It was not suppose to end this way.

You were sailing from Bayris to Portua, Pardinal in search for a means to sustain your career as an adventurer and keep enough coin in your purse to stay fed. It was suppose to be a five day journey on a ship called the Minnow but after three days the weather took a turn for the worse, and this storm tossed the Minnow around like the proverbial fish it is named after. If not for the courage of the fearless crew, the Minnow would be lost.

And then a lightning bolt killed the crew and waves split the ship in half. The waves tossed the wreckage of the ship around and you cling for your life to the piece of lumber or barrel that is keeping you afloat. The rain falls in sheets, the wind blows like the end of days and you are cold to your very soul. Then, just as strength and hope was failing, your feet touched land under the water and you were washed ashore of a island – lucky to be alive.

At first glance the island is a disappointment. It is barren of all but rocks and short, wind-swept grass. There is no shelter, no edible plant life, and no wood for a fire. You are wet and hungry and a chill wind is blowing that promises to bring the storm back with it. Some pieces from the ship are coming ashore are other survivors. There are signs of other debris on the shore line, of other ships some long ago and others more recent. A longboat was tied to a rock nearby but the wind shattered it into splinters leaving a broken frame and frayed rope. Yet only the survivors of the Minnow are on this island.

But just as darkness falls, you discover at the center of the island a shallow depression with a stone door. The door is unlocked and when opened reveals a descending stone stairway. At its bottom is another door of an unfamiliar material.

Drift 'Khord' Wood
”UUUUUNNNNNGGGGGHHHHH”
Gamard the Grim slowly regained consciousness as his limp, water logged body began to stir in the wet sand, under the dismally cloud-hidden early fall afternoon sky; a chill wind blowing mercilessly with the promise of yet another livid lashing from the unexpected storm that had unceremoniously deposited the Khord Cleric of Solanis upon this unknown forsaken island.

The foul scent of dead, decayed octopi invaded his nostrils, providing a rude awakening, courtesy of this unnatural smelling salt from the briny sea, as the Khord spluttered and coughed his way to clarity.

Slowly he stood to his feet, stretching his 4'5” frame as he shook his soggy self, feeling much heavier than his customary 143 pounds.

His now tangled silver hair and silver beard were matted with clumps of damp, bitter seaweed; completely covering his head band and the holy symbol of his deity Solanis: a gold disk embossed with a blazing sun, that was majestically stitched on the front of the leather fabric that crossed his forehead.

With an annoyed grunt, he pulled off his soft padded boots, emptying the extra weight of water into the bleak colored sand, before arranging them to air out in the chilly wind that whipped among the nearby rocks, securing his boots so they would not blow away!

Gamard began thanking Solanis for his good fortune to survive the unexpected shipwreck, as he purposely pulled off his 'Knights of Holy Anger' War Tunic, a sturdy type of hide armor that had protected him from certain death countless times in the past.

Again, he arranged his hide armor so it was secure among the jutting rocks, maximizing the opportunity for the chill wind to somehow dry his precious protective armor.

Then he removed both his pants and his shirt, repeating the process of utilizing the chill wind among the rocks to dry the only garments left in his possession from the ill fated voyage!

He then followed suit with his sea soaked undergarments, standing 'buck naked' among the desolate rocks, as he secured these private possessions among the rocks to also dry in the chilly wind.

Finally, he untangled his silver hair, tossing the clumps of unwanted damp seaweed aside, before squeezing the strands of his silver hair to shed more unwanted water weight, prior to pulling his hair back into a ponytail that ran beneath his shoulder blades almost to his waist.

Then he adjusted his head band, so the holy symbol was in full view to anyone or anything that the Knight of Holy Anger War Cleric may possibly face that day!

His oddly hued purple eyes squinted with disdain at the desolate landscape, as the 59 year young dwarf suppressed a sullen chuckle, as he thought upon the fate of the crew of the 'Minnow'.

As a Priest of Solanis they welcomed me aboard as a sign of good fortune for their voyage! Fat lot of good that did them!
Then, and only then, did Gamard the Grim raise his arms towards the hidden sun, the palms of his hands opened wide, as he began exalting his deity Solanis; preparing himself spiritually and mentally to be both a container, as well as a conduit, for the power of Solanis to flow through him, should the Knight of Holy Anger need the use of any Cleric spells this day!

He spent the next two hours in prayerful preparation, choosing not to waste a spell of Endure Cold upon himself; for the Knight of Holy Anger had weathered worse conditions at the unseen hands of the cruel elements of the world of Audalis, without resorting to the self comforts of his available spells to Endure Heat or Endure Cold, during some of his past adventures!

After his prayer time had passed long enough for Gamard the Grim to be certain that he was now prepared spiritually, mentally and physically for any further challenges that he may face this day; the Khord Cleric retrieved his only remaining clothes, deftly dressing himself as he sang further praises to Solanis, before setting out to explore the surrounding terrain for anything or anyone useful enough to join with him to confront the challenges of the unknown!

Salt... That was Mal's first sensation. The taste of salt. Sea Water, obviously. He had tasted it for the past 14 years, every blasted day. It was a taste, a smell that comforted him at present.
Shifting his sore body slightly, his second and third sensation came all at once. The wet clothes hanging heavily to his sore body, and the feel of sand under his head and hands, the sundered chunk of deck wood still under most of his body.
And then a small wave hit him, causing him to choke and make himself sit up.
Alright... Time to open the eyes, tired as he was. As his eyelids cracked open, they shut again quickly. The sun wasn't exactly bright and shining, but at this point, he felt there was little that wouldn't cause him irritation.
Groaning and stretching, the man tried again, and was able to maintain a squint as he looked around.
"What a bloody run o' luck I be havin'..." He growled, slowly rising to his feet. The damned place was all but barren!
Sighing as he came to accept that this place would likely be his tomb, the wrecked bits of ship only souring the Swashbuckler's mood more, Mal drooped to grab his wide-brimmed red hat, growling gain as he saw the Plume was ruined from it's ride on the waves.
Placing the soaked hat on his head, he steps away from the water's edge, hardly bothered by being wet, though the cold was quite annoying.

"Go back to Pardinal, I says.... See yer old home, I says.... What can go wrong, I says! Bah, this bloody figures. Knew it be bad luck to sail on a ship named fer bait..." The man grumbled to himself as he moves along the beach in search of anything useful, or any other survivors.

"Dear Cardista, I pray it wasn't me own offendings that made ye do this. I pray to ye, if it was not me doings that called yer wrath, that you be with me, 'n' guide me to salvation. Though I be yer humble servant, Ye saw fit to keep me from drownin', and I hope to continue on livin'. Dear Mistress, I beg ye don't let me die on this god-forsaken plot o' land. Amen..." Mal continues to mumble to himself, eyes down as he wanders, unaware of those few survivors that he DOES pass in his search of items, namely weapons, food, or ANYTHING dry.......


His search was not in vain as, not much further, he came across the hilt of a Saber sticking crookedly out of the sand, hardly above the water. Looking to the sea, he smiles. He had his sign....

Drawing the weapon from the sand, he inspects the blade briefly before moving on, the saber resting on his shoulder, and gripped with the right hand.

Staff of Life
Gamard the Grim had been oblivious to the arrival of any other survivors being washed up on the beach of this 'deserted' island, during the past two hours of his private devotional prayer time to Solanis.

Fortunately, his boots and other garments, including his Knights of Holy Anger War Tunic, was more than sufficiently dried out from his ordeal in the surf, for which he gave Solanis extra thanks!

He strode back down to the beach, working out any more traces of stiffness from his body, noticing with grim satisfaction that he was not the only survivor of the ill fated 'Minnow' that had washed ashore upon this desolate unknown beach.

However, before hailing his surviving comrades, the Khord War Cleric of Solanis noticed a familiar Quarterstaff that had washed up unharmed upon the desolate beach. He blurted out yet another praise of thanksgiving to his deity Solanis, as the Knight of Holy Anger gratefully retrieved his only weapon that had successfully weathered the storm!

Thraggdrugg would be honored to hear how Solanis so graciously spared the one gift that Thraggdrugg had so proudly bestowed upon me, for befriending him and learning his secrets of survival and battle tactics, no matter how hopeless the odds a Knight of Holy Anger might face in uncertain situations!
Thraggdrugg was a 'retired' Knight of Holy Anger, who was currently a resident in a Solanis Temple near Bayliss, who early in his life was an outcast Half-Orc, whose human mother had been savagely victimized by an Orc raiding party.

Gamard the Grim meticulously examined his most prized possession, as he continued thinking back to a time four years ago, when he began investing two precious years receiving 'special intensive training' from Thraggdrugg, before spending the past two years hiring himself out to bless traveling caravans from Bayliss as a 'Healer and Cook', sometimes helping to fight when it was necessary to ward off bandits or other evil monstrosities (think of the Cook in one of those Steven Segal movies).

These are the portions of his life that Gamard had chosen to reveal to the other adventurers; during the various 'getting acquainted' conversations that had taken place over the course of the first three days aboard ship, before the storm struck and demolished the misfortunate 'Minnow' that was enroute to Portua, Pardinal.

The survivors also know that Gamard the Grim was determined to begin a new journey northward across Pardinal, into Ertain and Drannon, to search for and destroy the ancient evils reportedly plaguing those regions from the dark bowels of Sendria.

He was glad to see that some of the adventurers he had met were somehow spared an untimely and unexpected death, so he now turned his undivided attention in the direction of the various survivors.

Striding forward at a brisk pace with a cheerful air of reborn purpose, the Knight of Holy Anger utilized his newly recovered Quarterstaff as a walking stick in his left hand, deftly traversing the jagged, rock strewn terrain between himself and his shipwrecked companions; while waving his right hand with a grimly concerned gesture of greeting, as to the well being of his fellow survivors!

"HO My Friends! How Fare Ye?"

Wembly's first remembrance of the island was he violent gagging, as his body coughed and sputtered, trying to free the gallon of seawater he had choked down. "bhl-bhl-bleh-bleh!" And with that, Wembly's last meal joined forces with the sea water and was splayed out across the desolate shoreline.

Through sheer force of will, the cidal pushed his eyelids open, the sting of salt water and grit causing large tears to flow down his cheeks. A sudden wave of surf lifted the pitiful creature and tossed him further ashore. He coughed and sputtered again. Get up! he commanded his muscles to move.

It is debatable whether a more sad and pathetic image has been seen on the face of Audalis than that of the waterlogged cidal rising up from the beach. His lustrous chestnut hair hung limp and matted around his face and neck. Long gone was the leather tie that had held his hair back in a glorious topknot. Sand, seagrass and seafoam clung to his damp clothes, which suctioned ungracefully to his drenched body, revealing his small, thin frame.

"Dolphins and devilfish!" Wembly exclaimed, shaking himself much like a wet hound coming in from a thundershower. He looked out over the sea. "Ha! That was some storm, Sea Queen! It will make for an excellent tale around a fire"

Wembly paused, taking the land on which he stood. "A fire would be most excellent right now." His thought with a shiver. Scattered across the shoreline, he could see shapes of other adventurers who had made the journey as well. With hopeful anticipation, the cidal made his way over to the others. "I sure hope Mary Ann and that professor made it."

Alôndas Lantalhûn, Sylvari Mage staggered ashore leaning heavily on his staff to keep him upright.  He tumbled to the dry sand and coughed mightily for over a minute as he got the last of the salt water from his body.  His stomach churned but he managed to concentrate and keep from losing the last meal he had aboard ship.  He rolled over onto his back and looked up at the sky; grateful for what little warmth the sun gives him.   A cool breath makes him shiver as he rises slowly to a sitting position.  He looks down at his sodden robes, once a grand blue with intricate gold thread filigree, now filthy, torn and hanging limply on him clinging to his thin frame.

Looking about he sees others moving around on the beach; it looks like there were some other survivors.  He suddenly began to search his body frantically and look about him on the sand and then groaned aloud.  All his belongings were gone; his pack, his spellbook!  Other than the wet robes he had only his trusty staff.  It wasn’t just a plain staff, but an intricately carved staff 6’ long piece of slim Sylvari Ironwood; nearly as strong as metal.  It had no magical properties, but it was kind of a family heirloom.  His father, and his father before him, had carried this staff when they were young mages and it had been handed down to him.  He doesn’t know how he managed, but he held on to it throughout the storm and was still holding on to it tightly when he washed up here.
 
Where was here?  Rising slowly to his feet with the help of his staff he took a look around. Nothing but a spit of land; a tiny island it seemed. Taking a last look around his area for anything else that might have washed ashore. Not seeing anything else of value he started off down the shore to where he saw other survivors gathered.

As he got closer he saw they were other adventurers from the ship. He didn’t see any of the sailors or crew from the ship; looked like only 6 of them had made it.

“Well,” he said as he limped closer, “I am glad to see that we at least made it.”

After they had all gathered, Alôndas inquired of what supplies they had found. It seemed like only a small backpack of food a skin of wine to drink, and very few weapons. Looking around the isle they didn't find anything else of use; but just before nightfall they did find a strange depression with a stone door. The night was growing cold and after a brief discussion they opened the door and saw a stairwell. At the bottom of the stairs was another door but one made of some strange material.

“Well now,” the mage said with a smile, “shall we see what lies beneath? Perhaps we can find out what happened to the other people that appear to have been shipwrecked here before us.” Referring to the obvious signs of other ship and boat wreckage that was scattered about the island.

"One other thing," he added before there was an answer, "who is leader here?"

(OOC: I am kind of assuming that we know each other from the ship and got acquainted on the journey but maybe not all of us have adventured together. Therefore, he has to know who is leader of this group.)

It hadn’t been that long since Dudley had left monastery where he’d gone to learn the ways of believers of Shinara. Growing up on a farm he had survived a fall of the barn roof by the chance that a spooked horse wildly charged out pulling the hay wagon his father had been trying to unload. Tumbling into the hay Dudley landed lightly catching the reins and stopping the runaway. Then there was the time he was wearing his new red breeches and the bull happen to leap over the fence, it had never done that before. That had surprised everyone but more than that fox that was sneaking up on the hens. Poor fox, but it did make a nice wrap for ma. It was ma that had told him of the Goddess of Luck, Shinara, and how she must have been looking over him. He liked that thought and in time he decided honor her and left home to dedicate himself to her service. The Priest’s taught that life is full of chances and that if you believe in yourself, your companions and Shinara the luck will show itself. Now here he was on board the ship Minnow heading out to share that belief with others as they venture forth.

The voyage had started well but the weather turned foul. Winds, rains fell, wave swelled. The crew was working had hard to pull in the sail as bow lurched up flinging Dudley into air. Flailing through the air he watched as bolt of lightening struck the deck where he has stood and spread out killing the crew as is flashed brilliant and deadly. The force of the crash had weaken the ship’s timbers and soon the mighty Minnow as breaking into pieces.

The few passengers were cast into the dark cold waters to fend for their lives. All Dudley had was clothes on his back, but Shinara had not abandoned him, a section of the deck and rail floated up and he able to pull himself on enough to keep his head above the billowing waves. Dudley clung to the flotsam and thanked Shinara for sending it his way.

Time pasted slowly as he bobbed in the churning waters. Exhaustion was over taking him and his grip on the wood was failing when his foot drug on the sand as the wave pushed him ashore. Crawling a few yards out of the surf he collapsed with fatigue. As sleep took him he thanked Shinara for letting him be lucky to be alive.

Dudley awoke to the wind gusting and blow sand in his face.The storm clouds seemed to gathered anew promising drench the beach that he had been cast upon. The refuse and remains of the ship had washed ashore and scattered along the beach. The Young cleric picked himself up, dusted off the dried sand and started searching the beach for items that might help him survive. His studded leather armor was still a bit squishy from the sea water and the smell of brine would take a while to dissipate.

Among the broken timbers and wooden sections he found a backpack of assorted foodstuff (a couple loaves of hard bread, a wheel of cheese, a full wineskin of wine, some spices, and a small smoked ham, all wrapped for preservation on ship). Shinara had smiled once again.

Searching further he hoped to find a weapon but only found a belaying pin, but that would work as a short club in case he needed to protect himself. He slid it into his belt. It wasn't long before he heard sounds not far away and to his delight there was a gathering of the passenger from the ship. Luck was smiling brightly, they had found food, drink, weapons and each other.

Such a group, two clerics, two mages, a fighter and a ranger. Shinara had led to just group he would have search out when the ship would have made land. The group acquainted themselves again and assessed their situation. Fingering the silver ring engraved with stars he lifted a little prayer of thanks for this good fortune.

It wasn't long before the ranger was scouting the way as they started to explore the island they had wash up on. But just as darkness falls, they discover at the center of the island a shallow depression with a stone door. The door is unlocked and when opened reveals a descending stone stairway. At its bottom is another door of an unfamiliar material.

Such good luck was bestowed on this fortunate group. Hearing the Robed Elf,“Well now,shall we see what lies beneath? Perhaps we can find out what happened to the other people that appear to have been shipwrecked here before us.” Referring to the obvious signs of other ship and boat wreckage that was scattered about the island.
Brightly smiling at the prospect of getting away from the approaching foul weather, Dudley agreed,“Yes, what are we waiting for, there is surely food and shelter in there, let’s go”

(OOC, a little edit to bring the gloomy storm back and a little more filler too.)

It didn't take long for Wembley to meet and greet the remaining survivors. While MaryAnn and the professor were nowhere to be found, the lucky stars did seem to shine down on him as his kin, Dudley, had been spared. He was glad to find the little priest... gladder still to find the cleric had a backpack full of food. Those Loavens... always thinking ahead. Wembley stared down at his spellbook, wishing hard that it would turn into a backpack of ham and cheese, wine and bread.

Well, the little rogue sighed, looking again at his kin, perhaps he'll share.
There was a Khord on the island too... Take the good with the bad, Wembley thought, glancing sideways at the stout cleric. He seemed friendly enough, though a bit too fanatical for his liking. Still, if the Khord could call in a special favour with his diety and get them all a little more sunshine, Wembley would most undoubtably be most devoted to Solanis... at least for the day.

The sigie swashbuckler had landed as well. Of all that remained, Mal was likely Wembley's favourite... his confident carefree lifestyle were Wembley's values as well.

The two Syls had made it. Wembley saddled up to the Syl mage, "Alan, right? Remember me? The dabbling cid from the Brynnandells? Oh, am I so glad to see that you made it. Now we can finish that story I was telling you about the other day. Remember? I was about to tell about the time I escaped from a orc raid party. Oh, you should have seen it... that pair of brown bears I conjured up was a work of art."

"Anyone else cold?" Wembley interrupted himself, shivering. "I could really use some shelter."

As luck would have it, almost at that exact moment, the group stumbled upon the strange door at the center of the island. "Ah, here we go."

Opening the door, and descending further, Wembley found himself with another door. "I'll open it."

Alan wanted to know who was leading the group. Quickly, the cidal rogue piped up, "I'll lead this party! Oh! Oh! Pick me, Alan! Pick me! I can do it!"

OOC: Alan = Alondas.

Mal soon noticed the others moving about, the other survivors, five in total, plus himself.
"Odd group..." He muttered to himself as he moved to join the ragtag assortment, Saber still resting on his shoulder.

Two Cidal, two Syl, and a Khord. Seemed he was the only human.
He recognized a few of them, the Bubbly Wembley and the Khord, Gamard namely. The Cidal was a talkative little bugger, and kept many of the men entertained in their down time, even when he didn't mean to. Easy enough to get along with, but Mal had no Idea how he had managed to survive.
And Gamard, the very expressive Cleric. Though he had not spoken to the Khord, he had seen enough of the stout little fellow to know he would prefer to keep it as such.
Not that he was racist, mind. He just didn't like Khords.

For most of the day, the Swashbuckler kept to himself, answering only when he needed, his mind occupied on finding another surviving crew member. But as the hours passed, he gave up on that hope, and sighed. It seemed his lady of the Sea had smiled only on him and this.... group.

Near sun down, they finally found something. Not what they had hoped, by any means, but something. A door, in the center of the island.

“Well now,” the Syl with the stick said with a smile, “shall we see what lies beneath? Perhaps we can find out what happened to the other people that appear to have been shipwrecked here before us.” Referring to the obvious signs of other ship and boat wreckage that was scattered about the island.

"One other thing," he added before there was an answer, "who is leader here?"

"I'll lead this party! Oh! Oh! Pick me, Alan! Pick me! I can do it!" The excitable Wembley volunteered happily, drawing a smile from Mal.

Speaking up for the first time to the others, Mal leans on the wall before the door and says, "It hardly matters, so long as we all be knowin' we'll need each other to survive... assumin' that is even an option at this point. If'n we keep a warrior at each end o' the group, and ya magical beings in the center, we should be fine."
He pauses, looking at the group before him. None were near equipped for an adventure of any kind, himself included.
"I be willin' to take point, if'n you be willin' to guard the rear, Syl" He says to Crow, nodding to the bow. "You bein' the best armed to help any position, 'specially bein' most o' the others are short enough to shoot over."



((I know Crow aint posted in yet, jus getting somethin in there. ))

"I'll lead this party! Oh! Oh! Pick me, Alan! Pick me! I can do it!" The excitable Wembley volunteered happily.
Alôndas almost smiled at the thought of Wembley being the leader, but then he realized that he was referring to him when he said Alan.

“Wait, what? No, my name is Alôndas,” he said putting a strange ‘closed’ sounding accent on the ‘o’ which is common on Sylvari from the Northern Kingdom, “and I think it best if someone a little…. taller be leader. They’re better able to see over everyone and see the entire picture. You see?”

Speaking up for the first time to the others, Mal leans on the wall before the door and says, "It hardly matters, so long as we all be knowin' we'll need each other to survive... assumin' that is even an option at this point. If'n we keep a warrior at each end o' the group, and ya magical beings in the center, we should be fine."

"I be willin' to take point, if'n you be willin' to guard the rear, Syl" He says to Crow, nodding to the bow. "You bein' the best armed to help any position, 'specially bein' most o' the others are short enough to shoot over."
“While I agree that, until we know the situation here, it would be best for us to work together,” he addressed the group, “but order is important and if we get into any situations, it is always good to have someone to make the tough decision.”

“Since you seem to have an understanding of tactics,” he said to Malrinn, “and you appear to like to give orders, perhaps you would to volunteer to lead us.”

“Plus, you do seem to be tall enough for the job,” he added with a faint smile as his eyes flickered to Wembley.

Maithias Crowmarhte washed ashore of the island. The cold wind blew a chill through the Sylvari body and he was battered and bruised from the trip to shore. But he was alive, and for that he was thankful.

He looked around the island and area where he had landed. Other survivors were ashore – one of them appeared to be a naked Khord, Crow didn’t feel so bad as at least he had his armour. Sodden, soaked and cold armour but at least he had that. But the realization dawned upon him that he was without gear or weapons now. His matching swords were at the bottom of the sea with the remains of the ship.

He forced himself up and began to scour the shoreline, hoping against hope that something of his would have made it here. After some time, he spots something – a quiver bobbing in the water. He runs out and gathers it up to find that the gods have been merciful and that it is his bow, quiver and....five arrows. Well, better than no arrows at all, but the bow string is wet, and the arrows’ fletching are soaked. He’d need somewhere to dry them, and with the weather and barrenness of the island, he wasn’t sure about a fire.

He wandered the shore line for a awhile but found nothing of use. Then he wandered over to where the others were gathering. The Grim Khord Priest was there (good, he does have armour), the two Cidals (how did they survive?), a sea man (how did he manage to keep the hat?), and another Syl (the mage if he remembered correctly) were gathering together.

"HO My Friends! How Fare Ye?" Gamand asks.

"Dolphins and devilfish!" Wembly exclaimed, shaking himself much like a wet hound coming in from a thundershower. He looked out over the sea. "Ha! That was some storm, Sea Queen! It will make for an excellent tale around a fire"

“Well,” Alôndas said as he limped closer, “I am glad to see that we at least made it.”
Wembley piped up, "Alan, right? Remember me? The dabbling cid from the Brynnandells? Oh, am I so glad to see that you made it. Now we can finish that story I was telling you about the other day. Remember? I was about to tell about the time I escaped from a orc raid party. Oh, you should have seen it... that pair of brown bears I conjured up was a work of art."

"Anyone else cold?" Wembley interrupted himself, shivering. "I could really use some shelter."

"Odd group...” Mal muttered the very thought that Crow was thinking.

“I’ll scout around.” Crow volunteers. ”I can’t promise anything but who know what I might find. Did anyone find any food or flint for a fire?”

The news that they had some food was good to hear but the lack of fire building was a worry. Crow set out wordlessly to search the island for a dream and a miracle.

And he may have found it. Just as darkness falls, you discover at the center of the island a shallow depression with a stone door. The door is unlocked and when opened reveals a descending stone stairway. At its bottom is another door of an unfamiliar material.

“Well now,” The Syl mage said with a smile, “shall we see what lies beneath? Perhaps we can find out what happened to the other people that appear to have been shipwrecked here before us. One other thing," he added before there was an answer, "who is leader here?"

"I'll lead this party! Oh! Oh! Pick me, Alan! Pick me! I can do it!" The excitable Wembley volunteered happily, drawing a smile from Mal.

“Wait, what? No, my name is Alôndas,” the mage said putting a strange ‘closed’ sounding accent on the ‘o’ which is common on Sylvari from the Northern Kingdom, “and I think it best if someone a little…. taller be leader. They’re better able to see over everyone and see the entire picture. You see?”

Mal leans on the wall before the door and says, "It hardly matters, so long as we all be knowin' we'll need each other to survive... assumin' that is even an option at this point. If'n we keep a warrior at each end o' the group, and ya magical beings in the center, we should be fine." He pauses, looking at the group before him. None were near equipped for an adventure of any kind, himself included.
"I be willin' to take point, if'n you be willin' to guard the rear, Syl" He says to Crow, nodding to the bow. "You bein' the best armed to help any position, 'specially bein' most o' the others are short enough to shoot over."

“Crow.” The ranger says, “Call me Crow and I shall call you Mal, but not Captain. My bow is useless until we can get it dry so you may lead for now. I am used to working on my own so don’t be expecting me to wait for orders though.”

“While I agree that, until we know the situation here, it would be best for us to work together,” he addressed the group, “but order is important and if we get into any situations, it is always good to have someone to make the tough decision.” Alôndas said, “Since you seem to have an understanding of tactics,” he said to Malrinn, “and you appear to like to give orders, perhaps you would to volunteer to lead us.

“Plus, you do seem to be tall enough for the job,” he added with a faint smile as his eyes flickered to Wembley.

“Well what are we waiting for, there is surely food and shelter in there, let’s go” Dudley asked eagerly.

With the swashbuckler in the lead the party descends the stone stairs. Even with the opening above, it is very dark once you reach the bottom. The door is black, with no handle or way to hold. When Mal touches it, he finds that he and the party are suddenly drawn into the blackness and into ....

The room is dark green. On the walls are gold fabric wall hangings and paintings of wilderness landscapes. A watermelon shaped metal object is moving back and forth across the floor in a regular pattern. It has two stubby legs and feet but no head or arms. Against one wall is a simple oak table next to a large corner cabinet of dull metal. On the oak table is what appears to be a wooden cage (for a small animal perhaps?) smashed to pieces. In the other corner is a wooden closet door. A mirror on the opposite wall has a very heavy filigreed frame of unfamiliar metals. Two comfortable sofas and two chairs are arranged in front of a fireplace which glows with a fire and gives off a lovely warmth. Across from the fireplace is what looks like a pitch-black doorway, and to the right a sort of hallway leading to another black opening. In the hallway is also a wooden door. (map to follow in QnA)

Dudley could barely believe their good fortune, they were now in a cozy room with a fireplace. As the other gazed around the room Dudley made his way to the fireplace and began warming himself and hopefully drying his clothes.

As soon as the Cidal cleric moves towards the fire, the silver oval shaped thing spins and turns towards him, moving at speed, or as much speed as its stubby legs can move. But, suddenly, a bright light flashed from the top of the thing and engulfs Dudley in its ray.

*BZZZZZZZZSHHHHH*

The light disappears and Dudley is .....




very clean and dry. His clothes, his hair, even the makeshift club he carries is now spotlessly clean.

The Watermelon of Cleanliness starts to move toward the party and the puddle that is forming underneath them.

Moving toward the fireplace Dudley stopped as he heard a sound behind him. Turning he saw to the little metal thing move toward him. A flash of light and tingling sensation engulfed the cleric. When to light faded Dudley found himself clean, warm and dry, even the studs on his leather armor seemed to be shined.

Wembley watched in amazement as the little cleric was zapped by the little watermelon of cleaning power.

"Bolts and bubbles!" the little rogue shouted. "Did you see that? Probably some Brathunspar tinker's invention... I bet, if the professor were here, he could tell us how it worked."


Turning towards the strange and magical device, Wembley moved closer, filled with wonder. "Oh! oh! Do me next! Do me!"