portals of yore..

..the barbarous Drok'thar furrows his thick beetled brow when the hood is pulled off of his head. Wide-nostrils flaring at the faint scent of Gnomish beard-wax he peers downwards at the sunny fellow and gives a slow toothy grin.

"Ho," he repeats the fellow's greeting with a deep grunt, "I am Drok'thar son of Darok-Kor." he inserts his own introduction amidst the rest of them.

While none of you recognize him, he has no problem with promptly introducing himself.

'I'm Brightwillow the Transfigurer. Nice to meet all of you. I have a PLAN. A plan that will /save Rune/. Parliament has alotted a certain amount of funds to make this happen, and with those funds, I've decided it's time to hire the lot of you." He beams. 

"Hi. So, here we go." 

"I believe that the problem is that nobody loved Arendt. Ever. So we're going to get him a /puppy/." 

A pause. 

"Oh. Right. Sorry. Wrong plan. Actually, I believe the answer is actually far more simple: we need to turn the rest of Dran against Arendt. They need to see him like we see him, right? You with me so far?"

Ganbaatar quirks an eyebrow in interest. "My countrymen will not be easily swayed, I know, I have tried. What are you proposing that would interest the Dran?"

Terewin taps his fingers on the table "Turn them against him? Well we can give it a shot however it seems unlikely." he leans back in the chair "OK so whats the plan? Lets get this doomed thing over with."

The blue sith raises a brow and eyes the gnome and through to the other compatriots. There isn't much for him to add right now. There is a mask of understanding over clear glossy look of not understanding the names given.

The young mage glances towards the Dran and then back to the Gnome, remaining silent for the time being as he has little 'constructive' to add at this point.

The Oruch gives a snorting laugh when the quest to get a puppy is revealed..

..his humor fading when it is revealed that such a masterstroke was a mistake, and shall not actually be part of his heroism this day.

"Perhaps if it were a small puppy, unbefitting a man of his renown.." he remarks in a heavy voice before going backward a step and easing himself into one of the chair provided, "..I have heard tell that the men of Dran make love to their horses. Perhaps if he made love to his wife he would be seen -- as you see him."

"You know, it's aggrvating. Of all the places we had to be, getting stuck with Dran for neighbors was the worst. I want to punt the fellow that decided on /that/ particular brilliant plan. Oh, hey. There' sa massive, war like barbarian culture to our east. Let's build a center of LEARNING on its border. That's sure to help." The oruch's comment makes the gnome burst out laughing.

"No, in all seriousness, we need to change the game. We need a Dran counterweight to Arendt. We need to find a leader /over there/ who just needs a little nudge. The first step of this plan is to locate the Hammer of Grat." 

He beams.

Ganbaatar glares at the Oruch. "It is not wise to fight with those you plan to travel with, so I will let that one pass. Just that one." He turns back to the Gnome, arms still folded. "There are tribes that yet resist Arendt, finding a warrior who can survive tha assassins he sends against his rivals is another matter."

Kyson peers at the Gnome curiously for a moment and then off to the side of the room as though he were searching his memory for some tid-bit of information. Unfortunately he's drawn a blank and has apparently never heard of such an item. "I do not know of this weapon, Master Brightwillow. A rare relic or something perhaps?"

"That's why we intend to arm him with the greatest weapon known to Dran: Destiny. The Hammer of Grat," he adds with a wink, "is a powerful weapon, belonging to an obscure Dran warrior named Grat who died in ignominy. But with honor, unsung by the bards until now. You're to disover his tale, and will be instrumental in speading it. I've made the arrangements. You will travel deep into the tablelands to finish the mission he started so long ago, and the tale of Grat will begin to spread, far and wide. "His mission was to purge a mountainous enclave of undead, long haunted. I've learned where it is, and undead being undead, you can no doubt handle whatever's left over. His relatives were the last ones there and htey fled with his body and the hammer. Look for signs of Grat's legend there, and moreover, finish his mission."

Xiuhcoatl hisses quietly to himself and crosses his arms. "Sstrength in ssolidarity. Peace to your memoriess. Sun on your nesstss." he speaks to noone in particular.

Terewin stands, pushing the chair back as he does "Just point us to it, surely it is defended by bandits. We will certainly see Grat's honor restored and his tale told. Whatever nasty things may stand in the way." the young knight declares.

Kyson glances from the Gnome to the others gathered confusedly. "You want us...to go to the Table Lands?" he seems less than enthused or convinced that such a course would be possible or advised. "If I may, Master...what assurity would we have that by replacing one Warlord with another, the battle's tide would turn? Dran want war," he says with simple confidence on such a scale as he was speaking from the same page as 'and the sun shall rise tomorrow morn'. The statement is said without any undue bile to his words but there's a side-long glance that couldn't easily be missed. "...and we should teach them 'tis not wise to rouse the wrath of wizards." (yeah, you say -that- three times fast)

Ganbaatar speaks up at Kyson's question. "Arendt leads the tribes through deception as well as strength, if he was removed two things would happen. First, the horde would probably disband, or at least be delayed while every tribe tested the new warlord. Second, we might recover our honour."

"Because the surest thing we could do to line the rest of the world up behind Dran is to unleash the full might of the wrath of wizards, Kyson," says Brightwillow, quietly, "No. We're showing them that there is another model for justice. Someone who would die, quietly, to protect Dran, unsung and without glory. There is strength. There is honor. And he did not need to ride a majestic white steed and wax on about revenge, war and justice. We seek someone who would be worthy of the Hammer of Grat to rise to act as a counterweight from within Dran. We only want to give destiny a nudge... not overplay our hand. And we must reserve all the strength we can for the inevitability that Heth and his agents will come for u again. As they /will/."

"A man of Dran worthy of the hammer would rise to challenge Arendt naturally... and it would not look as if he was our agent. Because he wouldn't be. He will only do what is necessary. But for that, the story needs to be known and spread amongst the people. So, we will deposit you deep within the tablelands, near the enclave still haunted to this day, near a township that lays within its shadow. Once you return from the enclave, go to the town and spread word of Grat to all those who rest there. Show them your wounds, your scars, and speak highly of Grat. You'll receive additional instructions from there." He winks. 

"Are you all ready?"

Xiuhcoatl nods in quiet agreement with the explaination.

Kyson doesn't seem all that eager to go to the Tablelands, but if such an action can help the kingdom then he's going to have to grit his teeth and 'help'. "Tipping the horde back into chaos, pitting one warloard against another in a contest to vie for this fabled weapon of renown and power? How very...g...interesting." He was almost ready to say Gnomish but to do so would probably be in poor taste. "My appologies if my actions lead to the death of your people..." he offers as a false-appology to Gan.

The mighty Drok'thar has encountered many hammers in his travels but none which are named as the Gnome describes.

With a faint savage smile for the Gnome's appreciation of his humor though the icy stare causes the hair on the back of his neck to stand up a little..

..with lifts a wide hand to show Gabaatar his palm, as if warding off the anger, "I mean you no offense, mighty Dran." He intones deeply, "For it is said that the horse lords possess a stamina so fierce that a woman will be sundered in two before he has had his fill. Only a beast of wide girth and unending stamina will meet his desires..."

He nods solemnly to Gabaatar, "...so again I mean you no offense for I have not met your wife. I am certain she is a site to behold."

Shifting to stand the Orc nods as if prepared to meet the quest.

Ganbaatar snorts. "Those who choose to follow Arendt deserve no sympathy. Those who have no choice will likely survive. It is what we do." He listens to the Oruch's words about no offense being meant, considers how that speech ends, and then unfolds his arms and swings a haymaker at the slightly taller warrior. "That was two. At three I will leave."

<<CRACK>>

The impact of the blow rocks the Oruch to one-side and twists his jaw momentarily to an odd angle.

Then, there comes a low sound...

...a certain fire takes his dark red eyes which narrow sharply with the threat of offense. Then he squeezes them closed, shaking his head, the braid at his back bobbing up and down. When his eyes open again there is a bit more clarity -- having shaken some of the stars from his field of view.

Then comes a broad fanged grin and the Oruch gives a deep thunderous laugh of joy. With a forward step he pushes forcefully at the Dran man's chest, "I like you." He declares working his jaw with his other hand, "A man who means what he says."

"Come. Let us see who can find this hammer first." He would exit dramatically here, but he's not sure where he's going.

Xiuhcoatl looks over to the two with arms crossed. His tail flicks back and forth, tilting his head to the side. "Ssoftskinss." he murmers, tongue flicking from his mouth and nostrils flaring.

"...mercenaries," says Brightwilow with a sigh.

"All right. Falala. Off to Dran we go," he sys, singsong. 

And with that, he's going to teleport the lot of you to Dran.

FLASH.

Your second teleport within as many hours is enough to make your heads spin, no doubt, but there you are. 

A collapsed ruin built by ancient Giantborn architects. Did they, as some ancient giantborn theorists speculate, leave more of these ruins throughout Dran?! 

(Yes, they did.) 

The stone ruins a large, and a gap leads into the interior of the mountain. YOu're a ways up. It's cold. You can see a hamlet on the side of the road down below you. That must be the town you're supposed to go to once you deal with this place. 

The opening awaits.

Kyson turns to the Dran warrior and then gestures down the path, "Your people - you go first." Though being a young person, the mage is unusually confident about who should lead them into this...mission.

Terewin draws his longsword and makes a few pratice swings. "Well lets find this hammer. How hard can it be to find right?" the knight says with grin before heading into the gap.

Ganbaatar steadies himself and pulls out his earthbreaker. "Home. Again. Let us hope our reception is better than my last visit." He points the hammer at the ruin. "This is presumably the place where this supposed warrior died."

High atop the forgotten slopes they plunged into a lost city carved by giants within the stone belly of the mountain...

Drok'thar shakes a second wave of disorientation from his head when the teleportation effect fades. His bare jade skin goose-pimples against the chill breeze though he offers no complaint of it instead running a wide forearm across his nose which has begun to run, just slightly.

"The opening awaits," he announces and starts for the opening, "Behind you, noble lord." he says to Terewin, "May your cocoon of gleaming metal break the teeth of whatever foul creatures comes next to gnaw upon the rest of us!" Xiuhcoatl eyes the ruins, spitting a word out and drawing the savage looking club, taking up position towards the middle of the group.

So in you go.

The passage leads to the worst thing an adventurer cna ever, ever face. 

IT leads to.... THE DOOR! 

A sealed pair of metal doors block the way forward. They look dented, pitted, and old. WWhatever colorful art once was on the engravings of giant warriors has faded, leaving only the stark reliefs of angry looking warriors. 

Dust and cobwebs cover the doors. No one has been here in a long while.

GAME: Drok'thar rolls strength: (3)+4: 7 GAME: Ganbaatar rolls strength: (7)+4: 11

The portal was barred by doors of such immense size that even the mighty giants who carved these walls would not have easily forced their way in -- or perhaps it is what might seek egress which should worry the adventurers...

Drok'thar breaks rank and shoulders his way to the mammoth entryway. Taking hold of the great iron ring he sets his feet and HEAVES backward.

Ganbaatar grasps the other handle and similarly pulls with similar results. Between the two of them, they slowly, GRINDINGLY, open the doors.

Griiiiiiiiiiiiiiiind. 

SCREEECH. 

The doors open, reveadling a darkened, stone interior that immediately lights up as everburning torches flick 'on' down the line. 

A great statue of a dran warrior dominates the interior. He's cracked and crumbled, so he's less impressive than he was. His arm is off. (It's just a flesh wound.) 

Bones litter the floor here, as does bone dust. Passage ways lead in each direction.

Ganbaatar swings his hammer over his shoulder again and strides forward. "Seems normal for a tomb so far. Lots of bones, signs of undead, the usual." He stops when he can see down as many passages as possible.

Xiuhcoatl fluidly moves in with the group, tail lashing from side to side. "The dead stay but do not join the sun." he says, dissapointed. The sith's eyes close slowly as he turns his head to the side. He spits a word, taking position near the two forward warriors.

Kyson keeps his staff in hand and glances to the ever burning torches that line their way. Someday he'll make one of his own but it would almost seem a waste. For the now, he allows the two warriors to lead them down the path of the ruined tomb while occasionally glancing back over his shoulder to the Sith behind him. Strange and curious creatures the Sith - he should read more about them when he has time. Odd the things you think of while walking, possibly, to find trouble.

Terewin moves behind the two larger warriors and pushes some bones around with the tip of his sword, "Well... at least these appear to be staying dead. So good so far."

They found the mighty sentry whose silent vigil over the bones was telling -- the adventurers must choose, and choose wisely, for their fate is in their own hands.

Drok'thar dips briefly down to pick up a large femur. He swings it several times before cocking his arm backwards and HEAVES the thing through the darkness beyond.

Then moving towards a skull he sets his foot gently atop its dome, "This one knows more of this place than us." the Oruch decides, "If no other recourse exists let us spin it around and around until it slows and allow its fate to select the tunnel within which we shall tread."

There is no other indication of what lays in the other passages without going down them.

You hear a distant rattle on occasion. More than one from deeper within, honestly, and there's no 'fixed' direction so it's probably more than one.