Great Balls of Fire

Darvin frantically beat out the fire that was on his pants. He felt his goatee and noticed that it had been singed. The amount of pain he was in was staggering, but he could still move fairly well. 

"What the hell was that!?" Darvin shouted into the room at Beranhond and Nym. He glanced at the henchmen who had been out in the call with him. Codex looks no worse off than Darvin but the other two look like they are in some dire need of help. Darvin runs over to Thjodolf to administer what basic first aid that he can.

"Beranhond, we need some of your clerical skills out here in a bad way!" Darvin shouts at the human as he cradles the moaning Thjodolf's head in his lap.

Crispy Half-Elves

Nym timidly crawled out from under the table, looking worse for the wear. She was bloody and burnt and looked rather like she'd just doused herself with oil and lit a match. HP 18-10:8, she needs healing. She stood, blinked, and croaked What was THAT?

time for healing

Standing and slightly injured, Beranhond took the pile of Lathander clothing and used it to beat out the fire. Once the fire was out he turned towards the others, cursing, and started trying to heal as he could.

"Who here is in the most need of healing? Damn sneaky spells."

Lathander and Orbs Continued

...and grabbed it like a crazed moth drawn to a light (orb). Prestidigitation She stared into the light, and as she did so, the orb became brighter and more yellow in hue. Grinning, she bounces over to Beranhond and peeks around him at the book.

I new some wizards in Silverymoon who followed Lathander. They didn't seem too boorish... whatever that means. Does that mean boring? They were always talking about art and entertaining and nature and things. I guess they were boorish or boring or something then. My father said Lathander was a god for city folk who wanted to feel like woods people. One of the wizards who followed Lathander, his name was Ord, did I tell you about him? Well, he was awful at learning spells that didn't involve fire, and this one time, he was trying to make a singing flower for his mother, but he ended up blowing up half a building! HA! I mean, you have to be pretty bad at magic to do that! He really liked collecting folk tales too, which was always weird. I'd tell him stories I'd learned back at the Hold, and he thought they were just great! He said they were full of 'danger and adventure and darkness. Unlike anything he'd heard before.' Isn't that strange? What kind of folk tales do you know? I met this scribe outside the Chondalwood who told me some amazing stories about this hidden city called Rucien-Xan that were really amazing. I think that place is supposed to be in the Chondalwood, but I was there for awhile and never saw any hidden city! I guess I wouldn't though, since it's hidden....

Nym continues to talk until interrupted.

Bombs away!

Dan you need to add Nym's name to the rest of ours at the top of the blog.

Not taking any chances, Grumbleshanks pulled out the happy gas grenade and gave it a heave down the tunnel towards the voices. While whispering desperately over his shoulder for the others to hold their breath and come join him with weapons drawn, he pulled out a glowstick to light and gently toss down the tunnel.

Toss: 5+4=9

Did it land close enough to get them?

What's this book...

"I have heard of Lathander... I buried many of this town's priests after they were killed mysteriously in the temple following the earthquake." He said somewhat distractedly. He looked at the book of history, feeling an incredibly magic pull from it, one that he couldn't figure out (even with a 26 roll). 
"I don't follow Lathander... his doctrine is fairly naive and boorish. His emphasis on healing is appreciated in this dark world." Lathander had been one of his least favorite God's, often described in his religion classes as the God of the sloths and slumberous. He picked up the book and began to look through it. As he did he cast detect magic on the object at the various pages.

Detect magic

Arcana:

Roll(1d20)+6:
18,+6
Total:24

Lathander and Orbs

Nym pokes robes with her bow until finding a sleeve, which she flicked aside. She pinched the hm of the sleeve beteween her index finger and thumb, not certain what she'd find in or on the robes and carefully pulled the robes up holding them as far from her body as she could. On the breast, Nym sees the symbol of Lathander embroidered in the dirty yellow fabric. What would a follower of Lathander be doing down here? She drops the robes unceremoniously and wipes her hand on her shirt as though she thought the robes were unclean.

Having inspected the robes, Nym turns her attention to Beranhond and Darvin. She scampers up to them, brimming with curiosity. There's a robe over there with the symbol of Lathander on in! Have you heard of Lathander? I don't know about that god, but his followers are healers! Do you follower Lathander? I'm just wondering, since, you know, you had the healing kit before... Nym trails off, absorbed by the magic she senses in the blue orb. She begins to reach for it...

We Walk Through the Doors, so Accusing Their Eyes

Beranhond, Darvin, and Nym:
Beranhond's search of the desk reveals a small stash of 9 letters in one of the drawers and a book in another drawer that appears to be a history of Baldur's Gate.

Nym's "Detect Magic" spell finds:
1st round: There are magical auras present.
2nd round: There are 3 magical auras, and the most potent is minor.
3rd round: One is coming from the light orb, one is coming from the desk, and one is somewhere else on the table. Please give me a "Knowledge (arcana)" check to see if you can tell what properties the light orb has.

 The search of the clothing reveals that it is a yellow robe, and on turning it over, the symbol of Lathander is emblazoned on the front.

Magic Detective

On seeing Beranhond and Darvin enter the room, Nym zipped in behind them and began examining things with interest darting around the room.

General perception: 9+1:10
Cast Detect Magic in room - detects any magic w/in 60ft

Nym crouches down about a foot away from the pile of clothes and pokes it with the end of her bow.
Perception for the clothing? 12+1:13

What's in the desk?

"There can be a Republic of Anything. I think the making of the Republic is about the will of the people in it." He said to Darvin as he searches the desk more thoroughly.

I Don't Love Him, Winter Just Wasn't My Season

Nym, Beranhond, and Darvin:
As everyone walks into the large room at the end of the hallway, the first thing they notice is the harsh, pale blue light coming from the sphere. The sphere is approximately 4" in diameter, and it is sitting on a small, 2.5" diameter, 2" tall pillar on a round, 6' diameter wooden table, and providing a bright light that illuminates everything within 30 ft. The room itself is circular, about 15' wide, and 8' tall.

Strewn about the table are various papers and books, and there seems to be very little order to the jumbled mess. The table is roughly in the center of the room, and around it are various random piles and odds and ends. If you are entering the room at 6 o'clock, going clockwise you see:

• At 8 o'clock, there is a pile of cloth, which looks to be clothing of some sort. It looks to be yellow or green, though it's hard to tell in the blue light. 
• At 10 o'clock, there is a cage that looks to be about 3' wide, 8' long, and 6' tall.It appears to have a bit of blood on the bars and on the floor, and a rather large lock on the door. There is currently nothing inside.
• At 3 o'clock, there is a small desk. The surface is much less cluttered than the table, and it has blank paper and a quill and ink bottle sitting on top. There are 3 drawers that are all closed.
• 
  

Let Dreams Be Dreams

Darvin listened to the conversation going on between Beranhond and Nym. The half-elf liked the sound of the word "Republic". He had never heard it before, but based on Beranhond's description of it, it sounded like a veritable Utopia. There was only one way that Darvin thought it could be better...

"Tell me Beranhond, could there be a Republic of Pirates?" And as he finished the sentence Darvin's mind started to get lost in the possibilities while he waited for the Cleric's response.

Beranhond snapped out of his dreaming and he and the group continued on down exploring.

(Anything else around Dan?)

Ah, the memories

"A republic is an idea of government, one that Torm doesn't like very much..." Beranhond said, sounding somewhat bitter. "The important idea is that we should govern our own action, find our own way, and seek to move away from suspicion. Death is natural, but, what causes death isn't always." He was definitely channel comparative religion now.
"What I, and my Goddess seeks, are answers, questions, about what meaning is, and how to find meaning in existence." He paused, remembering Narath's smell finally. He glazed over

Sheepish Children

Nym peaked back at Beranhond, looking rather like a beaten puppy, and smiled nervously. She seemed to have buried her thoughts on death and memories of her past as quickly as they'd welled up. She was playing with a rock she'd picked up off the floor, changing it's color and making fuzzy moss grow along it where she traced her finger. (Prestidigitation) What's a republic?

the thoughts we have

Beranhond smiled. Ah, someone who has faced death and questions the wisdom of prophets.
"There is death in this world, and those who preach Gods often use them to hide their own motives. But, you should know that though the Gods might often be stupid, we can make a Republic of Heaven here on Earth." He stopped, referencing dead theologians in the sewers seemed an odd turn.

What's that you say?

Out of habit, Grumbleshanks gave Hring a puzzled look which said "who me?" He glanced behind him, just to make sure someone else wasn't there. Unless Hring was nodding towards the mutilated rat corpses, it was Grumbleshanks who was supposed to steer this ship.

The halfling rose his fingers to him lips and turned his ear toward the voices hoping the catch more of the conversation. He hears...

If he cannot hear much, Grumblebelly signals stay to the others and attempts to creep closer to the voices, but ready to bolt back to his waiting crew.

New stealth roll?: 4+2=6 Who left that drum kit complete with cymbals laying in the middle of the sewers? Run!

Memories of Death

Nym stiffened and stared at the wall as though looking at it would allow her to see through it. For the first time since the adventurers met her, the smile faded from her face. Her brow furrowed and she looked thoughtful rather than childish and jumpy. After what seemed like a long pause, Nym took a stiff breath in and said, staring hard at the wall, ...There is much death in the deep forest... and much death in the dark places of the world. She paused, clearly immersed in some private memory. She suddenly turned to Beranhond and looked at him intensely. She spoke softly, clearly pained, her voice surprisingly mustering the elegance small town folk imagine elves to posses. What does it matter to me what the gods promise or command? They allow the innocent and the wicked to die alike, and play with us like toys. Death is everywhere, and it is all we can expect after the struggle of life. She looked pained, and wandered out of the room, refusing to make eye contact with anyone. It was clear that Nym, who was barely old enough to be considered a woman, had seen more in her short life than most would if they were lucky enough to live to old age.

To every end

Beranhond simply nodded at Nym. He neither feared, nor mourned death, but still it left him hollow.
"All things have an end..." He looked at both of them. "Tell me Nym, what God, religion, or philosophy do you follow? Does it comfort you with thoughts of death?"

Nervousness and chattering

Nym slunk up behind Beranhond as he prayed over the body and peered nervously over his shoulder. Is he dead? I think he's dead. He looks dead. How'd he die? What are you doing? Is that a healing kit? As was her custom, Nym expressed nervousness by talking almost nonstop. She glanced around the room and shifted her weight from one foot to the other. She plucked at her bow and looked for Tigrisclawu for comfort.

Sad tidings

He shook his head, put his kit away, and knelt down beside the body. He closed the eyes and crossed the arms. Narath hadn't given him much direction around funerals. So he simply laid his hands on the body, closed his own eyes and whispered.
"Narath, lead this soul to the God of their faith. If they don't have one, then lead them to the philosopher of their belief. If they don't have that, then guide them however you will." Stiff, nor elegant or noble, but he thought it would serve the dead well. After that he covered the body as best he could and walked out of the room.
"Let's go onward." He said in a subdued tone.

Alas and alack!

As Beranhond gets out his healing kit, he realizes that it is already too late for this poor soul. It appears he was hit rather hard in the head, and didn't have much of a chance. He has been dead for several hours, at least.

poor lonely soul

Moving forward, but still on guard, Beranhond looks down into the pail. He raises his hand and casts 'stabilize.' His shield turned blue and a brief light passed from his hand to the body.
After the spell subsided he moved closer, took his healing kit out, and began to work.

Heal:
Roll(1d20)+8:
20,+8
Total:28

He Sees...

The first thing that Beranhond notices is a small pail sitting on the ground about 1 1/2 feet inside the door. Filling the rest of the small room beyond the pail is a pile of straw, where a body lies sprawled, apparently unconscious.

Let's do it.

Why not. Beranhond, bent slightly over, readies he shield and sword as he opens the door. He sees..