The Powers That Be

"Oh, and I think you had asked about the city guard of Baldur's Gate, and such, Grumbleshanks. I apologize for ignoring you earlier. It was an unintentional slight, I promise," Hring said, continuing where he'd left off moments before. "The captain of the guard is located near the northeast entrance to the city, but the guard has lately become more interested in strutting around and looking pretty at fancy parties. I doubt you'll find much help there, though you are welcome to try. There is not much of a merchant's guild, but there are several of us that perform most of the function that a guild would perform. If you have something particular in mind, I could see what could be done about it. Was there something in particular you were wondering about?"

This Is Me

Hring was wrenched out of his introspective ponderings about the amount of oil he might be able to dig up by the fight at hand, but was unsure what to say at first, until Gurkirat made his quick attempt at soothing tempers.

"My friends and colleagues, I apologize for my haste. I have been rushing about madly since long before the earthquake, and this catastrophe has only made it worse. But even in these difficult times, one should never forget one's manners. Allow me to introduce myself."

"My name is Hring Darkeyes. I am a merchant, specializing in weapons. I believe that will be a good start. I called upon you two," he said as he gestured to Grumbleshanks and Gurkirat, on his far right, "Because you were willing and able to dispatch a couple wererats that had just killed the city guardsmen. What are your names, pray tell?"

Roll(1d20)+9:
12,+9
Total:21

"Grumbleshanks, of the Winddrivver clan," Grumbleshanks said, looking around defiantly.

"I am Gurkirat Kaleo, humble scholar and musician, at your service," Gurkirat cut it with flair before anyone could answer Grumbleshanks' challenging stare.

"It is a pleasure to meet you both," Hring replied. "The other pair at this table," Hring motioned to Talathel and Darvin, "Were intercepted as they ventured into the sewers in search of a good fight. We were unable to exchange names when we first met. I hope you will forgive me, and allow me to try to make amends now."

"Darvin Ambelcrown, mighty pirate." Darvin proudly exclaimed.

"Talathel Braegen, monk of the Old Order," Talathel begrudgingly offered.

"Thank you, my friends," Hring said. "That leaves only you, the mysterious healer who showed up at the recently destroyed temple of Lathander, healed a throng of people, and then passed out."

"I am Beranhond, until recently cleric of Torm," was Beranhond's somewhat cryptic response.

"It is wonderful and rare to meet a man of your reputation and ability. And it is my great honor to have you in my home." With this, Hring bowed his head out of respect for Beranhond for a second.

When he raised it, he said, "There, now that we all know each other, let us forget these unpleasant words, and focus on the greater task at hand."

Wet Blanket

Gurkirat observed the situation with face impassive, but he couldn't help but cringe at Grumbleshank's words. Clearly Beranhond was trying to control his expression, but his anger could not be concealed. Abruptly he left the room. Silence reigned in his absence, and the only eye contact Gurkirat made with Grumbleshanks was brief and tense. Clearly Grumbleshanks meant exactly what he said and felt strongly enough to have stated it aloud. Gurkirat cast his gaze around the room, partially to avoid anyone else's eyes and partially as a habit when thinking hard. As Beranhond came back into the room and apologized for his anger and explained himself, Gurkirat decided he should jump into the conversation before Grumblshanks could respond.

Diplomacy: 13+2=15

Ironic, Gurkirat thought, that as we talk of burning out the rats there should erupt a fire within the group. He had to pipe up before this came to blows. "Water puts out alcohol. So I don't think bombs made of alcohol will work too well if the sewers are flooded." 

Well, epic fail on the soothing words. I hope my demeanor was better than what I said. I'll go for separation.
"What we can agree on is that, no matter what we do with the oil, we need to do some advance scouting before doing anything. So I suggest we send the sneakiest person, or perhaps this horde of cats, to find out where the rats spend their time so we know where to bomb them, or burn them, or whatever we do. I'm sure this man has some useful information for us", Gurkirat stated as he nodded his head in the direction of the man in leathers, "but there are still things we need to discover on our own before undertaking this operation. Meanwhile, I, as the only alchemist, will study what fuel we can use for this mission. I will need an assistant to find all the available oil and to build the contraption.

"So who volunteers to search the sewers and who wishes to be my bitch." Gurkirat winced. This stress is killing my social manners. He reached for his clarinet, hoping to ease the situation through another means, but knowing that he had nothing to achieve this goal.

Such blatant disrepsect, though perhaps not unwarranted (a revision to my earlier post).

At this, anger flooded his mind and Beranhond looked straight back into the eyes at the pathetic halfling He sneered and rose to his full height towering over the halfling and the table. Beranhond did nothing to this callous jerk, but he did not like his attitude since they all first met.
"No, what I did not like was your arrogant tone in talking down to me when all I was doing was agreeing with you. I am sorry that you are so insipid and so unintelligent as to misunderstand what I was saying. I am also sorry that you took that as arrogance or deceit, but that was not my intent." His rage filled voice filled the room. "I do not know what your problem is halfling, but I have no problem with you, nor have I shown you any signs of disrespect. A civil tone is much more preferred to the snivling, hatefilled speech of an uncouth, and uneducated sloth. If you keep insulting me then we shall have problems. But as of now, I have done nothing to you and you have shown every act of disrespect, to such an end that you shame your whole species. As for felines, my cat has already shown more manners and upbringing than you have shown anyone in this room. If you persist I will have nothing more to do with you." He slammed his hand down on the table, visibly angry. "Now, lets get back to the manner at hand and know that when I intend to disrespect you, grumbleplanks, I will. But at all other times I am simply going to respond in an appropriate manner, and a cordial manner." He turned to the rest of the members. "Now, please forgive me, as this creature has raised my ire and that is unforgiveable, I need ask forgiveness." He turned and strode out of the room.


Once in the bathroom he sat in the corner and shook out the last bits of his anger. Beranhond's temper was quick to rise, though fortunately, it didn't all that often. The gall of that halfling to accuse him of arrogance! Overt pride perhaps, but not arrogance! 
"Oh Narath, I have yet to really conquer my anger."  
"No, you haven't, but you are yet young. There are much better times to get angry - don't waste your anger on those who judge without knowing." Her voice coming into his head. "But, I suspect when you look back on it your intent was probably not fully explained in your response and such things can be forgiven. But, my dear prophet, losing your anger with another sentient really isn't as forgivable."

"No. No it is not. I shall try to make amends at some point. That was uncalled for and unnecessary. Such feelings betray me and my goals."

"Perhaps, if you wish. Or you could ignore and let all things be that are."

"Yes. But I do not think that would reflect either of us well." With that her presence faded from his mind and suddenly his emotions came down. He missed her, he missed the towers that were his home in the citadel of Torm, and he missed knowing. Why was he even here?
He lay there for a few minutes, emotions whirling and echoing the emotions of that youth who left his home to seek a glorious future. A future he had now cast aside. 

Entering the room he turned towards Grumbleshanks. "Master Grumbleshanks, I ask your forgiveness for both my behavior earlier, and my response earlier. I suspect that we are both proud people and pride is a vice of which we can ill-afford. After reflecting with Nar... my God, I suspect that original statements did come off as arrogant. But, believe me with all sincerity that no-ills were intended." It was indeed difficult to say, but such things were necessary. 
"As for the rest of you, forgive my outburst. My anger comes infrequently, but strongly, I only hope that next time it comes is when I am at battle, and not amongst noble sentients such as yourself. Forgive my absence." At that he sat calmly sat down, emotions mostly returned to normal. He even managed a smile. Forgiveness is the better part of valor... or something like that.

deleted for continuity

Deleted for Continuity

A question

Looking Beranhond in the eyes, Grumbleshanks asked with a straight face, "Just to clear up any confusion, is there a stick up your ass or have you spent too much time around felines? Because I'm having difficulty determining the source of your conciet and arrogance."

A thought

Perhaps oil will be too much, the quantity for their original plan, given the size of the sewers, would probably not work. But perhaps that, combined with some alcohol (a word derived from Arabic) would be sufficient.
"What if we closed in the main nest, saturated that with oil by using some sort of pumping device, and then used the Osris (Molotov) drink bombs to ignite an explosion around the main nest? It would be easier than saturating the entire sewer, but it would destroy much of the main next."
His mind flashed, remember lessons regarding the Glorious Navy of Torm and its defeat over the infidel using flying flames.

"Could we use a ships pump to launch oil and ignite it midstream? I remember hearing about something like that." He was unsure, as the history classes in the citadel were many years ago, but it sounded like it had possibilities.

Silent queries

Perception: d20 = 9 (+7)=16

Talathel noticed the cat slip out of the room. He had not heard the conversation that he had with his master (and Talathel figured that Tigrisclawu was the type of cat to dislike the term "master". Cats that can talk always seem to have this heir of superiority) but given that the talk was about rats, the elf figured that it must have something to do with food.

"This will obviously take a lot of oil, once we get to that stage. With the city in disarray, will those supplies be available. And, if they are, will we be able to purchase them without drawing unneeded suspicion upon ourselves?" Talathel asked. This is a time of disaster and surely the oil can be used for better things than giving some rats a hellish end. 

Talathel would admit that lighting the sewers ablaze was safer than going down and directly attacking the wererats. But, doing do discreetly seemed harder than the group made it out to be.

A Murder of Cats

While the group continued talking Beranhond bent down to Tigrisclawu.

"I need you to go and find as many street-wise or tough alley cats in this city. Tell them that a great attack is going to happen and that there will be plenty of food rewards when the killing is done. Meet back here in two hours with as many as you can find."

"What are you planning?"

"I am not sure yet, but I think if we are going to cleanse the sewers we can use whatever forces we can get."

Tigrisclawu nodded, "Go with Narath." He said, before bounding out the door and out into the streets.

99 Bottles of Oil in a Tunnel, 99 Bottles of Oil...

"The tunnels are 5 ft. wide, with a 1 ft. wide channel for the sewage down the middle.You should be easily able to fill the middle channel, but I'm not sure how much oil would be needed to flood the whole thing. Hmmm." Hring added, mostly to himself.

Playing with fire

Beranhond chuckled, not taking any offense as in such meetings confusion often happened. "And you missed my point Grumbleshanks. First, I was agreeing with you that we will need to go down and finish things off because some will flee, especially the tougher or smarter ones. Second, I was also agree with you on the misguided use of fire, which is why I said 'when done right.' A carefully executed attack is a must - especially below the city." Fortunately most of the sewer was stone work, so it shouldn't cause any structural problems for the city. The idea of playing with fire should save more lives than a hack and slash attack... but it did need to be done very carefully.
"Now as for bombs Gurkirat. I am wondering if we could do something to help create larger explosions around the nest. Perhaps if the area is more flooded we could push barrels of oil down into the more infected area - not too loaded with oil mind you, but enough to create a larger amount of fire in a concentrated area. I don't have too much experience with this, but it might be a way to accomplish a more concentrated fire attack." Beranhond leaned back, regardless of the final outcome, the oil and fire attack was going to take precision. Especially if explosions were in the work.

"Beranhond," Grumbleshanks countered, "You missed my point. I wasn't against the use of fire. I was against the improper and careless use of fire. We need to design a strategy which prevents the rats and whatever else from fleeing the fire into the streets of Baldur's Gate. I like the idea of contained blazes. We could burn specific streches of the sewers by dropping oil down certain manholes and other entrances. That way the creatures of the dark can still move about within the sewer system. This way we can then force their movements to specific areas and potentially incinerate them all. Also, once cornered by flames, you know many are going to brave rushing through them. Some will fail, some will survive blistered and scorched, still others may escape with only singed fur. We'll need to be wary of them." Turning to Hring he asked "Is there a mayor or ruling body here in Baldur's Gate? What about a merchant's guild? Also, where is the captain of the guard situated?"

How can I make this work.

Gurkirat, listening to the conversations going on around, and mostly above, him took a moment to contribute his thoughts. "I like this fire idea," he said, "but I'm not sure how we can be certain of our success until we go down later and find the corpses. And as Grumbleshanks mentioned, the moment there's fire we'll have rats boiling out of every exit we know of, as well as many secret access points that we have no way of guarding"

He paused to let everyone in the room consider his words and to discreetly take a swig from the water at his belt. Why was he so nervous? This is the beginning of what could be a grand adventure. "However, suppose we take note of the rats most frequently used tunnels and corner them in smaller chunks, and then either burn them with oil or detonate a bomb nearby. Wererats have keen noses and ears so we need to be careful of how much noise and stench we generate in our purges. If you allow me to refine the oil I can make a very clean burning fuel that will be suspicious, but not enough to arouse the attention of the whole wererat horde. "

Again Gurkarat had to pause and drink from his waist. He had no idea if any of this would work, and he was a lowly bard who spent way too much time in school! He had no experience in these things! "However, eventually we will be forced to attack the main nest, and for that I suggest we sneak in as discreetly as possible and plant some bombs to detonate the entire block and collapse it upon the rats heads. We'll need to evacuate the area above ground, but I think it will be worth it. What do you think?"

"I think the fire, if done properly, could make the task much easier. However, you are right that there will be some mop up duty to do."

"Before you go lighting the sewers up, let's hammer this out a little further. First, rats and the other critters of the underthere fear fire. They will riot to escape it. We don't know how many sections of the sewer were exposed after the Wave. If I heard right, the Temple of Lathander is now a gaping maw into the underthere. We don't know how the rats, which Gurki and I stumbled across, clambered out. How many manholes are accessible to crafty wererats? How can we guarantee they will all be trapped between the fires and barriers? The last thing we want are those bucktooths mucking about the uphere. Second, The sewers run down and out the drain, in theory. Maybe the flood cleaned it out, but you can bet there was and possibly still is decades of shit built up. Which will stop the flow. Third, the fire will force everything to these exit points; I don't trust our ability to block everything. We all know the denizens of the deep are numerous, grotesque, and dangerous. I don't particularly want to know what is down there, especially at the same time, at the same place. If we trudge through, we can single out our targets. Better yet, if we blaze the most infected areas and sections which we know we can contain, let's do it. But then we hop down, trudge through the slime and muck, and scrap with the rest one on one.

Also, I would like to keep the silver weapons: a spear and a dagger. And, I will need a couple hours of preparation."

A pondering we go...

"If we can get oil flowing towards the middle from all the sides, and light the fire so it travels inwards, then it doesn't matter if they try to flee because there will be flames chasing them in all directions."
He thought for a moment.
"We could dam up the exit areas to better concentrate the oil - that way when they try to escape they will have no where to go." He turned towards the Gnome and Halfling.
"Do you two have any suggestions?" He said, continuing to ponder about how to best concentrate the oil.

Goodness Gracious! Great Balls of Fire!

"Hmmm. A flaming death, you say? That might work. They mostly tend to stay close to the areas marked on your map during the day, so if we were to try it then, it might work. How do you intend to flood the place with gas without them running away?" Hring asked.

A fiery ball of death!

"Yes, nicely done Darvin." Beranhond exclaimed. He was starting to like this mischevious half-elf. "No mess, no death, and a ball of purifying flame. What we need you to do is get us the oil." Beranhond' mine was racing, calculating the amount of oil and the placement on the map. They would need to do some cleanup, but in general the plan should work to kill many of them.

Brilliant!

Right before Darvin could ask the question, Beranhond did for him. "How much oil could you get your hands on Master Merchant Hring?" Beranhond said. Darvin looked over at the Cleric and a look of recognition and agreement passed between the two new companions.

"Yes, Master H-ring, how much oil or other flammable liquid could you get your hands on? Darvin seconded the question, while ignoring the man's correction on how to pronounce his name. If he is going to send me into the sewers to possibly meet my maker, I am at least going to have some fun at the expense of his name. Plus, its a term of endearment. 

"Because I propose, and I think my cleric friend over there is of the same thought, that we pour some oil or what have you into the sewers and ignite it. It takes out your wererat problem and cleans out your shit. And then we can have a big party." And with that, Darvin nodded and sat back in his chair.

Sweet Dreams are Made of This

In response to Darvin's impudent comments, Hring retorted, "Do you have any idea what you are asking? Even a keelboat is 3,000 gp! A seafaring vessel could easily cost 30,000 gp, and on top of that, you brazenly claim, to a merchant that you'll be using the ship for piracy. I ask you for the head of the wererat matriarch, and you counter by asking for the moon. 750 gp for you, and 3,000 for a ship? That is ridiculous! And the 'h' in my name is silent. It's pronounced 'rrrring', with a rolled 'r!'"

 

Hring glared at the half-elf. After a moment, he was thoughtful, "You boast well, though. If you are set on clearing the sewers, rather than simply trying to remove the queen, I will send a couple of my men with you to assist in making sure none escape your grasp. If you can convince me that you can pull it off, I would be willing to pay you 50 gp up front and 100 gp once the deed is done. Do you have a plan, or do you just expect that you will somehow be able to overcome the foes I have opposed these past 4 years with a bit of luck?"

To really, love a woman...

"Except, perhaps Beranhond, I'm not sure he would know what do to with a woman." Darvin said.

Oh, really.  Beranhond thought and chuckling a bit. It is just as well that he thinks that, and in all honesty it was quite well crafted humor. Beranhond thought guiltily. Most Paladin's and Clerics are not meant to enjoy carnal pleasures, but he thought, I am not sure what Narath's stance is on coitus. After a moments reflection he decided that after that mornings interactions he was positive that Narath wanted Beranhond to have nothing to do with women and decided that he would respect those wishes. At Darvin's words, Beranhond drifted off into the realms of his mind, and of his experience with women, or at least with one woman.


flashback alert... 


The feast of Sturzzin snuck up on no one - everyone awaited it eagerly as it arrived quite rarely. It was always be preceded by a three day period of fasting and introspection followed by parties and feasts of special significance. As a result, their instructors gave them four days off. The novice's, quite unused to such an allotment of time, used their days off to travel, catch up on sleep, or to visit home for a unheard of visit. Their instructors would undoubtedly expect more piety in the future, but it was forgiven for their youth. Ceilith and Beranhond had used the first day two days to explore the surrounding town and were using the last day before the feast to have a picnic in the surrounding countryside.
"Where did you get all of this food?" He asked her looking at the remarkable spread on their blanket.
"That is my secret." She said, lying on her back with her eyes shut, enjoying the light of the sun and the cloudless sky. She was beautiful and on such a day all the feelings that Beranhond had had, and not had, for years grew to an oddly unchecked level. Though they were trained in asceticism, piety, and nobility, love and lust still simmered in their minds. Especially when they were somewhat encouraged by the other party.
They spoke idle banter, his eyes locked on her, when she sat up and looked at him.
"Beranhond..." her hands reached towards him.
"Yes...?" He said nervously, but before he could finish she leaned in and kissed him. Her arms wrapping around his back and pulling him close. His hands took her side.
After a moment, she let go.

"I have been wanting to do that for sometime..."

"I as well."

"I thought this would be my last chance..." She leaned forward and layed him on his back.
I think perchance, that this is not the forum to describe such an encounter. Indeed, neither Ceilith or Beranhond, nor their instructors would be pleased if any heard the description. Thus, for the sake of the wellbeing of the Paladin's of Torm, we shall skip it.

Ceilith lay, again fully clothed and her face flushed, looked at Beranhond. "I am being accelerated. On the feast day I go on the quest." Acceleration often happened for those that the instructors and council decided had special faith or had seen visions. They took the final test of faith early and received the rest of their training in the field. This was not unexpected, but Beranhond's heart still fell. The day had already taken such drastic turns that he should have been ready, but he turned away and looked into the distance.

"Run away with me..., let us run together and actually have a life."

"But we both have a life Eth. We are both dutiful servants of Torm and we are both going to be very successful." She put her hand on his shoulder and turned him to face her. "You have done such wonders in magic and lore, and I know you will be great when you take the final test." She caressed his face and kissed him on the forehead. "They have told me that if I pass I will be assisting in a special mission of great significance. I think it is the one that Torm told me before." She pulled her hands away and reached upwards, her eyes shut in excitement.

"But, Ceilith, there is no future for you in that. There is no love in Torm's world, there is no true life in this. Don't you feel like a cog in a machine? Torm can be such a narrow God, let us go and find life's meaning together rather than just being told that meaning is derived from goodness alone."

At that, Ceilith's face drew dark. "Meaning is derived from faith Eth, you know that. Our lives are meant to be in service to Torm."
"Service! There must be more than just dutifuly following the order of our heirarchs in the name of God. I cannot feel his presence I cannot feel any depth of belief towards this Torm. Don't you see that what we are being told are simply the rapackaged lessons of servitude? The way the teachers talk about other faiths seems to suggest that they simply didn't get the right message." He took a deep breath. "But, our lives must be more than just service to some distant God especially when the message they bring is such a pedantic one. A God is supposed to help bring understanding and revelation - but not through repetition and hostile messages of order and civilization .Where is the diversity, where is the pluralism, where is the truth?" As he ranted on, revealing at last his feelings towards Torm, Ceilith's face grew darker and darker.
"Eth, I care for you deeply, but I don't think you care for me as much as you think you do. I am worried about your faith and I think you are using me to cover that." She stood and pointed at him. "This isn't you! You have never wanted an idle life of domestic bliss. Search your feelings. Don't throw away a promising career just because you have hardened your heart to Torm." At that she stood and started walking away.
Beranhond sat numb, in a fraction of a moment he had gone from sublime bliss to a crashing reality. Though it had hurt, he knew in his mind that she spoke the truth - Ceilith had had his love, but it was not a true love, nor was it all that deep. For some time it had been fading in and out and perhaps it was all the better that it had ended so suddenly. Though, oddly enough, she herself had shown him that his path might not lay with Torm.

A New Deal...

"I say there, H-Ring, it is obvious to me that you very much dislike these wererats and want to be rid of them." Darvin was the first to speak after the man had attacked the table with his fist. Everyone slowly turned to look at him. "But, I for one, do not like the deal. 50 gold does not seem like reward enough to face the horrors you speak of. Silver weapons or not, it is far from guaranteed that we will come back unharmed. So, I have a counter proposal to make."

Hring looked mildy annoyed but was listening. Talathel shot a surprised glance at Darvin. Darvin could tell that the elf had not enjoyed any part of this meeting and got the sense that his elven friend was mostly interested in leaving. Darvin on the other hand found an opportunity and was jumping at it. "If we can take out these rat bastards for you. You will supply me and my crew here with a ship so we can off on pirating adventures. Also, we get 50 gold upfront and another 100 when we return. Upon our return you will throw us a great party with a beautiful woman for each of us. Except, perhaps Beranhond, I'm not sure he would know what do to with a woman." Darvin winked at the Paladin and waited for Hring's response.

Since you are going to ask for it anyway here is my diplomacy check.

Roll(1d20)+2: 18,+2 Total:20

A Death in the Family

Ethelred said, "Well, I am committed to helping you Hring. Wererats sound like nothing more than mother effin killers. However, I must ask if you have seen, or heard, of any other activities down in the sewers. Or is it just a lair

of wererats?"

"That is a good question. For the past 4 years, we have only found wererats and various ratspawn, but recently the men I've sent down have reported the the rats seem to be better equipped. They have had magical potions in much greater abundance, and several have even been seen wearing magical armor and using magical potions.

We are not sure where their help is coming from, but anyone who is aligned with the wererats should share their fate!" This last statement was accompanied by a fist pounding the table. "My men stay closer to the docks and the southeastern part of the sewers, mostly because it is easier to enter and exit the sewers down here because of the waterfront and the fact that the drop isn't as far, but also because we have enough men to have a rough perimeter set up blocking this portion of the city off from the rats.

When you," here Hring addressed Darvin and Talathel, "Entered the sewers, you just happened to drop into the hands of one of our patrols, but had we not intercepted you there, you would have met my men at the border of the rats' territories, where you would have been stopped. I do not know why you were roaming about in the sewers, but you were armed, and did not attack my men, so I assumed you were there to attack the rats, and asked for your help."

"I can see I haven't sold you yet on helping with this endeavor, but it would have been a shame to have to put you down because you had turned against your own, when a bit of preparation could have prevented it."

Turning to Gurkirat, he continued. "Ramman was once one of my most trusted assistants. He was especially good at gathering information for me about the politics of the city, and he knew the alleys and back ways of the city as well as he knew how to make a man bleed."

"About 4 years ago, Rhora began establishing herself in the city. She is a natural-born wererat, not an afflicted like a person becomes when bitten by a wererat, and Ramman stumbled upon what she was doing one evening while investigating another matter. He found out as much as he could and reported back to me about the problem. I asked him to keep an eye on Rhora, and he did for several weeks before he was found out. He was able to get out, but contracted filth fever, another of the diseases carried by the vermin, and wandered out delirious and was taken to a healer, who cared for him."

"He was delirious with the fever for 3 days, and by the time he was lucid enough to tell anyone what had happened, it was too late for him. He had also become a wererat himself. You see, after 3 days, it becomes permanent, and there is no longer anything that can be done for you."

"The next full moon, you will become a wererat for the three nights of the full moon, and will attack anyone near you out of sheer animal rage, seeking out safety in the sewers and dark places their kind favor."

"We thought we might find a way to heal Ramman, and had my personal physicians attend him, here at my estate. He tore through the guards at his door, my family, and many of my staff before finding his way to the sewers. It was the worst night of my life." Hring paused a moment, shaking his head at the memory.

"He didn't emerge from the sewers again for weeks, but one day he just showed up at one of the parks. I had reported what happened, and when the city guards tried to apprehend him, he transformed into a wererat, tore through them, and went into hiding again."

"Since then, he has methodically begun a rampage of terror that the Ramman I knew would not have been capable of." Hring scowled.

"In answer to your question, he has gained control of his shape-shifting, but at what cost? Perhaps you would fare better. Perhaps not."

"There are three cures for the disease form of theriomorphy. The first is to eat belladonna within 1 hour of being bitten. This is not always successful, even with the help of a healer, but it's a chance. Also, know that belladona is toxic, and can severely weaken you after you've taken it."

"The second way is to have a powerful cleric (Level 12 or higher) magically heal or remove their disease within three days of the attack."

"And finally, if someone can magically remove the curse or break the enchantment during one of the three days of the full moon, and the person is strong enough, they can beat back the illness."

"Ramman ran away from us before we could try to break the curse, and it was already too late for the other two methods, so we lost him. I have made many sacrifices in this battle, but I WILL see Rhora dead before I am done!" This last comment was shouted, as if Hring was directly challenging Rhora to face him.

Control the power

As Gurkirat had proceeded to the building and, ultimately, to the meeting with these fellows of his own free will, he didn't bear the men with the same suspicion as his companions. They merely received the same suspicion as any well armed human capable of killing him where he stood without breaking a sweat. In other words, he was probably just as paranoid. Part of what the man in leathers said had caught his attention, though. Some men had mastered their affliction and could change at will. But they were twisted.

"HA," he barked. When eyes turned his way, he realized he had said it out loud. Twisted, he thought wryly. I'm already pretty damn twisted. What's a little more?

"What's this you say about becoming a wererat? I need to know everything," Gurkirat stated. He was answered only by silence. "What!?" he said defensively. "I know a rat isn't the most exciting thing around, but after getting whipped by a wounded one, I think it's good enough for a lowly gnome."

(I want to know if what he says is true. Should I use sense motive? Or Perception? Or a knowledge check?)

Ok then. Knowledge (nature)
2+3=5

Sense Motive:
5

lions and tigers and wererats oh my

Beranhond couldn't help but think of the trauma this man had been through, the cook had said that he hadn't seen Hring's wife and family and now it all made sense. Those dang Wererats! He just shook his head at the question about wererats. Wererats? Which of the Gods dreamt up that idea? However, he did remember something about Wererats....
"Well, I am committed to helping you Hring. Wererats sound like nothing more than mother effin killers. However, I must ask if you have seen, or heard, of any other activities down in the sewers. Or is it just a lair of wererats?"

Wait...is that?

I know that man. He is the one from the sewers. Talathel watched the man from across the room. The elf was conflicted. On the one hand, these people had given them food and were offering silver weapons (and a lot of gold) to go kill wererats. On the other hand, the man who had drugged him was walking nonchalantly into the room.

If this was their intention...why send us there in the first place? Is Marty involved? Was it a test of our courage? To many questions.

Talathel looked over at Darvin to see if he shared any of his concerns. Probably not. He's to busy telling people he's the mightiest pirate who never pirated anything. Talathel let a smile slip through. The half-elf continued to watch the orientation with great interest.

Maps Show You Where to Go

Ha! I said it first!

Hring gestured to Starks, the man who had just entered, who brought forth a rolled piece of paper. "Here is your map of the sewers, as promised." 

Changing his tactic, Hring asked, "Before I answer any more questions, actually, do any of you have much experience or knowledge of wererats or how to fight them?"

Your Beast of Burden

"Ahh yes. I would like to apologize again for that. It really was for your own safety that I removed you from the sewers." At this point, his voice and face went from apologetic to pointed. "You had no silver weapons, no belladonna, and you were headed straight towards the most heavily infested areas of the city. To be honest, you had no hope of surviving, and if you are dead set on going into the sewers, I would help you go in and kill some of the vermin, rather than having you become one of them."

"If you know nothing about wererats, then know at least that their bite can afflict a person with a sickness that then turns into a wererat themselves on the full moon. Generally, a person lose control of themselves in this transformed state, but I have heard tales of men who have somehow mastered their condition, and can change at will. Changing into a wererat intentionally, though, can twist a person."

The result of your perception check: As he spoke, Grumbleshanks noticed a small noise and turned quickly in his seat to see a man quietly entering the room from the double doors behind them. At seeing this movement, the rest of the group turned, and saw the man as well. Beranhond recognized him as the man who had led him to this mansion, and Talathel and Darvin recognized him as the man who had tried to intimidate them before drugging them and dragging them up here.

Hring's voice dragged their attention back to the table. "In answer to your question, divine healer, I know the name of the wererat's leader because I have been fighting this battle for 4 years. In that time, I have won battles and lost battles, and done quite a lot of reconnaisance. I have maps of the sewers, stocks of belladonna and alchemical silver weapons, as I believe our halfling friend here discovered, and a good amount of understanding of their way of life." Hring paused, steadying himself before continuing, "But I know Rhora and Ramman because they were once my friends, before the affliction took hold."

His eyes seem to harden again, and regain a measure of the fire that had been in them. "But that time has long passed, and it was they who killed my wife and son, and they and the leadership they have provided have taken many others' loved ones, as well."

"I will provide you with maps and belladonna as well, of course. I am sorry I did not mention that earlier. What else would you know?"

questions for the dark

"How do you know the Leader-wererat's name?" Beranhond asked. "Secondly, how long has this problem been ongoing. Third, do you have a map of the sewers, I assume they are someplace if they were constructed by the sentient species? I am curious as, if I decide to go, I don't want to go into such a place blind." He remembered the oppresive darkness of that sewer and the foul shapes in the dark... there are much fouler things in the deep places of the world than wererats.

Rats...really?

Perception

d20-2 (+7)=9 Is there even light in the room? What are these blurry shapes?

"Rats! You knocked us out and drug up here for rats?" Talathel was less than pleased.

"Not just rats....WERErats." One of the other occupants in the room corrected the elf. Not knowing who to blame, Talathel gave everyone a scowl. 

"You can start your question and answer session by explaining why we were assaulted in the sewers just to be sent back to them. I'll withhold a formal decision until then, but for now I shall keep an eye on the door." 

Rats!

Hring saw the halfling turn around just before he was addressed by the elf and half-elf, who he hadn't noticed.

He turned rather abruptly, surprised, and as he turned, Darvin thought he saw a flash of steel in one of his hands, but by the time he was facing Darvin and Talathel, there was no sign of anything that could have glinted in the man's hands. he wore only a very simple silver ring on the middle finger of his left hand.

His face was shocked as he began turning, but it faded into a pleasant smile so quickly that it seemed almost as if he'd been expecting someone to come from behind him, if he hadn't turned quite so suddenly.

"Hello, and welcome to my humble home. I see you have already made yourselves at home. Come in, and we will talk." And without waiting for them to respond, he walks up to the table, bows to the gnome sitting and playing his clarinet, and gestures for Darvin, Talathel, and Grumbleshanks to sit.

From the doorway, Darvin and Talathel give each other a slightly puzzled look, Talathel shrugs, and they seat themselves. Grumbleshanks sits as well.

"It appears we are missing one member of our little party. The human healer, correct?" The man asks. Without really waiting for a response, the man continues, "Well, we shall have to continue without him, I suppose. There is no time like the present, and so much needs to get done."

"Gentlemen, I have called you all together because our city is in need of your assistance. There is an infestation in our city, and I need your help to be rid of it. In the sewers of Baldur's Gate, a swarm of rats, both natural and unnatural have taken up residence. They have taken to raiding the unwary, and have caused much harm and grief to our people.

This natural disaster has given these beasts greater courage, and there have been several attacks in broad daylight amidst crowds of people, where before they kept to the shadows and cover of dark.

I believe that it has also given us a chance to strike back at them. You see, with all of the water that was flushed into the sewers, the rats have lost much of their lairs, and they are mostly without defenses. That is not to say that any wererat is defenseless, but they do not have the fortifications that they had constructed anymore."

At this point, Beranhond appears in the doorway with Tigrisclawu at his side, sees the man talking, walks up and takes a seat.

"Welcome," the man said, and gestured with an arm for Beranhond to sit down. "I was just telling these good men about the plight of the city."

"As I was saying, I am calling upon you men to help me to rid the city of this pestilence. Namely, I need you to take out their leader. Her name is Rhora, and her mate Ramman will most likely be wherever she is, as well. Without her fierce direction, the wererats will most likely become much less organized and we will be able to deal with them much more easily. I will pay you each 50 gp for the head of the wererat matriarch."

"Further, I will supply each of you with alchemical siver weapons for this task. This is intended as a gesture of good faith, and I would not look kindly upon any of you who decided to take the weapons and run, when you are most needed."

"I am sure you all have plenty of questions. Please, ask them. There is much to be done, and I must be off soon."

Would everyone please give me a Perception check? Thanks.

Just a nosy

Having taken note of the silver coating, the spears, the daggers, and the rest of the arsenal, Grumbleshanks backed out of the poorly lit armory. Probably worth quite a bit. However, you're no pinch, Grumbly. That being said, a nosy never hurt a thing.

He set the door ajar and turned to the gnome.

Perception: 19+8=27

"Hey, Gnarly, come..." he trailed off as he noticed a dark figure in the doorway. This must be ol' shadow briches himself. "Eh, hehe. Come look at this spider fossilized in the door jamb. Preserved wonderfully. I say, my shadowy fellow there in the doorway, do you happen to know what this specimen is?"

shave and a hair cut

Having finished a nice chat with the chef and knowing a bit more of the master of the house, Beranhond exited the kitchen and headed to the empty bathrooms. Inside he did his business and took a shave. Tigrisclawu sat nearby and shook his head at him.

"You really do what she tells you to do, don't you."

"Shutup."  In a moment, Beranhond was clean shaven.
"Much better." Narath said inside his head.

"Glad you approve."

Who Invited Him To The Party?

Darvin stopped and looked at this fellow who was watching his diminutive friends. He seemed to be important, what with his high grade and polished leather armor. And if he had wanted to attack the gnome and the halfling he could have done so already. Maybe I should bonk this guy over the head with the hilt of one of my cutlasses. No, that would just complicate things further...

"Excuse me, you in the...uh, shiny armor." The man turned around and looked at Darvin. He didn't look hostile but the half-elf was still being cautious.

"I am Darvin Amblecrown, mighty pirate. Who are you? and why are we here?"

A Visitor

As Grumbleshanks investigated the other room attached to the meeting room where they'd been eating and Gurkirat played, a man walked out from a room across the hall, saluted the men, and walked very quietly into the door of the meeting room, where he stood in the doorway quietly observing the two small adventurers.

Stealth Check:
Roll(1d20+2):
15 + 2
Total: 17

Perception Check (Gurkirat: -2 because he's playing his instrument):
Roll(1d20+6):
9 + 6
Total: 15

Perception Check (Grumbleshanks: -5 because he has his back to the man):
Roll(1d20+3):
7 + 3
Total: 10

He remains motionless, completely unnoticed by the two in the room until Darvin and Talathel return from the restroom, arguing again about the distinction between elves and half-elves.

Perception Check (Talathel):
Roll(1d20+7):
4 + 7
Total: 11

Perception Check (Darvin):
Roll(1d20+3):
20 + 3
Total: 23

Talathel's voice floats up, "That's what I was saying before..." There is a sudden silence as Darvin notices the man standing in the doorway and throws an arm out, stopping Talathel.

Perception Check (Man):
Roll(1d20+0):
4 + 0
Total: 4

The man didn't seem to notice Darvin and Talathel, so they studied him for several long moments, sizing him up a bit before they alerted him to their presence. The man was of a medium build, about 5 ft., 7 in. tall, with crisply fashioned hair and a waxed mustache that both looked as if they could withstand anything, including a tsunami. The man was wearing a suit of dark grey, almost black leather armor, and Darvin thought he saw the hilt of a dagger sticking out of the top of the man's boot.

I was all by myself

Feeling a bit indecisive and, admittedly, quite stuffed, Gurkirat was in no hurry to explore the mysterious hallway and in no mood to accompany the others to the lavatory where he would be forced to make pleasantries while waiting in line. That elven waitress seemed interesting, but even she couldn't break through his lethargy. So when Grumbleshanks called for him to accompany, Gurkirat merely waved a hand and indicated that he would stay right where he was.

Alone in the room, he reached into his bag and fished out his clarinet. While checking it for bent keys he inserted the reed into his mouth. Satisfied that everything was as it should be, he began to play a tune. At first it was a simple tune, but as the minutes passed it became more and more complex and began to take on another quality entirely, although the causal onlooker wouldn't have understood its meaning. Might as well be prepared for anything.

Inspire Courage +1

A walk in the kitchen

Beranhond, on hearing this news, decided to take a quick visit to the kitchens. Sauntering on over he opened the door, approached the cook and said.
"My sincere thanks for your meal - you all created such a delicious spread for us."

diplomacy:
Roll(1d20)+6:
16,+6
Total:22

The chef thanked him heartily and gave him a few samples of the next meal. They discussed recipes and dish preparation, with Beranhond talking about his time on the farm and old family recipes. Eventually, after a few moments when he could tell that the chef had found a kindred spirit, he started discussing the mansion, its designs, and the layout of the kitchen, before getting onto to a discussion of the owner. The chef told him that...

I can't sneak, but the cat can

After a moment Beranhond decided that he could wait to go the bathroom and decided to go down the hallway into the room that the maid had emerged from without her try.

It is probably just a kitchen, but I should at least see what is in there.

He was about to walk on over there when he remembered just how bad he was at sneaking. He bent down to Tigrisclawu instead and whispered.

"Go check out that room and tell me what you see."

Stealth roll for Tigrisclawu

Roll(1d20)+9:

13,+9

Total:22

Tigrisclawu snuck on over to the door, pawed it open just enough to slip inside. He came out a few seconds later and reported that he saw...

Perception:

Roll(1d20)+1:
14,+1
Total:15

... he saw a kitchen, with a cook and his helpers busily readying the next meal. There was a large brick stone walled oven, and plenty of work space and cooking utensils all over. The kitchen was actually very clean, considering the amount of time it was most likely being used, and there were only a couple scraps of meat and vegetables that Tigrisclawu saw before another cat hissed at him and chased him out.

Johnny, Tell 'Em What They've Won Behind Door Number 2!

Grumbleshanks quickly yanked the door open, and found himself looking into a dark room. Apparently the room he'd found had no windows. He could see about 10 feet into the room with the light from the room behind him, and from what he saw, it looked like there was a large table about 5 feet from the door, and the corner of the table he could see had a very wide array of weapons, all of which were slightly more shiny than normal. The wall next to him was covered, as well, with pegs holding weapons of every shape and size.

Grumbleshanks identified short swords, rapiers, bags with bullets, axes, battleaxes, warhammers, longswords, bastard swords, maces, light maces, and a scythe from where he was standing.

A Halfling's Curiosity

"Thank you, kind sir, that was all. I think I'll stay to hear your captain out." Grumbleshanks bowed to the guard and walked back into the room. He glaced about the room out of boredom and noticed a door ajar. Wondering why he hadn't taken notice of it, he walked over to the gnome and pointed it out. He asked the bard if he would care to join him and told him to catch up if he did.

Without waiting, Grumbleshanks tiptoed to the door. Surely, there's nothing dangerous around. I don't think I'll be walking in on anyone either. Anyhow, if'n I do, so much the better. With that thought, he knocked thrice, called out "Ready or not, here I come!" and opened the door all in the time of a breath. In front of Grumbleshanks lay....

Just in case:
Perception: 7+8=15

An innocuous question

waiting in the line for the looo...

"That was really rather inappropriate Tigrisclawu." He said to that cat while he waited in line. "I managed to restore all of the food, but that is not how we should represent ourselves to strangers."
"Indeed, it is not, but I see no reason to apologize." Beranhond had nothing he could say - the workings of a cat are a completely different state of mind than he could understand. "Those shorties are not to be trusted."

"Shorties? Don't tell me that you have a bias against halflings and Gnomes."

"Well, they just think of themselves as better than others, and they tend to think little of humans."

"But, Tigrisclawu, we both take a higher path than that. If they bear humans any ill-will than that is their problem and their small mindedness, we cannot sink to such a path or we become that which we must not be. Must I remind you of what we told Narath?"

"Please don't. I don't want you to go into another flashback."

"Fine, I shall save it for another time. But, when we get back in there I want you to be on your best behavior. We did not make the best first impression, and as a result, I don't think we will be spending much time with them in the future - not that I think they will mind." Tigrisclawu, in the manner of cats, purred and ignored him. 
"Don't forget that you are not invincible... I will stop at nothing to protect you, but I would prefer to avoid having to try to bring you back from the dead."
Beranhond shook his head and wondered where this dislike of Gnomes and Halflings came from. Probably from some prior experience with them that Beranhond did not know about. He leaned against the wall and continued to wait for his turn .Laughing he thought about how ridiculous the situation was - all the others needed to do was respond to a few questions and Tigrisclawu wouldn't have felt the need to destroy the table... but such is life. Tigrisclawu had a very strong sense of propriety and it was easily offended. They seemed to be generally good people, though Beranhond suspected that they were not his type of people. He bore them no-ill will, but generally Beranhond showed no one ill will. He sighed and again wondered why Narath had decided that he needed to venture here. Well, I have some inkling, but futher musing is needed at a time when prying eyes, and minds, are far away. He turned towards the bathroom and prepared to say something comical to the elf to try and lighten the mood... but at the last moment changed his mind.

 I think now is a time to be silent and watch.... I have been creating far too much commotion the last few days. Half the town probably knows about the miracle of the square and there were probably several people wandering in the nearby woods filled with wonder at their transformation...

Don't Go Chasing Waterfalls...

As everyone in the room decided whether they were going to use the bathroom or not, the maid waited patiently by the door. "If you would like to use the bathroom, it's right this way," she said, as she opened the door and turned left, walking past the guards and the gnome standing there talking to them. Following her were Darvin, Talathel, and Beranhond. (Did Tigrisclawu come along as well?)

She led them down the hallway to the second and third doors on the right. "Here you are. You may use either of these two restroooms." And with that, she continued down the hallway with her tray, most likely going to put it away before returning to clean up more of the mess. She slipped into another door a little ways down the hallway on the left.

Talathel opened the door to the first room and saw that it was a single occupancy stall, so he stepped in and closed the latch. Darvin did the same, leaving Beranhond still standing in the hallway waiting his turn.

                                                           

At first, the guard didn't even notice the halfling who walked into the hallway and pulled on his shirt. Then, as the diminutive fellow started badgering him with questions, he gave a big sigh, and replied, "Look, I'm just a guard. Me an' Briggs, 'ere, we're jus' s'posed to ensure the safety of youse adventurin' types. We's not trying to pen ya in. Shore, ya can leave iffin ya want. But Lord Darkeyes pays well, so I'd tell ya ta' hear 'im out, at least. I'm shore he'll be here soon 'nuff. 'E's probly jus' busy, 's all." And with that, the guard returned to his somewhat bored surveillance of the hall, casting a glance down the hallway at Beranhond. He looked down at the halfling once more, "Need sump'in else?"

                                                           

As the guard was talking to Grumbleshanks, the maid began walking back down the hallway from the room she had just entered, now without a tray. She performed a slight curtsy as she passed Beranhond, and another as she passed Grumbleshanks and the guards, and re-entered the meeting room, apparently returning to cleaning.

a peace offering (redux... with corrections for limitations)

Noticing the annoyance that the room was directing towards Tigrisclawu, Beranhond, taking a hold of the food and putting in on the platter, raised his hands and cast "purify food." The food, cleansed of the grime of the ground, was again ready to eat. It might not have been a perfect way to deal with the situation, but at least it was useable again.
"Next time you feel the need to create some fun... tell me first, ok?" He said to the Tigrisclawu. He was rather annoyed, but at the same time pleased that at least his action had garnered some response from the strangers in the room. Beranhond had been part of enough awkward silences lately.
"Perhaps." Prrrrrr.....

Questions... and answers?

Mighty pirate, indeed. Apparently his offering was not quite enough to put the half-fey at ease. However, he did offer an interesting and slightly worrying bit of information: the fey folk were drugged. Why were they drugged? And why am I in the same room as them?

The halfling walked through the open door and tugged on the shirt of the guard. The guard, somewhat surprised and puzzled at the disturbance, looked down. Grumbleshanks looked the scared face in the eyes and asked why they were there, could he leave, and if he could talk to the captain of this rig.

The Current Locale

Here is a picture of the room you are in. The blue bars on the sides are windows, the brown angled lines are doors, and the gold bars are 2 large paintings. The two angled rectangles are the cots that Darvin and Talathel were on.

I wanna piss on it...

This will count as Nick and Alan's post because we are sitting next to each other. Biotches!

Come to think of it. I have to piss too. But just before Darvin could leave the room the curious little hobbit started asking him questions. The little fellow was curious about Darvin's name, his profession, his reason for being there and how he liked to cook a cat. 

"Darvin Amblecrown, Mighty Pirate. My reason for being in this room is that I was knocked unconscious in the sewers of Baldur's Gate and woke up here. As for the last part of your question, I have never had cat and don't want it either." 

The halfling then asked for Darvin's assistance with something to do with "ratty folk". Whatever they were. Darvin was very confused. The cat had destroyed the spread on the table. Talathel and the human were about to go piss and Darvin desperately needed to join them. But here he was talking to a halfing. What is it with me and halflings? Do I have special halfling attracting cologne that I wear? 

"I have no clue about these "ratty folk" you refer too. But if you'll excuse me I have to piss. It was nice meeting you...er...I don't believe I caught your name."

Talathel begins..........NOW

Well, I have had a lot of rum...but bad things tend to happen whenever I follow people. Though, this elven maiden is kind of attractive and I have lived in a monastery  for a long time so...

Especially with the conversation turning towards cooking cats, Talathel followed the elven maiden towards what he hoped would be the bathroom. If not the bathroom, more rum would do. He looked at the overturned goblets on the table. Was there rum in them? If so, that cat would be in serious trouble.

He gave a glance back at Darvin and the half elf was inching slowly away from the awkward conversation and closer to Talathel. 

Maybe this elven maiden is one of those wenches my half-elf friend keeps talking about.

PO'ed

So much for a pleasant conversation over a decent meal. Grumbleshanks stared in dismay at the food maliciously knocked on the floor. Farewell sweet mead. Adieu sparkling juices. Poor, poor hams, so wonderfully honeyed and cured. His anger rose as he remembered the succulent flavors of each dish and the needless waste. Damn humans and their culture of waste. They even teach their pets their wanton attitudes.

He stared off and reminded himself, count to ten. One... two...

*****

Unable to contain himself he stood up. Curiosity wasn't the only thing that killed the cat: a hungry hobbit and a pointy stick finished it off much faster. Grumbleshanks grit his teeth and began chanting. In moments, all of the cooked greenery, stems, herbs, and veggies gathered together into several herbaceous tentacles. They snaked towards the cat and despite its feline agility, the ruthless tentacles entangled the impudent cat. with ruthless efficiency. Meanwhile, Grumbleshanks walked over to his gear, picked up his spear, sighted on the cat, and let loose.

Attack Roll(1d20)+4:
20,+4
Total:24

Critical Hit Roll (1d20)+4:
18,+4
Total:22

Damage RollRoll(1d6)+0:
(6,+0) x 3
Total:18

The halfling's anger propelled the spear with fierce velocity and deadly precision. The spear entered between its eyes and straight down its back. The angle was such that the spear shoved the cat's spine right out its rearend like a spaghetti out of a press, and effectively replaced it. Grumbleshanks, feeling better, calmly walked over to the shishkabob while chanting. A magical fire erupted upon the table, curiously contained. He picked up the feline on a stick and began roasting it while the others stared wide-eyed in disbelief.

Upon finishing the claws (The pads are my favorite), he patted his belly and asked "Anyone have dog?"

*****

... eight... nine... ten. Replaying the fantasy in his mind, he felt much better.

Grumbleshanks took a deep breath, sighed he didn't have the guts to gut the cat (that human is rather and large). When he opened his eye he saw the cat jump out the window, the fair elf maiden beckon to the other elf, the other elf with the sword drawn?, and the gnome finishing his meal and inspecting the building.

Perception: 13+8=21

Under the table, he noticed a leg of roast chicken sandwiched between a baked yam and a vine of grapes. Crawling under, he stuffed his face and glared at the cat prancing about the room. Wait til you meet Squiggles you mangy muffin.

Crawling out, he offered the half of the chicken leg he hadn't been able to finish to the half-elf and asked his name, his profession, his reason for being here, and his favorite way to cook a cat. "Have you met any of the ratty folk? I suppose I'm here as an exterminator for hire. We," indicating the gnome and himself, "could use some brawn like yours against those furballs. Do you know anything about our generous host? Or that tightwire of a human? Also, we're looking for a man clad in dark leathers. You wouldn't happen to know anything about him, would you?"

I'm gonna piss on something ...

Besides shooting a glare at the insolent cat, Gurkirat paused in his eating only to take a swig of water from his canteen. Others mentioned the bathroom, but he reckoned he could relieve himself whenever they found they way into the sewers. Assuming that's where they were going. Now is the time to eat while the food is free. He did consider pissing on the cat's face, but that might open up a whole new can of worms and today was interesting enough without throwing alchemists fire on the situation. Also his bladder was empty. When was the last time I had any food or water?

Doesn't matter. His time eating food hadn't been totally wasted. He took time to observe his surroundings in between bites, hoping to gain some insight into this man in the leathers before meeting him face to face.

Knowledge(engineering)

20+7=27 (is there something wrong? All we've been rolling recently has been close to 20.)

Might as well take a leak

"Well, they were helpful... I myself don't really like waiting around with nothing to do. Though, they do not seem threatening." Beranhond decided it was as good a chance as any to use the bathroom himself, so he decided to follow the elven maid, regardless whether the other elf was going to follow.

Moon (Elf) River

As soon as she heard Beranhond's explanation, the elven maid said, "I'll clean that up right away then," and set to cleaning up the mess. As she went to picking up the scraps of food on the floor, the armor-bound types both scowled at Beranhond as Tigrisclawu went to investigate the elf. When the elf started mentioning the cat's need to pee, they slowly turned and exited the room, closing the door behind them, not even deigning to respond.

"Oh! You would like to know where the bathroom is!" The maid jumped to her feet from where she had been bending over and trying to pick up scraps of food from the floor and pile them on a plate. "Follow me, sir," she said as she kneeled, gracefully picked up the rather heavy tray piled high with spoiled food, and began walking towards the door Beranhond, Grumbleshanks, and Gurkirat had recently entered through. As she walked past him, she motioned with her head that he should follow.

Are you going to follow, my elf friend?

A sudden urge

Beranhond had to laugh. It appeared by the others in the room that the urine related outburst had changed the tone.

"Do you have to go out Tigrisclawu?"

"Well... yes, we were walking really quickly on the way here and I didn't get a chance to go."

"Fair enough." Beranhond opened the window and set Tigrisclawu on the sill, he hopped down, did his business, and then hopped back up. Clearly looking relieved, Tigrisclawu started pacing around taking small snacks of the meat on the ground.
"I unfortunately do not know where the bathroom is, but perhaps our quiet hosts can help you with that."

Concurrent to A sudden urging.

Before their probable hosts could respond, the elf on the cot started shuffling and moving.
"I will go check him out." Tigrisclawu said, darting out of his lap and towards the elf. He stood up and announced his need to piss. Tigrisclawu rubbed around the elf's leg, sniffing him and checking him out.
Well, everyone needs to piss. 
 

Talathel looked at the cat. It was highly interested in his boot. He took a step back...the cat followed his foot.

"I think the cat needs to go out!"

A sudden urging

The room was silent for a long time, and then a crash. It sounded like broken glass. There were voices. Something about a cat. Had he been found out? Had they noticed that the once unconscious elf now had a slight grip on his weapon? 

Talathel waited...and waited...and waited. Nothing seemed to happen. And then he noticed something.

I have to piss.

He had decided he had had enough. From his back, Talathel sprang to his feet. Kama drawn he looked at his surroundings. They didn't seem hostile, they seemed bewildered at the sudden movement from the elf.

Talathel eased a bit on his stance, still weary should anyone draw their weapon.

"Excuse me, sirs. Is there a toilet around here?"

As he waited for a response, the monk felt a cat rub up against his leg. 

Well, Dan, when there is a will there is a way.

"Well, I am bored, I shall make something happen." Tigrisclawu said as he went back on his haunches and prepared to jump.

"Don't do anything Tigrisclawu...." but it was too late. Tigris lept onto the table, shoved the plates of meat and food off, and knocked over the glasses and pitchers of beverages. He stayed out of range of everyone's personal plates, but by the time he had climbed back into Beranhond's lap the rest of the food was ruined, or at least hanging out with the floor.
The clatter of platters brought the elf maid and several tough looking adventurer types bound in armor.
"What happened?" They inquired.
"My cat bores easily." Beranhond responded with a shrug. Throughout this, Tigrisclawu just purred away. "But, since you are here, perhaps we could get down to business."

Diplomacy:
Roll(1d20)+6:
4,+6
Total:10

Sitting down

Immediately after responding to Darvin and attempting to attend to the niceties of halfing table manners, Beranhond, though not hungry, felt the need to respond to the politeness of the Gnome's gesture. Taking a plate he helped himself to a sparse amount of food, and began to eat.
What a strange group this is and what strange hosts we are as well. Most curious what the elf in the corner is doing.

Perception:
Roll(1d20)+7:
19,+7
Total:26

He noticed a small twitch from the elf's body, possible a slight movement, but Beranhond could say nothing more. At least he knew that he was alive, probably wondering where he was and what was going on.

Taste check: (take that Dan!)
Roll(1d20)+7:
20,+7
Total:27

The food was incredibly flavorful, much more intense and rich than the travel rations he had been surviving on since fleeing the Citadel of Torm. On the long voyage over the sea of Fallen Stars the crew offered him stale bread and salted pork and beef. Fortunately, he quickly learned the create food spell and would use it late at night in the dark part of the hold. He did not often eat meat today, due to its price, but before joining the order of Torm he had spent much of his life raising Pigs and Goats on his parents farm outside of Caltunt. In between bits of conversations with the other, Beranhond continued to try different selections of the food. Every now and then he would set it down by the floor for Tigrisclawu to have a snack.
"What are we doing here?" Tigrisclawu asked between bites.
"Shh, be patient, we shall find out soon enough."

Conversation in the room-Talathel

Talathel slowly came to but he did not open his eyes. He remained motionless, using his hearing to gauge the room around him. The voices did not sound aggressive or hostile, but the elf acted as if he were still unconscious. 

Every so often he inched his left hand closer to his kama. Talathel did not like how things had progressed since he arrived in Baldur's Gate and he wanted to be ready.

He heard Darvin's voice. With that, Talathel slid the kama out of his belt, gripping its handle. He waited for any indication that he had been found out. None came, so he listened to the response to Darvin's question.

Knowledge vs. Hunger

Gurkirat was studiously ignoring everyone in the room but despite himself he couldn't ignore the food trundling into the room. As a distraction, he scrutinized the food closely.

Dammit I want to roll for something today!

Knowledge (local):

17+7=24

Mmmm ... The meat was not the finest of cuts, but cooked with much care and to the precise temperature to maintain flavor and texture. And those herbs wafting ... local plants picked just this day if he had to guess. The grains were cooked with a similar level of care and the mixed berries were fresh from the vine. This analysis does nothing to distract me from the void in my midsection that is normally my stomach! Even the knowledge that all those fresh herbs and deliciously cooked meats could hide any number of deadly poisons and mysterious potions could not dissuade his stomach from making its demands.

So abandoning his standoffishness, Gurkirat scampered over next to his recent companion and stood on the chair to help himself to the food on the table. Looking around, he gestured to the others in the room as an invitation before he abandoned himself to the glorious meal.

A chilling silence.

Beranhond's introduction had gone ignored by the halfling and the gnome. As a result, he ignored them in turn as well. They seemed to have some inner turmoil that they needed to deal with, perhaps some dislike of humans. Further, he didn't mind the silence, having a cat you can talk privately with and a Goddess who often shows up makes silence a rare sought gift.

After a moment the half-elf woke up and at introduced himself, albeit in a drugged induced state.

Sense motive:
Roll(1d20)+7:
19,+7
Total:26

Perception:
Roll(1d20)+5:
16,+5
Total:21

"My name is Beranhond, Darvin." He looked the half-elf over, guessing that the man had spent some time at sea, perhaps dreaming of becoming a pirate. "Let me guess, you spend a lot of time out at sea... perhaps you dream of becoming a mighty pirate?" He asked the half-elf.
"As for you Grumbleshanks, I pray that your meal fills your stomach, and that your appetite never meets its match." He remembered some of the courtesy's of halflings, but couldn't remember the exact phrases.

First things first

This short piece is dedicated to Evan.

Grumbleshanks glanced around the room uneasily. Not sensing any immediate danger, he still felt wary of the situation. Closed doors. High windows. Strangers. Sure, he had accompanied his parents on bartering runs onto the docks and streets and into the shops of the Tall Folk, but never had he been on his own without a crew of Winddrivers to fall back on. He took a harder look around the room in case something should attract his scrutiny.

Perception: 11+8=19 (anything?)

Satisfied, he turned to the speaker of the curt introduction and, remembering his father's tactics, eyeballed him up and down and up and down and up and down. Willing the unbroken silence to wrapping it's unnerving tentacles about the human, he simply crinkled his brow and harumphed. He walked over to the sleepy-eyed and bed-headed fay folk and applied the same gaze and harumph upon them. Grumbleshanks could feel the awkwardness thicken like gravy over a stove.

What would father do now? What would Pinchfilcher do? What do I do now? They're all expecting something! Yikes. Ehh...

Rumble, rumble, rumble. He glanced at Gurkirat's stomach.

Scrumble, scrumble, scrumble. He glanced at the elf's stomach.

Trumble, trumble, trumble. He glanced at the half-elf's stomach.

Brumble, brumble, brumble. He glanced at the human's stomach.

Grumble, grumble, grumble. He glanced at his own stomach.

With the twinkle of an idea upon his brow, the halfling walked over to the wall. Taking his spear, still painted with dried blood, he propped it against the wall. Grumbleshanks walked behind a chair near the middle of the table and pulled it out. He carefully took off his coat: first his right arm, then his left. Ever-so-gently, the childish figure stood on his tippy toes to drape his coat over the back of the wooden chair. Walking around to the side, he gripped it and pulled his body onto the seat. He tried dangling his legs. Then he tried criss-cross applesauce. Still uncomfortable, he tried sitting on his legs. Resting his arms on the table, he realized a meal would indeed be difficult to eat. The halfing clambered off the chair and walked over to the door which he pounded a total of three times. He waited.

Soon enough, the door opened a crack and the elf maiden's head poked around the corner. Seeing the halfing waiting expectantly, she raised her eyebrows in question. Grumbleshanks stepped just under the fair head of the fair maiden and beckoned her fair ears down to his level. She obliged. The two carried on a hushed conversation involving pointing, gesturing, and a kiss from the halfling to the maiden's hand.

Silently, Grumbleshanks walked back to the table and sat behind the chair he had picked earlier. Glaring at each of the occupants, he dared them to ask with only his steady gaze. No one bit. So, he waited. And waited. And waited. Until finally, the fair elf walked into the room carrying two wooden boxes and two bundles of cloth. She set them upon two chairs adjacent: the box first, topped by the cloth. The halfling smiled and bowed. The maiden left and returned pushing a trolley from which a most welcoming and refreshing aroma wafted. The halfling's grin blossomed into a Cheshire smile. With that he climbed aboard the cushioned seat and tested the level of his arms. Apparently satisfied, he placed his folded hands upon his lap and waited. The elf maiden smiled her fair smile and, as gracefully as a lullaby, set silverware and plates upon the table. Then she lifted the platters of steaming grains, cooked meats, and dried fruits to set them upon the table. Once finished, she glanced towards the hobbit who gave her two thumbs up and an ear-touching smile. Taking her cue, the maiden floated out the door.

Standing upon his box, the halfling looked at each of the other occupants. He cleared his throat. Four sets of eyes looked at him with confusion, amusement, and expectancy. "My name is Grumbleshanks and my tumbly is grumbly. Let's munch." With that, he sat down, tucked his napkin into his shirt, dished his plate, and munched.

Conversation in the Room - Darvin

"Ugh...." 

Darvin slowly came to after being knocked out in the sewers under Baldur's Gate. His head was pounding. The chloroform had given him a terrible headache. He felt groggy and was having a hard time handling all the light that was flooding into his eyes. As things became more clear, he noticed he was in a room similar to a banquet hall. He was lying on a cot. His head still hurt. As he looked around the room he noticed a human male sitting at the table chomping on an apple. Near him was a funny looking cat. Just beyond the human were a gnome and a halfling. 

Darvin slowly sat up and noticed Talathel still passed out on the cot next to him. The heads in the room turned to look at the groggy half-elf.

"Um...hi. Who are you all? and where am I?" asked Darvin. He waited for a response.