|
#136
Dec 16th, 2016, 12:21 AM
|
|||||
|
|||||
|
Then Praeta begins to pry. The Halfling has become very eager, suddenly, and not because Sandpoint was mentioned. Shalelu not mentioned by name, he did not resist. Perhaps she's imagining things, but a loner would care less about what the town thought, since Shalelu was not mentioned. Still, that's not enough to go off of, and she has questions. Why does he look like he's in that state? "Because of a shapeshifter named Volorog. This afternoon, as I was collecting leaves for my after-nap tea in my garden, he attacked. I fled back into my house and he followed, and we fought. My home... is a mess. I fought him off, but I have reason to believe Volorog is still in my home. I have to find him; thus, why I said it was not a good time." He turns around fully now, looking in. The windows above loom, as if faces that aren't there peer down at them. The Dwarf inspects the wound as he is turned around; it was done by a knife. If only she remembered more about the shapeshifters.... Still, his words ring true: these events happened. Walthus Proudstump was ambushed by Volorog the shapeshifter, and only recently was able to start looking about. Still, there is something absolutely not right about this. Why would Volorog be hiding in Walthus' house? The Halfling would know it in and out. The damage to the Halfling is significant, still. "I have plenty of information for you concerning the Licktoads. How to best defeat them, how to infiltrate their village, how to destroy them. That's why you're here, right?" He shows off his wound, now that Praeta has looked at it a little more closely. "Heal me, and I'll tell you anything you want."
__________________
he/him\his
In Repose 
|
|
#137
Dec 21st, 2016, 01:25 PM
|
|||||
|
|||||
|
Last edited by PopCultureBard; Dec 21st, 2016 at 01:26 PM.
|
|
#138
Dec 23rd, 2016, 08:59 AM
|
|||||
|
|||||
|
"Ye dinna fight him off if'n he still be here!" Surprised at the comment, Praeta began barreling her way inside brandishing her axe. Standing read and looking in a circle only steps from Walthus, her eyes came back around to light upon the fellow again.
"Shapeshifter, ye say?" The dwarf shoulders her ax for a moment and touches the gold key at her neck. "Abadar keep me order clear, an' yer enemies shall reveal themselves." The same hand flares a soft yellow as Praeta placed it on the halfling's wrist. "May sting a bit so grit yer teeth, woodsman. Kinna be havin' this Volorog posin' like yerself. HAH!" The glow flared softly, seeming to melt from the dwarf's hand into the halfling's causes 1 pt damage, can be healed but the mark remains for 1 day. Can roll touch attach if you want though it probably expects healing.exposed flesh in a soft sizzle. Returning her hand to her axe, she spun to explore the house before the ghost can finish it all. On Walthus wrist, where she had touched him, remained a small, softly glowing yellow key.
__________________
On hiatus due to shifting priorities. If you want to reach me, please send a PM.
|
|
#139
Dec 26th, 2016, 07:20 PM
|
|||||
|
|||||
|
The fellow halfling doesn't seem to take that much notice of Wesh, or from what he can tell, so he visibly relaxes a bit. Now his curiosity is piqued. A shapeshifter named Volorog? Wesh goes over to introduce his self to this ex-slave, the halfling ringing his hand after being marked by the dwarf. The key glows warmly on his skin, glowing as feint as moonlight. Avoiding the mark he shakes his hand which comfortably fits into his own. "Hello, my name is Wesh Gabor, traveling carpenter and now apparent goblin hunter. We'll be happy to help you. So how do you know this Volorog by name? And why would he have a scuffle with you?" Sense Motive: 7Wesh watches his face closely to see if he is trying to hide anything, but the alchemist just shows a big smile and tries not to show any concern. He knows how clever halflings can be.
Before the heroes split up to explore the house, Praeta had given him an idea. What if one of them gets replaced? He goes up to each woman and tugs on their sleeve to get their attention to bend down. He whispers a code into their ear: "Kaijitsu Blossom" to be uttered if their identity is in question. Perception: 9He then helps search the house, armed with his trusty crossbow. Can't be throwing bombs around the house, that wouldn't be helping the halfling all that much.
|
|
#140
Dec 29th, 2016, 07:10 AM
|
|||||
|
|||||
|
Ghosteye continued to move closer to the hut, and thus Walthus, during the conversation he had with the others. The tracks, the scent, the story... something didn't seem to fit. The hut looked too small for something the size of ugothol to truly hide in. Of course, the tracks should be larger as well, even though the shape fit nicely. Maybe a young one? The halfing's smell seemed weird, too. Not like Wesh at all. It needed a closer scrutiny for sure.
"I'm pretty sure that the shapechanger is wounded," she let the others know. With a foe likely somewhere in the vicinity, it seemed prudent to also have her furred friend close. "Black Moon, come here," she called as she stepped up close to the halfling and took another whiff of the air, going so far as taking a whiff of his wound if necessary. The young Shoanti was wary, but tried not to leave a hostile impression on the halfling.
|
|
#141
Dec 29th, 2016, 09:00 PM
|
|||||
|
|||||
|
The Halfling looks at the strange figure that is Aldwulf, previously paying him little mind until he passes onward, heading onward into the darkness of the home. The Halfling turns on his feet, realizing that he's not alive. "Fascinating." And it is. The Dwarf, however, abrasively heads into the house, stopping at Walthus before she goes onward. "Wha—Ow!" He pulls back at the burning, which leaves a brand on his arm, which he then pets. "I thought you were healing me!" His face is severe, growling with dislike as she marches into the house.
Wesh has a few questions for Walthus, who glares at him distrustingly, his dislike seemingly grown from before. "Everyone knows Volorog's name. The Goblins were the first to know. He would infiltrate their ranks, tell stories of himself to scare them, then kill off enough to feed and escape. Word spread from there. The she-Elf of Sandpoint—Shalelu, that is—she knows this too. Volorog is the last of his kind, or so the story goes. The others were wiped out, by a kind of strange skeleton army. Strange decaying men in strange armor, not like visitors to the Marsh. He was the only one that escaped. He never grew taller, either. A stalker, they call them. Faceless stalkers. I don't know much about them, I've gotten this all second-hand from Shalelu." A lot of information for one who doesn't know, but Walthus, looking nervously back into the house, watching Wesh as he whispers into Praeta's ear, but not hearing.  Before heading in, Black Moon and Ghosteye begin their typical hunting methodology by sniffing Walthus, and getting his scent. He seems offended, but once the smell is taken in, Black Moon is ready for the hunt. Going inward, they all join in. The front room is almost exactly as the Halfling described it. There is a carpet on the floor, a wonderful Kelesh carpet of orange and red patterns, with the exception of the dried blood stain in the center of it, from two sources. Against the western wall is a potted plant, knocked over and broken. The room has other potted plants, unbroken, and a picture above a bright green chair, a small table beside it with a half-read book on it. Both are of the same topic: Inner Sea naval battles, the page he is on depicting the same battle as the image: the Battle of Ossina Bay, in 4452. A single handprint of blood, tiny and child-like, rests on the page, and on the knob of the table, whose drawer is half-pulled open. Behind the green lounging chair is a set of stairs leading upward. The other doors lead elsewhere: beside the chair is a door to the back garden, where four poles are covered in vines which provide fruit. Beyond that, a garden invites them onward. Black Moon follows the scent onward, outside, as if to follow Walthus' scent out there. He spends very little time in the living room, and goes outside, as if following a trail. It takes him to the fence, but no further. Heading back inside, the floor where the blood is carries the scent as well. The door beside this outside back garden leads into a series of cages, full of sparrows, finches, and mice. Why? While Black Moon might not have noticed them, Ghosteye notices astutely that some of the vines on the poles are moving, and have tongues that taste the air. Does Walthus feed them? Praeta's hunt takes her onward into the kitchen, which is fine, with a number of fruits and fish that hang, tools and instruments of cutting and mashing and panning and beating. The pantry is well-stocked, for one, and the onions and garlic hanging in cloves from the wall smell lovely. There's little to be found there. Aldwulf knows all of this by the time any of them are beginning to work, and is prepared to go up the stairs, where a small trail of blood leads onward. As they all enter, looking about, Aldfwulf prepares to go onward. Walthus, standing outside the door, looks inward, and seems almost afraid to follow. "Found anything?" Katrina notes that she's found nothing, Wesh has found almost the same, and Praeta doesn't find anything out of the ordinary. But inferences from Black Moon's hunt—the blood, to the garden—seems to imply the blood trail is relatively new, in regard to the smell of Walthus. If he lived here, wouldn't it be everywhere? Or is Black Moon smelling Volorog's blood? Why not both? Why is the smell of Walthus leading to the fence?
__________________
he/him\his
In Repose
|
|
#142
Jan 1st, 2017, 11:08 AM
|
|||||
|
|||||
|
Praeta set her axe down long enough to stuff a fresh pepper in her mouth, then scooped the weapon back up and hurried out of the kitchen after the ghost.
Thundering through the main room the heavy dwarf eyed those she passed suspiciously. Breath came rapidly - usual for that of a moving dwarf - and sharp eyes darted as she chased after the much quicker Aldwulf. "Am right behind ya, ye long legged... " Grumbling was loud enough to hear.
__________________
On hiatus due to shifting priorities. If you want to reach me, please send a PM. Last edited by Jarl11; Jan 1st, 2017 at 11:09 AM. Reason: added perception check
|
|
#143
Jan 4th, 2017, 03:00 PM
|
|||||
|
|||||
|
Last edited by PopCultureBard; Jan 4th, 2017 at 03:03 PM.
|
|
#144
Jan 11th, 2017, 12:01 PM
|
|||||
|
|||||
|
Ghosteye took in the smells, the sights, the movements of Black Moon. Something was off, but she still couldn’t quite put a finger on it. Shaking her head she decided that maybe two heads might come up with more than one and made her way over to the nearest of her companions - who turned out to be Katrina.
Looking around to make sure Walthus was not close enough to hear her quiet words, she began to explain her findings: "Something’s not right. There are tracks outside, that change, suggesting a shapechanger. But they are too small for an adult. Fit a halfling reasonably enough, though." She shrugged, indicating that she wasn’t necessarily saying that Walthus was a/the shapechanger. "They also suggest an Ugothol, if I’m not mistaken. Tend to have green blood, at least in their normal form. That over there," she pointed to some of the blood on the ground that’s now rather brownish, "might have been green, but I can’t be sure. Anyway. Walthus blood smells weird. Not quite as I would expect it to smell. And he’s very clammy. Don’t know what to make of that, maybe you’ve got an idea. His scent lead into the garden and back. Would fit to his story of having gotten leaves for his tea." Following in idea that came to her during her speech, she crouched down and got a closer sniff of the potentially green blood to see if it indeed smelled different. In which case she would also let Black Moon have a whiff to see if either could pick up another trail.
|
|
#145
Jan 15th, 2017, 12:56 AM
|
|||||
|
|||||
|
Wesh Gabor picks up the book from the table to analyze it, hyper aware of the mud on his loose fitted white shirt that bites at his neck and the sunburn along his back. He glides his finger over the bloody fingerprint on the page, faintly reading the Battle of Ossina as the kelish red and orange rug in the room blurs in the background of his reading.
"Why would he pick up the book with bloody hands after a battle, you fool?" asks Wesh's grandfather. That cold, calculated voice that has saved him from danger so many times but has also crushed his spirit in the process. With that thought in mind he watches as the lovely Katrina walks past him with a crossbow cupped in both hands and Ghosteye whispering something to her, something he knows not. Katrina has her own ghost from history, literally, and sends him up the stairs. Wesh wonders dimly why the ghost doesn't fall through the stairs but his mind is already spinning from all the details around him. Everything is in hyper focus. ...he would infiltrate their ranks, tell stories of himself to scare them... Wesh notes how nervous, including he, is. A single handprint of blood, tiny and child-like, rests on the page, and on the knob of the table, whose drawer is half-pulled open. Wesh pulls it all the way open to peer inside. He'll take whatever is interesting out of the drawer, the kelish rug soft under his blond and bare feet. "Something wrong here. You can feel it. The women you run away with, they can feel it too." his grandfather says this in his mind as if he was standing by Wesh this whole time. Goosebumps run down his arms as he sets the book back down, face up, with the image of naval warfare etched in the dim light of a late afternoon. He walks back to the front door. Walthus, standing outside the door, looks inward, and seems almost afraid to follow. "Found anything?" ...he never grew taller, either... Wesh smiles, hefting his crossbow up, and shakes his head. "No, I'm pretty sure he fled already. You're lucky. Runs with our race, I guess." He walks past the halfling, taking out a vial of Expeditious Retreat as he does so. "So where in Cheliax are you from, friend?" he asks, blocking any escape for the halfling.
|
|
#146
Jan 15th, 2017, 12:11 PM
|
|||||
|
|||||
|
The hunt continues, onward and upward.
The stairs yielded little but the same, blood trailing upward, little driplets creating a trail. The major difference was the lack of light: though there were windows, they were covered, making the top floor as eerie as the bottom floor, but in a more classical sense. Perhaps Volorog had an aversion to light? Who could say? Praeta and Aldwulf are the only souls that explore the upper region, and they do so in very different ways. Aldwulf is systematic in walking through doors, looking around, and finding nothing. The first room is a storage room, where spare parts are stored. Books, weapons, a bearskin rug, they're all stored here as well as several boxes, on shelf and floor. The next room is a bedroom, with another small library, a reading desk, and two untouched beds. Finally, the final room is a large bed, the sheets undone, and another set of shelves, as well as a nightstand. This must be Walthus' room. Aldwulf's analysis stops here. Praeta doesn't see much more, but being alive grants her a level of common sense not found in the land of the dead. The blood trail is a fairly obvious marker of his trail, but going into Walthus' room, it stops, abruptly, next to the bed against the westward wall. Praeta didn't do much looking into the other rooms, though she did notice a lot of things. The guest bedroom was dusted. The storage room, less so, had weapons that did not fit a Halfling, as well as more paintings of naval battles, and books on the matter as well. The master bedroom has a lot of books, none on the nightstand, and a candle covered in melted wax that goes down the stick and over it, onto the table. Volorog isn't here. Not unless shapeshifters can turn into shelves or candlesticks. But why does the bloodtrail end here? Below, suspicions arise. There is a mix-up in the nature of the blood, the smells don't match, but the story could go either way. The blood on the ground could have been green or could have been red. Sniffing it in earnest offers no trails: it's a mixture. Both Volorog and Walthus hurt one another. But while Ghosteye and Katrina survey the room for new clues, Wesh begins to realize everything they need to know is right here. He moves to the door, past Walthus, and blocks his escape. A simple, innocent question. A delayed response. "Westcrown." His face is completely flat as he says it. Wouldn't an escaped slave hate his hometown? "I was born and raised there." As the former capital of Cheliax, and one of the most notable ports in the Inner Seas, it's an answer even a swamp-living shapeshifter might know. But it could also be true. What's a Halfling from Westcrown doing in Varisia? Wouldn't they be better served in Andoran? It's much closer. Wesh's mind begins to tick faster, the panic growing. For him, the verdict is clear, the hints dropped, the decision made: this isn't Walthus Proudstump. Upstairs, Praeta directs Aldwulf to stick his head through the wall, looking for a secret room. Since nothing here is made of stone, her own Dwarven expertise does little, but.... her hunch is confirmed. Aldwulf steps through the wall, leaving her behind. What he sees is clear: a hidden room, with a bookshelf, but covered in rations, jerky, nuts, berries, all untouched. A mat on the floor with a pillow. And an occupant: a Halfling with an open wound, bleeding on the floor, his face covered in sweat. Walthus Proudstump, in the flesh.
__________________
he/him\his
In Repose
|
|
#147
Jan 17th, 2017, 09:51 AM
|
|||||
|
|||||
|
One thing that Praeta was not was fleet of foot. Nor could she move through solid objects. Thus, her search and chase to catch Aldwulf was fruitless. Embarrassing, really. It didn't take long to abandon chasing the ghost and simply follow common sense - eyes followed the trail of blood.
"Blast an' bugger, ye shifter," she grumbled between sucking air between her teeth. It looked like the injured one had come to the master bedroom and disappeared. A shapeshifter could hide easier than most. The golden key flashed and the dwarf murmured thanks while touching it to cast detect magicaugment her vision. "Get yer translucent butt through tha wall, soldier. Ye dinna need ta stop goin' through things cuz there be no more doors!" She then proceeded to scour the room as the ghost glided out the wall... most likely exiting the building and hopefully falling to the ground. "Heh" A chuckle at the thought while she knelt and looked under the bed. Lastly, Praeta ran a hand over the wall where the blood ended hoping to find a clue somewhere before returning downstairs. A crack. Blood on the edge of it. There it was - a well concealed door! She stepped back, heavy thumps in her armor, for another look. Yes, there was something there! Thump THUMP Her axe handle rang out against the wood with two sharp knocks. "Me stone crafting eyes be seein' yer wood door, sneak! Open 'er up a'fore tha Judge o' Gods smash it in! Aye be from Sandpoint, Praeta Mountainforge, adopted o' Koya tha Priestess an' friend ta Shalelu who sent us!" The others would easily hear the dwarf bellowing through the small shack. Strange that Walthus downstairs didn't find this. Or perhaps he did.
__________________
On hiatus due to shifting priorities. If you want to reach me, please send a PM. Last edited by Jarl11; Jan 17th, 2017 at 10:03 AM. Reason: Adding roll result
|
|
#148
Jan 23rd, 2017, 12:36 AM
|
|||||
|
|||||
|
Last edited by PopCultureBard; Jan 23rd, 2017 at 12:36 AM.
|
|
#149
Jan 29th, 2017, 08:45 AM
|
|||||
|
|||||
|
Even though she didn't fully get what was going on upstairs it was obvious that something had been found and that not only her suspicions towards the halfling in front of them were now raised. If they were correct, she could not imagine that the shapechanger would not try to at least make a run for it.
Switching her spear to her left, she put a hand on the bola on her belt, ready to fling it after the wanna-be Walthus, should he try and bolt.
|
|
#150
Feb 15th, 2017, 10:09 AM
|
|||||
|
|||||
|
Above, the Halfling begins to stir from the stimuli.
Every movement hurts him. The voices outside of his saferoom don't sound like any that Volorog has used before, but Walthus, in his sickly fever-dream brought on from a loss of blood and general fatigue, he's not sure that's not the angry voice of his mother, long-since dead. He feels the bondage of Cheliax would be preferable to this pain, and that is something he would simply rather not go through again. All he wanted was to live in peace. So, opening his eyes and preparing for the imminent arrival of his dread foe, the Halfling squeaks when he sees the spectral figure floating above him, Aldwulf staring down in the thin light. But the Walthus is too weak to do much else; the squeak alone hurt him. Grabbing his side, he stares at the ghost, and knows he's lost his mind. Outside, Praeta clangs away, trying to find the way in. Finally, using her axe to pick away, she discovers that the wood paneling on the door is false: the actual door is made of some kind of metal, and a device holds it locked, snapped shut and tight. If she's going to get in, she needs to dig deeper, with more skilled hands... Wesh, perhaps? Her yelling, however, does not go unnoticed. Below, tensions run high as questions and accusations ring out. Katrina, in unison with Wesh, prepares to keep this Walthus from going anywhere. His eyes go wide with the accusation, and he looks from Wesh to Katrina to Ghosteye, trying to discern between them what is going on. "This is... this is my home. Why are you accusing me in my own home?" His hands up, he makes no sudden movements. The yelling upstairs, audible due to an apparent lack of insulation, reveals that she has found the real Walthus and is trying to convince him to come out. The Walthus downstairs, real or not, looks horrified, or worse. "W-what's she going on about? Who's she talking to? Volorog?" He furrows his brow, looking much more aged than they would expect; Wesh, however, knows what slavery does to a face. But then, having a rubbery face and complexion is easy when you're an aberration as well. "He lies with every word." Looking fearfully and sweating more profoundly now, the Halfling walks in place, rotating in a circle. "What can I do to convince you? You've already branded me." Somewhere in the distance, something howls.
__________________
he/him\his
In Repose
|
 |
| Thread Tools | |
|
|
![Show Printable Version [DO NOT USE]](images/buttons/printer.gif)
