Game: Blades of Git'riban : Primal State

Ar'dru raises an eye ridge, inviting the Scion to speak his terms.

About to reach for Mim's battered head, the psion turns and reaches out to almost, but not quite, touch the arm Daraz is using to hold the crossbow, gesturing downward. She doesn't actually touch him, not wanting to set off the trigger. Or Daraz, for that matter.

~Conceal that, and yourself, please.

How was she supposed to find in a matter of moments what others had not located in years?

Attempting to avoid the worst of the blood and mess, Ya'shenn reaches for the unconscious githyanki's topknot, feeling the scalp underneath it with her fingertips. Should that fail, she cuts open the back of whatever Mim is wearing and examines the skin over his spine, as well. Should there still be no sign of a mark, the psion visually examines his ears, nose, and finally, mouth.

[OOC: If darkvision doesn't cover the last three, she'll pick up a light source in the room to help. If there is no suitable light source in the room, she'll use her own. Incidentally, does Mim appear to be at dead, dying, or unconscious right now?]

"Before giving my word I would know why you do not simply send your minions through the portal alone if you have ready access to it." Replies Ar'dru

Sense motive

Daraz will remain hidden shoot Schaaz-Khaalin the back as soon as the oportunity presents itself.

Atack: 23
Damage: 7
Sneak attack: 12

OOC: would he listen though?

OOC: Daraz is really, really, paraniod, and from his perspective, a shopkeeper (mage or not) isn't contributing much to the war effort, and is therefore unimportant.

OOC: If you sounded angry enough, he'd probably listen--again paraniod and trynig to avoid conflict.

"If you insist."

Daraz changes his plans and steps out behind Schaaz-Khaal, his crossbow raised.

"Please be still. We are trying to avoid dead bodies if at all possible," he says to Schaaz-Khaal. "We can explain."

[OOC: Actually, what does Daraz look like, un-magical-disguised? Just wondering.]

Ugh, not him too...

Illithids often shaved their thralls bald. Partially because many did not particularly care for the taste of hair with their brains, but also because fleas, lice, and other parasites could be a real problem in the thrall pits...
In a state of pain and distraction considerably laced with disgust, Ya'shenn takes a swing at a target that's virtually a sitting duck, seeing how it's firmly attached to her hand...

...and misses.

Cursing ripely in frustration and pain, Ya'shenn continues attempting to wriggle her hand free. [OOC: Escape Artist check!]

Well. She does have a good deal of training at being able to concentrate when in physical pain. Though that usually involves being hit with sword or spell, not being gnawed on by frenzied thralls.

Ya'shenn's eyes narrow to slits as she continues to struggle.

~Drop the crossbow, or at least point it somewhere else.

"I hate to be the one to tell you this, warlock. In fact -- aggghh --" Ya'shenn utters a number of curses that she would not, under any ordinary circumstance, allow to pass her lips.

"Your apprentice is -- ugh --" Being mauled and bitten by the berserk Mim, or at least what's left of poor Mim, is doing nothing to help her efforts at diplomacy.

"He's right. Mim is one of the marked. He's a thrall, a tool -- aiiiie -- one of them drew a thrall-mark on his palate. Even for a ghaik, that is twisted. Oh, and would you please do me the small kindness of getting him off me?"

[OOC: Escape Artist check. I don't know whether it's possible to declare a full defensive action (+4 ac) in the same round as such a check, but if it's possible, she will.

You know, I think I'll say that due to how distracted she is just now, she doesn't notice Daraz's zerai-ness right away. Probably in the next post, though.]

OOC: Join the club, Zim. This is a jinxed game, in case you haven't noticed already. We've almost died multiple times, set other party members on fire, executed a chair, etc, etc, etc.

OOC: I said that too. You dashed my hopes that that idea would die, 'cause I don't want to deal with that right now.

Somewhere around page 12 (I think), JK executed a chair with his pistol. He thought it was Grazz. I helped. I rolled (and failed miserably) to aid him with his intimidate check).

[OOC: I can hear EvilDM's maniacal laughter from over here. :shock: :mrgreen: ]

OOC:
I’m back! As per Azure’s instructions, I’ve been tasked with wrapping up Du’minh’s job with certain notions. Azure, let me know if there’s something here you want changed.

Seconds tick by to almost rhythmic sounds of steel meeting whetstone. Du’minh paces slowly with dull clanks of steel, keeping the sharpener occupied with small talk. They play subtle word games of inquiry, the old gith prodding about the slayers of Sight, Du’minh dodging questions and in turn looking for further indications of the sharpener’s thralldom.

Nearly all the arrows in the quiver Du’minh delivered have been processed when the elder gith encounters a setback. He loses his grip on an arrow and it spins around with the wheel to jam the sharpening stone.

“Hmpf,” grunts the sharpener. “My apologies, warrior, I’ll have this mess cleaned up and your arrow replaced.”

He rises to his feet… one foot, in fact, the other one being wooden in nature, then humps with uneven pace over to a trapdoor in the back of the store.

“Let me just get supplies from the cellar, I will not be long.”

The sharpener opens the trapdoor and heads down a set of stairs, leaving Du’minh to his own devices for a while. The Rish stretches his fingers in anticipation, itching to end this pretence. A few moments later the mental signal arrives from Ya’shenn:

~Strike.

Du’minh sets to his mission with resolution. He walks back and closes the door securely, then heads for the trapdoor while unsheathing his ceremonial ring-dagger. It creaks noisily, but stealth is neither an approach he masters nor desires.

The cellar is filled with sets of shelves of various tools and weapons, stacked and crowded in piles – most of them glinting with sharp points and edges. The whole apparent room doesn’t appear too large, but the proprietor is nowhere to be seen.

Du’minh walks down with steady steps but keeping on his guard, glancing right and left for any signs of his target. He doesn’t reach more than a few feet into the room when one of the nearby sets of shelves suddenly tips violently over in his direction, and wood and sharpened daggers rain down at the Rish. Shielding his head with his arms while assorted weaponry bounce off of his armor, the “trap” has little effect but slowing Du’minh down.

The warrior flings the furniture to the side and sees the sharpener hump away to tip another set at him.

“Why?!” cries the old gith.

“You know why… Deep down, you know.”

Du’minh forces his away through, while the sharpener keeps backing away and tipping over furniture to hinder or block progression.

“Get away from me, get out of my shop!”

“No. You serve the enemy, knowingly or not.”

Finding himself out of furniture and backed into a corner, the old man reaches for a sharpened spear by the wall.

“You are out of your mind, your judgement is clouded!”

The sharpener jabs at Du’minh in panic, but the veteran warrior grabs the weapon just before it reaches his chest plates. With cold determination, he snaps the head section off and steps forward to backhand the sharpener and send him flying into the wall.

“It is you who are no longer in control of your own mind, you whose judgement is guided by outside forces.”

The sharpener slumps down the wall, exhausted and coughing.

“Madness… I… don’t believe you… I will not believe you…”

A bit of doubt slips into Du’minh’s mind as he towers over the beaten and broken man. Could the scar be something else? What if Grazz had been mistaken? Then his sight drops down to the wooden leg – as the old gith is sitting with his back against the wall and his legs resting outstretched, the Rish-i-Chal catches sight of a mark on the base of the stump. The mark, and it seems it could activate at any moment now.

“Believe.”

Du’minh drags the sharpener to his feet with one hand and stabs him with the ring-dagger in his heart. It is a quick and simple execution, and the warrior gazes into the eyes of his target throughout. The sharpener dies swiftly and Du’minh drops him to the floor.

Just then, the sounds of steps emanate from above and the voice of another gith can be heard. A new customer has arrived, one who is beginning to search for the proprietor. Eventually this gith finds the open trapdoor and heads down, coming upon the scene of smashed wood and tools laying all about the cellar. Back in one corner lies the corpse of the sharpener, though the killer is nowhere to be seen.

Du’minh gains his bearings in an alley near the shop, having left the scene by gliding through dimensional space. He sends word through the telepathic link.

“The sharpener is dead. Status for the rest of you?”

Ar'dru pulls the levitating not-Boz through the air after him using the broken ruins to cover his movements whenever it does not unduely hinder the speed of his passage.

(ooc - any rolls needed? And welcome back Dunamin, hope you feel better soon)

Daraz complies, reluctantly, and unloads his crossbow.

"I think you should talk."