8 Desnus
Kobold Caverns – Sootscale's Quarters
Kamelands
Krii looked at the floating armour/shield/sword combination in front of him. He'd been watching, it hadn't attacked anyone yet. At worst, it was being a nuissance to his ability to aim, but it wasn't acting up as a serious threat. Squinting between the floating objects, Krii took aim and fired a bolt of electricity between the shield and armour, managing to strike Tartuk and make him twitch like a puppet in Frodrick's hands (-3elec Tartuk).

Kyrie slipped the wand she had taken from Tartuk in her belt while Frodrick kept him distracted. She channelled life back into her beaten and scraped body again, this time with better effect (+6dmg Kyrie). Feeling refreshed, Kyrie swung her shovel, clobbering Tartuk in the head with a bare glancing blow (-4dmg Tartuk Bloodied).

Whether it was the fatigue or the blunt force trauma, Tartuk grumbled, “Gods damn, woman, what is with and that shovel?”

Miguel saw Frodrick was about to bolt any second now, as soon as the dwarf could get his legs under him to start moving. He knew Frodrick was caught in the grips of a the same kind of fear spell he had just thrown off—that was not a fate he wished on anybody.

“Frodrick. Look at me.” He demanded. The knight registered his name, but his gaze was unfocused, not paying attention. His grip on Tartuk's shoulder was loosening.

Without bothering to refine his approach, Miguel unleashed a primal bellow at the dwarf that reverberated throughout the small chambers and all through the cavern, magically reinforced like all the bard's arcane music.

Frodrick suddenly snapped to attention, regaining his hold on the kobold shaman. Tartuk saw the focus return to Frodrick's eyes. “Aw, sonova—”

In a flash of blackpowder, Zeran cut off the rest of Tartuk's sentence. Fine misty spray of blood spattered Frodrick's gauntlet as a tight hole opened up in the shaman's chest (-21dmg *crit* Tartuk). Tartuk gasped in pain, unable to hold air in his lungs. “Well it's. About. Time.” Tartuk dropped limp, dead almost instantly from the rapid loss of heart blood (Dead).

Frodrick 19/22 – Ability Damage: -1Str, -1Con (no damage), Frightened (END)
Krii 15/16 – Ability Damage: -5Dex (-2 AC, ranged, init, Ref, CMD), Mage Armour Kyrie 11/21 – Ability Damage -2Dex (-1 AC, ranged, init, Ref, CMD)
Miguel 15/17 – Rallying Cry 19 (1)
Zeran 19/19 (1) – () 25 bullets

Tartuk: Dead
Tickbiter: Uninjured
Detritus Devil?: ??? (for Added Alliterative Appeal)

As their master fell the raven flinched for half a second in the air. "Screw this, I'm out of here." The mangy raven turned wing and zipped speedily just over the heads of the party, passing Kyrie on the way down the dead-end corridor. Evidently it knew something the rest didn't, because it flew straight for where the rickety frame closed off the passage and disappeared behind the banner.

For its part, the hovering tatterdemalion didn't seem particularly perturbed by the death of its master. In fact, over the next few moments, it didn't seem to do particularly anything at all.

(If anyone wants to AoO the familiar on its way out, heads up, it has mobility and natural armour and probably more AC than anyone else in this room. Those curious about the floating bits of equipment can examine it further but the pieces do not move other than to float on the spot.)

Zeran gave his pistol a light twirl blowing the smoke from the barrel as he watched the kobold go limp in the dwarf's hands. "Oh I love it when this thing works." He said with a wide grin of satisfaction. The bird however caught his attention next. "YOU! GET BACK HERE!" He shouted at the bird keeping his eyes on it watching where it went intent on following after it if the rest of the party desired to as well.

Krii sped off chasing the raven—what did it know that it wasn't telling? He found behind the decorative frame down the supposedly dead-end passage a longer tunnel. He only barely caught a glimpse of tail feathers as he pulled the canvas back—but the trip proved interesting anyway. The long tunnel led a couple dozen yards to a well-concealed secret entrance to the caverns, a couple hundred feet distant from the main entrance.

Meanwhile Miguel turned his magic to identifying features of the room. While the floating items did not of themselves appear to be magical, whatever force was keeping them elevated was emanating a faint aura of conjuration.

Tartuk had on his body several magical auras, not including the dim aura from the fading shield spell.

Zeran found a small journal on the shaman's body and was about to flip it open when Miguel suddenly jumped at him—he had just detected a faint aura coming off the book. When powerful mages were concerned, even the mildest of auras left around supposedly mundane objects were rightly cause for suspicion. Fortunately all it turned out to be was a scroll of flight tucked into the back cover.

While Miguel catalogued the rest of the magic that he could identify—with Frodrick being sure to separate rightful spoils from the kobolds' own treasure, and Sootscale watching interestedly—Zeran proceeded to read the journal aloud, also written in Undercommon, though with a much finer hand than any he had found in the mite's lair.

Hoping perhaps for a little insight into the purple kobold's strange life and maybe some entertainment, Zeran quickly found matters even stranger than he had imagined.

Tartuk was not a kobold.

Devoid of coherent organization, the journal was mostly filled with the ramblings of a very angry creature, beginning with a curse toward the villagers who made him the way he is now. It takes a while to sort the details from the hate-fuelled ranting, but eventually quite an unusual tale begins to unfold.

The narrative vaguely begins with an account of his death, crushed by ogres before he could finish offering his help in raiding the village in exchange for his life. It isn't until the third page that Tartuk's original race comes up in the middle of a long lament about the illustriousness of hier former purple hair—he was a gnome.

Apparently the villagers, misinterpreting his actions as a heroic sacrifice that bought the village time to drive off the ogres, chose to have him restored to life with a scroll of reincarnate that had sat in the village treasury for years.

Brought back to life in the body of none other than the most hated of monsters (according to the journal's description), a kobold, the following passages detail how, enraged, he ended up among a tribe of kobolds which he manipulated into going to war with his old village.

Tartuk describes his delight that both sides in the conflict eventually destroyed each other in a dramatic battle. Since then Tartuk has drifted through several of the River Kingdoms, periodically murdering gnomes and insinuating himself into kobold tribes and manipulating them into hopeless wars.

The most recent pages describe with glee Tartuk's contempt for the Sootscale kobolds, and how easily he convinced them he was a messianic figure come to save them from a terrible curse—engineered through castings of prestidigitation to turn the scales of deceased kobolds yellow—and lead them in the worship of the false god of the idol.

The back page, where the scroll of fly was found tucked, indicate Tartuk's plans to use the scroll when he finally tires of life to fly upward as high as he can over the spell's five minute duration, leaving him well out of the spell's safety net for the spell's expiration, including scrawled calculations estimating a height of nearly 2,000 feet.

On that light note, Sootscale suggests that the party take the entire contents of the sack looted from the mites, containing not only a plain brass wedding ring set with a pearl (matching the Leveton's description), but several hundred coins and a dose of magical powder of unknown properties.

(Loot from Tartuk's person and the soiled leather bag detailed on Q&A. For further development of plans to celebrate the Sootscale clan's newfound religious independance—with or without accompanying booze—see Skype discussion and I'll get to it as I can)

MINOR RET-CON
There was a breathless moment after the kobold shaman tumbled to the ground. A full second's pause, then the dozen-odd kobolds occupying the main passage to the cavern erupted in cheers, starting with those closest to the door with the ability to peer into the room from the tunnel.

The kobolds rushed into the room to gawk at Tartuk's body, none daring to get too close. After a moment chief Sootscale called for silence in Draconic and addressed his clan, then turned to the party to thank them for their help in the matter.

"My people have a lot of work to do in Tartuk's wake, but for now we will celebrate. I have ordered that word be sent to all our scouts in the region to abandon their wartime manoeuvres. We will prepare for a feast--though there is not much left in our stores at this time, this occasion must be marked."

The chieftan looked around the room as the kobolds poured out. "That shaman really made a mess my quarters..."

(Thereafter, under Sootscale's supervision, the loot division and gathering. Sootscale tells the party to take all of Tartuk's equipment and everything in the leather bag stolen from the mites. If Krii mentions the secret tunnel to Sootscale, the kobold already knows, since this room was his former quarters.)

Kyrie felt her breath a bit ragged as she put her shovel away. It was peculiar. Generally, smaller creatures didn't hit so hard, but his slashes had hurt substantially. Not only that, but... she traced a hand tentatively over one of her previous wounds.

It felt unlike anything she had felt before when hurt. Kyrie breathed and drew on her power once more, intending to close the remnants of her wounds. (Lay on Hands again)

Kyrie could hear the kobolds rejoicing, and she was happy for them, but this was nagging at her. She knelt to pick up the sickle that still had her blood on it.

Tingling. Kyrie grimaced, half expecting to feel it ignite into burning in her hand, but thankfully it didn't. It was not a good feeling. Why would he wield something that wasn't comfortable to wield?

"Miguel, can you see if you can sense magic within this?" Kyrie asked.

(by the Q&A we know there's none in it)

"That... doesn't make sense." Kyrie frowned, holding the weapon out to Miguel, keeping her voice low, "If you hold it, does it feel like pins and needles in your hand?"

(he wouldn't and assuming he says so)

Kyrie blinked, "So it does for me, but not you? I don't understand..."

She looked at the blade more carefully. It had a different sheen than most weaponry she knew by that point. And if anyone could potentially identify the metal, perhaps Frodrick could, seeing as his people likely worked with many kinds?

"Frodrick, can you look at this blade?" Kyrie asked, "It doesn't actually look the same as other weapons. Can you tell what it is made from?"

Krii returned from his tunnel adventure no worse for wear although a little frustrated that he couldn't catch the intended target, but seeing the rejoicing Kobolds made him smile. He could add liberator of a people to his resume now should he ever return home to tell of his adventures to his people.

"I think this calls for a celebration its not every day you free a people from an oppressive false god eh haha "!

Taking the small weapon in his hand, Frodrick examined the blade for a moment. The metal was a dark grey, the a dull surface. Along with the slight marble pattern that it made within itself - it was without a doubt a very particular and rare metal.

"This here be a cold iron sickle. Not good for trading or makin' into jewelry, but makes can be used in lieu of iron for weapons and armour - though it is harder to smith so unless you got lots of the ore and not a whole lot of iron to work with would see no reason why you would want to work with it."

Frodrick pursed his mouth into a pout to the one side of his corner of his face. "Though... the ore has a notable efficiency for killin' faries and their kind: Clan Redbrew had a huge problem in the second cycle of King Grenin Redbrew with a bunch o' gremlins. We had to flush em out and cold iron was standard issue for that hunt. Don't know how well any of us can use this here weapon due to it being designed for a hand the size o' a kobold, but we could very well run into some fey in the woods round here and this metal might work for some arrows or sumthin."

8 Desnus
Kobold Caverns – Sootscale's Quarters
Kamelands
After the crowd dispersed to carry their messages and set about preparing for the celebrations, Sootscale said very little except to help coordinate the effort to catalogue and identify the magic left behind in Tartuk's hoarde. The majority of the trove was comprised of the Sootscale tribe's own treasury, plus whatever paltry spoils from the war.

After the task was finished and the due payment separated from the kobold treasury, Sootscale turned to the party. “Had your company not come along my warrior Mikmek in the hive of those infernal mites, I doubt very much my tribe would have survived another summer. You have the gratitude of the Sootscale tribe—I would like to invite you to stay and rest in our cavern for the evening as you recover from your battles with the mites and shaman.

“I know this is not the environment you are used to, and I fear our stores may be somewhat lacking, but many generations of my ancestors have lived in these tunnels, and I can guarantee its safety from fey, wildlife, and weather—at least now that Tartuk and the mites have perished.”

(If anyone comments that we must get on exploring, Sootscale will offer the services of his best scouts. Since it looks like more or less everyone agrees about celebrating with the kobolds, I'm going to assume one way or another these events transpire)

While the hunters and fishers went out to scrounge up food for the celebration, Sootscale's promised cartographer came to help sort out a map of the region—a small kobold with nubby horns recognised a beat later as none other than Poro, the kobold who had tried to rob them at the river three nights back. Her expertise was instrumental in getting the entire area surrounding the kobold's cavern accurately mapped (+25XP). For the rest of the day after that, she hung around with the party save for occasional absenses to perform some chore.

That evening the tribe's numbers had swollen to almost twenty kobolds, not including the children and those on long-ranging missions that took them far from the caves. It was paltry numbers compared to the tribe's former size and greatness, but the general cheer over their liberation made up for the lack of numbers.

During the festitivties, the party sat in a position of honour with Sootscale and Mikmek. The chief kept up conversation mostly in Taldane for the benefit of his guests, but addressed the assembly in Draconic when it came time to speak to the whole room. Mikmek offered his best (sometimes stilted) translation when these moments occured.

Toward the end of the meal, Sootscale addressed the members of the Greenbelt charter party.

“If I may, I desire to know what brings tallfolk such as yourselves into this region. Most tallfolk we see are either hunters or trappers or the bandits. Rarely there are travellers, even rarer ones as well armed as yourselves.”

Hearing the offer for the shelter, Frodrick shook his head.
"Nay there Sootscale. We be needin to get outta' here and be on our way. We be scoutin' the area and mapping it out and we got a lot of work ahead of us."

(Upon hearing that Poro can help in the current hex)

"I suppose we could stay then and recover our wounds a bit before setting out."

(Later that night, after being asked why the party is here doing stuff with weapons about them)

"Well, honestly, I be here to die a warrior's death. But just so happens that I can do some good while I am at that - the Swordlords up north want to try settling this land and bringing a bit o' law to the region. So we be startin' the fledgling barony after ridding these lands of some of the greater dangers - mainly that Stag Lord and his band of thieves."

Sootscale scratched his chin absently. As he nodded, Frodrick got the impression that the kobold chieftan had either heard or suspected much of his answer already. “I see. Then it is fortunate indeed that we were able to come to a mutual agreement of peace. I can assure you that so long as the legacy of this day carries on, my people desire no conflict with the tallfolk.”

“Should your attempt at civilization succeed where others have failed, I look forward to dealing with you in the future. It is my hope that as the leaders of our fellows, we can come to an agreement for the benefit of both our peoples.”

(Welp, looks like I don't have much more to say on this, if the last three hours are any indication. Coming soon (probably): What do we do next? (Seriously, time to pick a course--back to Oleg's? More exploration in the hills?))

Kyrie didn't speak up much during the festivities. She had offered to try to help the gatherers, but unfortunately she was a farmer, not exactly a gatherer or fisher. It was a bit surreal to her, the fact that she might not be human. True, it was a bit of a conclusion jump, but her instinct told her that it was the right conclusion, and if she was completely human, well, what was she?

Kyrie rubbed the back of her head. All she could really do was hope that this didn't come back later in a bad way. The only evidence was her reaction to the 'cold iron' as it was called, and that wasn't very much.

It was not like her to worry so much about such a small detail. Kyrie shrugged. What did it matter anyway?

With that internal epiphany, and appetite returned, Kyrie began scrutinizing the remainder of the food to enjoy.

“Should your attempt at civilization succeed where others have failed, I look forward to dealing with you in the future. It is my hope that as the leaders of our fellows, we can come to an agreement for the benefit of both our peoples.”
"With any luck," Kyrie added, giving a smile, "It won't be that distant of a future either."

((I might as well mention here that Kyrie will be up for exploration of some tree hexes while en route back to Oleg's. Seems a good idea to go back to at least inform them of Kobold updates.))

9 Desnus
Hex F5
Kamelands
The party left the Sootscale caverns the next day and followed the Shrike west to where their map indicated the Thorn river would join with it flowing south. They were only passing through for now—the planned route stuck to the northern side of the Thorn on the return.

(Night)
With a consistency that had yet to disappoint, that same night while Krii was on watch, the party's rest was disturbed once more in their travels. From his vantage point Krii saw in the dim light of the moon Krii saw smoke from another campfire. Searching carefully he saw the faint glimmer of fire at the top of another hill not far away.

Around the fire were a couple bandits, probably four counting the sleepers. It didn't seem like the troupe had noticed the campfire Frodrick built in the valley between the hills. Likely the two groups had set down their camps without noticing each other at this distance.

Silently Krii woke the rest of the party. This would be an excellent opportunity to return the favour of so many night time ambushes.

Frodrick 22/22 –
Jargon 19/19 –
Krii 16/16 – Ability Damage: -4Dex (-2 AC, ranged, init, Ref, CMD), Mage Armour Kyrie 21/21 – Ability Damage -1Dex (no penalty)
Miguel 17/17 –
Zeran 19/19 – () 25 bullets

Kobolds
Zeran was pleased with their help to the kobolds and with the prospect of future dealings with them, was much more preferred to having to slaughter the entire tribe to make way for 'civilized' people. "Well you can bet we also look forward to working with you sir." He gave a polite bow, his two words said he waited to follow the rest of the group feeling in high spirits, he hadn't been stabbed or nearly killed for once this time or diseased either he was on cloud nine if only for a moment. "Oh that reminds me, tell Mikmek he can keep that blade but to take care of it it was a...gift of sorts."

A thought occurred to him and he scratched his chin looking at the journal. He thought about filling the chieftan in with the details of Tartuk's life, how he wasn't the first Kobold chieftan to be tricked but he had been the last. He decided against it and instead decided to translate it into common so the rest of the party could have a read when they got back to Oleg's. Then another thought occured to him. "Er, Chief Sootscale if it isn't to much to ask, what are you going to do with your mite captive now that his colony has been taken out? Let it go or kill it? If you like I can have a word with it maybe convince it to bugger off far, far away and never come back perhaps 'convince' it to spread word of what fate would await any other mites that might want to poke around here." He suggested, giving a light shrug of his shoulders. "Doesn't matter to me, I'm positive we have seen the last of those little pests for a good long while."

[More to maybe come, wish to discuss a few things with Owen first >.>]
Sleeping? Nope!
Zeran rolled over and wiped a hand down his face after Krii woke him. "Let me guess, we are being attacked right?"

After Krii informs them, leaving response open to Nich.
"Well, that is a change of pace can't say I'm happy to be awake again without proper sleep. But I also can't say I'm not eager to take another poke at these fools. Although, perhaps we could scare them off? They go running back tails between their legs the Stag Lord might off 'em as an example save us the trouble. Or they might just piss off entirely and we wouldn't have to deal with them."

Zeran didn't anticipate the option of 'diplomacy' would go over well with the rest of the group, truth be told he just didn't want to waste another shot or three. Mentally as he waited for response he reloaded his pistol and got it ready, and decided that only one bullet would HOPEFULLY be needed tonight, if not then he had a job when he got back to Oleg's provided some catastrophic event that ended with him dead or missing.

Most of the night had been uneventful and Krii sat poking the fire in though up till the point he saw the smoke and bandits on the adjacent hill he moved to rouse the group informing them each individually (not creepily stroking there cheeks and whispering into there ears to wake them)

(*upon hearing Zerans suggestion*

"Im all for diplomacy as much as the next guy but somehow I don't think were going to be able to reason with people who's comrades we slaughtered on more then one occasion, by now there is no way that they don't know about what we did to Kressle and her lot not to mention the archer that escaped us, sure our infamy may proceed us but more then likely the prize our heads would bring would be more then any bandit could resist... though... if we sneak up on them surround them maybe they'll give themselves up, we could tie them up and escort them back to Olegs maybe drill them for information on new movements plans and such... in my mind if we could get even one we possibly could gain valuable information that could aid us in the future assault.... but that's just my opinion I suppose, I myself and still a little off form our fight in the mite warren and I know that some may not have recovered fully from our tussle with the goblin kobold... thing *Krii glanced an eye over to Kyrie briefly not knowing if she was still shaken from the experience she had with the sickle."

"I have no problems with giving them th same oppertunity as the other rogues we took into the fort. Might be a bit unlikely that they will be won over without trading blades though: most of the rogues we have met only understand power of force. But whatever we be doin' lets do it fast before any o' em notice us."