Polp flinches as the first drops start hitting him, and ducks in a crouching position under his donkey as the raining picks up.
“Ouch! This thing stings! It’s just like Uncle Phelin said: You can’t trust those crazy open-up worlds, they’ll throw anything on your head: water, lightning, even cold showers of strange white wetness.”
“I don’t suppose you have any underground gardens here?”
"P!" Zhegre calls out. "Meet at Hands of Time next peak, if you can, eh?"
Zhegre puts his hood up against the rain. "There is underground here," he says to Polp. "It is..." he actually looks uneasy for a moment... "not normal. The stone is... mmm... fake, so to speak." He brightens up. "You will be able to see for yourselves, if you would like to join me for night's rest. I have apartment in Gurincraag, is local dwarven community. Is bachelor pad, but big enough that those without a place," he nods to Polp and Hilren, "can put their feet up for the night. And is conweniently close by."
He turns to the other natives. "Is no condition to work on any business right now. Shall we get some sleep, run some errands, and meet at Hands of Time, next peak?"
Kadar waves to the group whilst seeking some shelter to ease his claok's pain, "I'll stay at my place over in the sandstone district, there's not much room but all are welcome to stay if they'd like to or if they won't fit at Zhegre's."
Kadar waits a little while for people to make their decisions before heading off towards his apartment. He keeps an eye out along the way for signs of anyone tailing him/waiting in ambush and for any clueless he can make a quick buck from on the way home.
Once home he checks his apartment to see whether it has been tampered with/entered.
Spot (1d20+6=19)
Listen (1d20+6=12)
Search (1d20+2=4) (apparantly he's tired) I'll take 10 after he's had a drink and a bit of a rest.
Baba smells the traditionally Sigilian air. It's time to get back to work. The damn Bauriar's probably run his shop into the ground by now.
"I'd love to meet all of you later, but I have to see whether I still have a home." Baba sprints off to the portal to the gate-town. Sundry shops don't run themselves, after all.
Sorry guys. I'll try to post way more often from now on.
Scratching his ears with an accompanied jingling of dangling rings, Polp ponders Zhegre’s words while waving goodbye to Kadar, Baba, and Kadar’s cloak.
“Fake… stone? Like near elemental borders? My Pa always told me to be careful of the border regions to Magma, Dust, Ooze, and Mineral. Mumbled warnings about unnatural earth and some such.”
“I guess these open-air gardens are alright, even though the plants seem sort of weak, require sunlight, and drink copious amounts of water. Lots of pretty ones, though, I’ll have to remember a bouquet for when I visit the home gardens again.”
At the prospect of new places to visit, Polp lights up like a pixie in spring.
“Ooh, I’d love to see dwarven homes again, it’s been too long!” Switching over to his well-practised skills in Dwarven speech, Polp continues:
<“All these exotic dreamer drinks are really nothing compared to Dwarven brews. It will be just like that time when one of your kinsmen fell into the keg because his beard got stuck!“>
OOC:
Nice to see you're still with us Oberoni! 
Painfully spitting out the detestible stomach juices, Hilaren lurches under an eave at the sting of acidic rain. He stares at the ground for a moment before shutting his eyes tight. This is no place for a man who has only known foliage and moss covered earth--not even the feel of unhewn stone is foreign to his people! And as such, his visage is one of torment and sorrow. At the notion of splitting up, the ranger slides along the wall's edge (though not touching the foreign stone) while swallowing a draught from his waterskin. He clutches Zhegre's shoulder and says, "Short-one...Zhegre?...I need to get home quick. This is...an...abomination. Surely Azkill has had his way with this place--men on mountains! Such cannot be..."
It'll take a bit for Hilaren to "level out," but if this anti-magic zone can be hazardous to his planet's tie...or to his way home 
...then he'd be all for getting to the bottom of the ordeal.
{Yes, you did level up. Check the OOC thread for details}
The night passes uneventfully for you, without the normal ominous foreboding or feelings of being watched that have accompanied everything you've done lately. Perhaps even unseen servants of evil don't like being out in the rain.
{Alright, this is sidequest time! If any of you have something you want to go off and do for a little while that doesn't involve the rest of the group, just post here and we can go do it. The main plot doesn't really start again until you go visit the Guvners, so what you do for now is all up to you.}
"Master Hilaren," says Zhegre, "you are..." he pauses before saying "really Elvish" and instead substitutes "...in for quite an experience. My apartment is in Gurincraag, name translates as 'Dwarven Mountain.' There you will see how my people make their home." He slaps Hilaren on the back and says, "Follow me! My house is not far. We can stable your Surface Beast too, Polp."
He drops off the animal at a local stable known for reliably not selling off boarders to butchers, and makes his way into Gurincraag. The low houses of the local dwarven community pass row by row, very similar from the street view. He enters one that looks little different from the rest.
Inside, the atmosphere is suddenly more pleasant. For one thing, they're not geting acid rained on. For another, the dwarves of the Lower Ward may not be rich, but they insist on quality: the apartment complex here is not only hewn from the raw stone of Sigil's foundations, it is carved into bas-relief images of caverns and caves, an attempt at adding a homey feel to the strange stuff.
Zhegre looks over at Hilaren. "Cawerns." He pauses. "You have newer seen inside of cawern before? Ah, Goodman Hilaren, you have missed some of greatest wonders of natural world." He pulls out his everburning torch and lights the way down the stairs. The sound of the rain quickly transmutes into the flowing of water down diversion drains in the walls, heading to Sigil's storm sewers with a steady flow. "Men speak of skies and oceans, elves speak of trees, yet all these things change with day or with season. But mighty hall of stone -- ah! thousands of slow years piling up, a forest or garden as bright and colorful as anything you see made with plants, but enduring for ages. And where there is gem or vein of metal, there is sparkle that no wood will ever have. This stuff..." he slaps the dull white wall... "this stuff is like gruel compared to banquet. We will get you out of Sigil and show you real thing, yes!"
He eyes Hilaren's response, decides that he's probably not going to proselytize the beauties of the underground instantaneously, and as he lets folks in to his apartment and locks the door, lighting some lamps, he decides to change the subject. "So. Is late, but I think we could all use a drink, da?"
This part goes on for a while.
"...yes, we sing in battle. Helps keep a rhythm. Well, you have to know Dwarvish, but there are one or two in common tongue... I suppose I could teach you..."
"...no, no, no. Your surface beast is donkey. Horse is bigger. No, we don't ride horses into battle either, is human song but we liked it, is why it is not in Dwarvish. Well, that is why you have to call them horses, so it rhymes. Okay. (hic) From the chorssu... chosru... chorus:"
o/) For justice is one thing you should always find; / you got to saddle up your boys, you got to draw a hard line. / And when the fireballs settle, we'll sing a wictory tune, / and we'll all head back to the local saloon. / We'll raise up our glasses against ewil forces, singing... o/)
"...no, I don't know if they actually like beer... oh, let's go to bed."
Next morning, Zhegre rolls out of bed at mid-ante-peak, disciplined as usual despite the late night, and meditates in front of his private shrine. Today the spell requests are for serving others: a lot of Guidance, Endure Elements, Make Whole, and one each of Remove Curse and Disease, with the Fire Domain spells. As he does many mornings when he is in Sigil, he changes into his cleric's vestments, and heads over to the Great Foundry, standing near the flow of workers arriving for the day's labors. He quietly chants sonorous Dwarven hymns, offering the god's blessings to the faithful and urging his kin to find spiritual peace in the rhythm of the forge, strength in the unity of the team, and prosperity as a result of diligence. Those who request healing of wound or disease receive it free of charge, dwarven or not. Workers in the sweltering sections of the Foundry can receive some shielding from that.
After about an hour of this, the arrivals have slowed to a trickle. He nods to his fellow clergymen of other races serving their own, and heads back home to wake his friends, grab a bite of breakfast, and write a letter.
To the Right Reverend Gyorgy, Beloved Parents, Dear Siblings, Cherished Relatives, and Respected Governors of the City:
Greetings. I hope the delay since the last letter has not worried you overmuch; I was unavoidably whisked out of Sigil and was required to trek across the Outlands to return home. The area through which we passed was not at all suitable for a mining settlement of any sort, I fear, in addition to being previously populated by a variety of unpleasant sorts of beings. The journey did pass near Dwarven Mountain, where rest the blessed dead of the honored Vergadain, Dugmaren Brightmantle, and Dumathoin, but this did not appear to us to be the most expedient route home and so I cannot offer any new details since my last brief visit there. I did encounter a rilmani, the warrior kind known as a ferrumach -- it seemed to be going well, although it ended with a sour ring. The rilmani are very strange. I cannot quite comprehend anyone with an existence devoted to keeping all other powers or moral systems in check.
The errand on which I have been caught up appears to be a confluence of events which is bringing together a motley collection of interests through quite a violent series of apparent coincidences, whose accumulated repetitions seem to strongly suggest an interested force behind our organization. You have heard me discuss the Spire of the Outlands and the mysterious magicless zone which surrounds it, and also the recent worries that the standard fluctuations in this zone's size have been trending toward growth; this is starting to noticeably worry some observers, to the effect that prophecies have been uttered regarding its consequences and groups are being recruited to investigate.
The group of which I am part personally encountered one such organizer on the Earth/Water Paraelemental Plane, colloquially known as Ooze. I have kept in mind the speculations of your earlier letter that this plane might be less unpleasant than its reputation holds, possibly possessing uninhabited stretches of usable mineral veins with potable water sources. With regret, I must report that the reputation is fully justified. The plane's primary component appears to be organic slurry, quite unsuitable for settlement.
In other news, the faith remains strong among the Dwarven community in the city and some of my younger neighbors are expressing interest in learning about the Rodinan way of life. The Ring-Givers continue to withhold a formal endorsement, but I understand several are planning an expedition to Rodina to examine societal structure there. One of them is a tiefling named K'rir, that is to say, a human with a touch of fiend in his ancestry. Reverend Gyorgy, I understand your concerns but can assure you that K'rir is a mortal man of upstanding moral character, whose only failing that I have discerned is a slight weakness for fine gems -- a failing hardly unknown in our own community. I ask that if he shows up, he is treated with respect as a mid-ranking member of a society I have found to be of generally decent philosophy.
The events in which I am now embroiled may be having metaphysical repercussions in the material world. If you hear word that might involve any such things as inhibitions of magic, difficulties in those powerful spells that involve subtle spaces or transport among worlds, or a phenomenon called Spirelight (or related construction) or a personage with a name similar to "the Hissing Prophet," I would appreciate word as quickly as possible. I will be continuing to pursue investigation by visiting those who recorded the prophecy in question.
With warmest memories of the homeland,
Rev. Zhegre of Rodina (Clr. Tharmekhûl)
A few of the workers made some donations; he takes a quick jaunt to the local stores, restocking the trail food he had used up somewhat on the trip across the Outlands, some sundry supplies for the healer's kit, soap, and the like. Before heading down to Gear Street, he finishes his errands at Gurincraag's temple to the Dwarven Pantheon, dropping off the excess of the donations and requesting a posting of the letter to Rodina through the clerical channels. He catches up on the news in Sigil and makes a brief report of his own doings, similar to that given in the letter, and discusses anything important with the priest of Moradin in residence.
(What happens next depends on how we decided to dispose of the treasure...)
Hilaren follows the jovial dwarf through town, though the ruggid human blanches anytime his eyes drift upward (or sideward, downward, etc...). Even his steps seem tense, wincing as his soft hide soles slap against callous stone.
The ranger halts into immobility at the prospect of exiting the somewhat open terrain for the formidable cavern realm. Pall with nausea, he croaks, somehow wan yet reverent, "We do not descent into Avlis' flesh...it is defiling to both man and Our Fair Maiden...
(Assuming warm-hearted Zhegre worked his magic
The ranger enters in and, flustering at the impropriety of whole situation, whispers a prayer of forgiveness to his Lady. When the cleric speaks of the immutable earth, the bronze of Hilaren's skin turns to an admixture of injured pride and curiosity. "I know not these 'oceans', but Avlis' fair woods are everlasting and evergreen! Save the sacred jli'orrilel, the golden-boughed beauties we revere...do not speak lightly of tree and shrub--as I shan't of this 'cawern,' hall of the heavens. I ken that Lady Nature crafted you for this duty."
The ranger follows onward and listens to the song with incomprehension, knowing none of these steeds and saloons. The call to bed leaves his staring about for a moment, clearing unsure where to roost. In the end, he pulls his thick cloak and a craft of fur and some plush foliage out of his quiver, laying it in an onobtrusive corner. Eyeing the domicile one more time, he gratefully allows blackness to sweep through him.
Rising early, as his custom, the ranger stretches his sore frame. Sleeping on stone is worse than wrestling with a bugbear! He returns his bedding to the quiver and searches the chambers for the dwarf. Seeing his in prayer before the shrine, the ranger watches quietly and then wordlessly follows the dwarf about his rounds. The Foundry deepens his curiosity, the glint of steel and the glow of molten iron as foreign as the rest of the city. Indeed, any cutter notes Hilaren bears no metal of any sort. (And probably no jink, either.
His respect for the dwarf increases as the cleric administers his aid to any beleagured soul. When they return to the house, he respects Zhegre's privacy with the note and begins to hum a canticle of the recent adventures, inscribing the tale deep into the recesses of his mind. He is wary of any changes around the manor, still troubled by lurking under earth.
[i]Mother Nature, Lady of our land, hear my call...usher me forth to Avlis from this man-trammeled hall...forgive your servant, that he might return to his Round without the mark of Azkill on his soul!"[/b][/]
OOC: He'd probably stick with Zhegre, attempting to understand this place, but wanting to get the wherever this catalogue is as soon as possible.
M`rek
Seeing his "clan" split, the Nathri will shake his head and then decide to follow Kadar home...the vengeful little runt is still keen on getting the drop on those who have been following the group, assuming they are the same powers that so uncerimoniously manhandled him and threw him down the ooze portal.
Before the groups splits he wil try to "barter"/borrow the mind shielding ring with whomever has it, promissing to return it later and also warn the ranger:
"Hey, Kadar, mind if I tail you disguised as Polp`s cousin here for some time, I still want to hunt those snoopers that have been bugging us, just to find out what is going on...I´ll sleep outside your house, hoping that them sodders will have left a lookout on the last place we stayed...ah, as you get there, do not forget the big silver sword I left under your bed, wrapped in a blanket!"
M`rek will set a vigil on Kadar`s house, or window, looking out, listening, for any suspicious behaviour.
I assume the former rolls are good to follow Kadar from a distance, here are a few others related to spoting anyone tailing us, and or setting up a lookout on Kadar.
If the M`rek does locate someone staking out his house he will try to stake oyut the staker...and even, possibly, try out some of his new assassin skills...that would be his sidequest...find the berk, possibly capture him, or at least learn something from him
DKLK, ere are the modifiers, use them at will, just tell me if there is anything to be seen and we go on from there, if nothing, then after one some 24 hours he will give up (for now!):
Spot +9
Search+12
Hide+19
Mv silently +13
Disguise, with hat, +17, without magical aid, 7.
As Kadar approaches his apartment, M'rek notices a couple of humanoid shapes get up and sprint away down a nearby ally. The whole thing looks more than a little suspicious, but, given the gloom and their headstart, they'll be difficult to catch in any case.
"Thankyou M'rek, yes I remember and I've been trying to think how to keep the beautiful sword. From what I gather Githyanki get rather touchy when they find out that an outsider's holding one of their swords."
Kadar studiously ignores the trailing 'Shad' on the way home, hoping not to draw attention to him.
Assuming nothing happens over-night Kadar wakes relatively early, ensures that all the windows are covered, and in the semi-darkenss has a peek at the wrapped sword. He takes a few swings to assess it's usability and once satisfied he re-wraps it and tucks it into his bag of holding.
Stepping outside Kadar quickly searches for M'rek and (assuming M'rek wants to be found) invites him to breakfast over at the gymnasium.
Once breakfasted Kadar warms up at the gymnasium before running through his martial forms in the courtyard out the front (occasionally people throw coins so it pays to practice in public).
As he flows through the familiar movements Kadar allows his thoughts to drop away; his blades flash out of their sheathes cutting a complex pattern in the air before falling into a ready stance; there has been no past; he steps left and cuts high with his left blade, reversing his grip on the right in a stylized deflection; there will be no future; spinning quickly Kadar twists his body to face the opposite direction, lashing out with a hooking kick, allowing his blades to flow through a figure 8 before thrusting the points forwards; there is no self; reversing both blades Kadar thrusts backwards before turning and deflecting high with his right blade and allowing his left to cut across behind himself at knee height; there is only the present and the beat which takes all there is to the next present; Kadar crescent steps back to his original position and finishes with a double cut across his body, twirling the blades once his arms straighten both for show and to simulate flinging the blood off before slamming the blades back into their sheathes.
Kadar catches his breath and collects any donations from on-lookers before going for a swim and touting until it is time to meet up with the rest of the group.
As Kadar finishes his exercises, a thrown rock whizzes inches from his head. He turns to see a boy no older than ten disappearing through the crowd.
Upon seeing the two hooligans running away, M´reks hunting instincts get the confirmation they needed. He finds a good, non obvious spot to set up his vigil in the hopes that they, or someone else will return to check on Kadar. The night is long, but M`rek has enough food and water to last a while, also he might snack on any passing rodent or other garbage that makes itself available.
The next morning, assuming the stake-outers or someone else did not come back the night before (if they did, let me know, he will not do anything drastic, but may try to eavesdrop on them), M`rek will continue to trail his friend from a distance, hoping to catch a glimpse of his prey...
taking 20 to find good hiding spot for the night = hide 39 (will not use disguise hat to abvoid people detecting his magic)
DKLK please make spot rolls as necessary.
The next day, mrek will follow his friend disguised as a kid, no breakfast for him, at least not with his friends...
Seeing Hilaren worried about going underground, Zhegre pauses in the foyer of the apartment building, and has a seat on the ground. He explains that he meant no offense about forests, and certainly doesn't want to cause a man to do something he would find irreverent...
"...but I must say, that you find notion of descending into earth irreverent is almost exact opposite of what I am used to. We dwarves are people of stone, forged by the Dwarf-Father, great Moradin." He pauses at the look of incomprehension. "...forge. Where one works metal." He jingles a bit of his armor, then at Hilaren's response realizes with a great rush that Hilaren's people aren't familiar with working metal. He sits astonished for a moment at the alien nature of this man's life, and then gathers his wits.
. o O (And they call my world Backwater...)
"Let me try putting your mind at ease in another way. If is irreverent to descend into 'flesh of Avlis,' as you call your world, then is for certain that here you are not on your world. The way these houses are laid out here is reminiscent of how my people live on their own world, and in many ways like the way they live on the Inner Plane of Earth." He holds up a hand. "Yes, I will explain. You see, world is made of four primary elements and two energies..." Sitting in the foyer, he gives Hilaren the basic rundown on the structure of the Multiverse. "So you see, stone is natural. Far below world where you live, it is the bones that hold up your forest home. And here you have opportunity to explore this new world without, I think, engaging in any impropriety with respect to spirit of your homeworld."
"As for metal... come with me to Foundry tomorrow morning, I think you will find it wery educational." He chuckles. "You are going to be seeing many new things in next few days. Perhaps if the Portal Log shows you way home you might want to put it off for some while and see a few sights." He sobers up a bit. "That is, if portals are still operating... this Spirelight business is starting to affect them fairly far out, we have been finding."
(His explanation of the Spirelight at this point would probably make a good chance for Hilaren to decide that he'll stay on the Planes for a while, and help out with keeping them in shape, both as a service to others and out of personal interest in both seeing the sights and eventually getting back home.)
The merry shad tags along with his oldest and newest friend since his off-world explorations have begun, hopping ahead with his stubborn donkey in tow. Polp releases the animal of its burdens at the local stables, and carries the saddlebags around his shoulders until he can drop them off at Zhegre’s home.
Arrival at Gurincraag and introduction to the home of a Tharmekhûl priest prompts a reaction from Polp quite reversed to that of Hilaren. The young tunnelrunner feels more at home than he has been since leaving his native Elemental Plane, and recognizes the dwarven craftsmanship and cultural trademarks, even though there are some discrepancies by virtue of the fact that this is a surface settlement. A hint of homesickness slips into his mind as they proceed underground down the stairs and pass supporting pillars, and Polp listens attentively to Zhegre’s sermons about the nature of earth and its role in the multiverse. The shad tries his best to aid Zhegre in easing Hilaren’s concerns, though Polp’s mind is easily sidetracked and his speeches reflecting of a young and naïve mind.
As the mugs of ale are shared around and the mood settles in, Polp gets in an even more cheerful mood, drinking a bit too quickly despite his experiences with Dwarven brews.
At the conclusion of the evening, Polp curls up near a potted plant (if such is present in Zhegre’s home), falling fast asleep with a blanket covering all but his ears.
The following morning Polp is late to get out of bed. By the time he has pulled himself together to peek out from the warmth and comfort of a simple blanket, Zhegre and Hilaren is already on their way out the door. The young shad tries feebly to follow but is taken back by the hangovers kicking in, and ends up waving them goodbye at the door after borrowing a spare set of keys from the host and learning directions to where he can find them.
When at last Polp has slept off his aching head, he wanders around Zhegre’s home with curiosity. The young shad doesn’t bother to light candles and instead relies on his kin’s sensory adaptation to total darkness while examining any art or curiosities the dwarf may have on display. Eventually growing bored, he seeks out his friends at the Foundry and returns the keys to Zhegre, commending him respectfully on his craft. The shad is not one to linger in one place for long, however, and after long moments of standing silent idly about, he approaches Hilaren to share in his wanderlust:
“Mister Hilaren, I have a suggestion. You’re new to the city, I’m new to the city – let’s go explore! While the dwarven community is great and cosy, they are quite sparse of vegetation and growth. Uncle Phelin told me of great gardens within the Cage and you seem to be of a mind to revisit some forestation, so what do you say we start off there? We can return back to Mister Zhegre before he is finished with his duties, perhaps also visit the rest of the gang on our travels.”
Hilaren, who is still trying to get his "Sigil legs," nods affirmatively as he leans against a wood staff he procured from his quiver. "That would be wonderful, Polp...I pray they are half a sapling compared to fair Avlis, lest more disappointment fall upon me..."
The ranger turns to Zhegre and nods respectfully. "Thank you for your kindness. I see that men may roam the hallow woods, but dwarves (he stumbles over the words) are masters under earth...we do not meet because our groves are separated and consecrated in purpose...yet alas, here we meet. And I'm all the thankful for the commune.
"We shall return soon enough, I pray..." The ranger eyes the rocky wheel, his vertigo returning somewhat. "Aye, soon enough indeed."
I would so love to make Hilaren a geomancer by the end of this...anyone with advice on how to keep the levels reasonable, but still have the ranger feel, would be much appreciated. 
M'rek: The night passes without incident, and there's no sign of anyone the next morning. Evidently, whoever had been stalking you has decided to back off for a while.
Polp and Hilaren:
{{I actually like Geomancers too, but, unfortunately, you really have to set out to play one when you make your character (or at least very early on), or the class is a major pain to qualify for. Unfortunately, you are a little late to the party. There are probably ways to meet the requirements for the class in less than six levels, but they would all be pretty munchkinly and would throw your character through the ringer in the mean time. So, unless you want your character to be a total mess for the next year or two, that's probably out.
If you really want to get the whole servant of nature feel, I'd recommend the Totemist from Magic of Incarnum, Beastmaster from Complete Adventurer, and (one of my favorites) the Horizon Walker from the DM's Guide. If you want more suggestions, ask on the OOC thread, I'm sure one of the players can help}}
As the two of you obviously Clueless individuals wander around Sigil, you are met with many strange looks, and grasping hands. Fortunately, no one is going to try to mug you at this time of the day and you don't really look rich enough to attract pickpockets, so you're more or less unscathed. As you walk, you see a bit of Shad graffiti that mentions trees and points in a direction that eventually leads to an actual grove of actual trees just blocks away in the Gnomish District of Little Bytopia. At the center of the small grove, flute music can be heard coming from a little tavern called the Green Mill that's set up to look like a little cottage in the woods. A couple of gnomes are outside smoking something funny-smelling from little pipes, but otherwise the place is pretty quiet at this time of day.
The young rogue initially bumbles along with little realization that shady characters are sizing them up on the streets, blabbering heartily to the woodsman about his family and humorous incidents involving thoqquas (“magma-worms”) and water pockets on the Elemental Plane of Earth. Such an attitude changes swiftly, however, when seemingly fiendish and imposing figures pass close by and gives the duo a hard stare, resulting in Polp stepping quickly behind Hilaren with a low whimper. The shad progressively realizes that not all creatures of the worlds are here to offer their friendship to him, and sobers a bit more up and scans his surroundings for any omens and signs to guide his wits.
Polp regains his enthusiasm in a heartbeat at the first sightings of Shad Graffiti, and happily translates to his human ally of the nearby grove. His smile widens when the first treetops peek out over the local gnome dwellings, and the shad eagerly pulls on Hilarens clothes to usher them on. The friendly communal Bytopian attitude seems instantly familiar to Polp, the flute music soothing to his ears, and the green sight a pleasant relief to his spirit. He steers them straight for the source, giving gracious nods to gnomish gardeners tending to the woods, and waves jovially to the pipe-smokers outside the Green Mill tavern. Polp steps up and extends his greetings with his usual deep bow, though he takes hold of one end of his cloak to avoid repeating the embarrassment.
“Well hullo there Sigilians, and a fine day to you all! Such a nice and lush grove you’ve got here, folks. That there be an intriguing weed you gents are puffing on too, may I ask about its nature?”
Hilaren, unlike his gregarious comrade, peers at the groups warily, unused to seeing a congregation of souls such as this anywhere. He keeps a steady hand on his staff, ready to bring the stout oak sapling (its living leaves flapping in the air) if this sojourn turned sour as his stomach. The news of an upcoming grove brightens his heart...until he notices the slats of butchered trees.
He freezes in his stride, all color draining from his face. A silent bead of water descends from his left eye as he groans softly. Rubbing an olive vine between his fingers, he tightens his grip on the staff until his knuckles whiten. "Polp...do all people slaughter Her Lady's majesty? Or is this foul place a sole abomination??" The fatal calm in his voice speaks to sorrow simmering toward hatred.
They had to kill the trees...ah, the beauties of ensorcelled societies; you can grow homes and tools without killing the native plant.
I figure Polp accidently ran along in his fashion and wouldn't catch that last statement, leaving your above post unchanged.
The Gnomish gardener, annoyed by the talk of "slaughtered majesty" goes up to Hilaren and says peevishly, "How dare you call the land I work an abomination!"
Making friends aren't we...
Hilaren glares back into the gnome's eyes, righteous indignation straightening his frame like the smooth wood of his living staff. "You dare slaughter the beauty of the realm and call it not an abomination?! When did the hale oak and mighty pine cease to speak to you??...surely these stout boughs weep for their kin you heap before them." He allows his eyes to point toward the inn before settling back on the squat gardener.
The gnome looks the human right in the eye, evidently quite offended, and shouts, "They're trees, ya clueless idjit! They don't speak. They don't weep. They don't even think or feel pain! All they do is grow, give off seeds, and die. Why does it matter what they die of or what happens to them afterwards? The trees don't care, so why do you?"
If the gnome thought he was angry, he has not experienced the full ire of a Rhioll'in, a native of Avlis. The staff in Hilaren's hands glistens and the vines grow taut and thick, responding silently to a hissed string of druidic verse. "Deaf ears aught not disdain the vital souls of their superiors...lest death replace the foolish deaf."
Cast Shillelagh
Initiative(if necessary): 23
Suddenly the Gnome's demeanor is cold and menacing, or, well, as menacing as a Gnome can ever be, "I'm warning you, you barmy lemon, I'm an expert in Bytopian Jujitsu, now back off before I rearrange your Clueless face."
The ranger smiles grimly. "Have your 'jujitsu,' little one. But wake not the sleeping wrath of Lady Nature!"
Two attacks:
AC1: 27
Dmg: 11 (due to shillelagh)
AC2:17
Dmg:13
Spot, search, and listen checks for other poss. adversaries (like ticked gnomes
S: 9
L: 10
Se: 21
The poor unarmed gardener crumples immediately, bleeding profusely and obviously on the brink of death.
Before Hilaren can react, a burly, scarred gnome in gleaming full plate emerges from the tavern, screams his defiance, and charges you with his Morningstar raised.
Again before Hilaren can react, the gnomish warrior swings with startling speed and feints high with his morningstar before whirling it down and smashing it into his ribs (20 damage). As Hilaren reals over in pain, the gnome spits and says, "You're under arrest for assault and attempted murder. Any further attempt to resist will result in you getting your head bashed in. Are we clear?"
The blow drops Hilaren to his knees. Glaring upward, Hilaren bears a bloody smile, one of regret and empathetic loss. "When did the world hate Nature so much?...if anything, you have murdered more fair souls than the hair....on your head. May the Lady forgive you..."
Before the guard can react, the world around Hilaren swirls into viscous realm of grey mist. The ranger, hardier than the average man, slips off to the left and prays to Mother Avlis for protection.
Obscuring Mist
Full move (30ft) to lurk behind tree. Use S,S,L above for scanning the terrain. Looking to see what kind of trees are here and how many.
Move Silently: 25
Hide: 22
{Sorry, you forgot spellcasting provokes an attack of opportunity}
Hilaren makes his boast and attempts to cast his spell and slip away, but the Paladin simply says, "Fine, be that way," and shatters both of Hilaren's knees with one blow [another 32 damage, nonlethal. This time I got a crit, hehe.] causing Hilaren to pass out from the pain.
Meanwhile the paladin quickly runs over to the gardener and heals his wounds with a spell just seconds before he would have slipped away. After a moment, the gardener comes to murmuring, "Wha... wha happened?" To which the paladin replies "I told you to stop pretending to know jujitsu, you idiot. That barmy Prime nearly scribed you."
By the name of Avlis! This is what I get for playing with AoO houseruled out of the game. >:O
It was not a boast, but an honest riposte from a heartbroken nature lover...anywho, a hit is a hit. Had to be golfing, too, as that's a low shot even for a gnome (H. is on his knees)
*Sigh* Doesn't this put a damper on things; cannot run on broken legs. :\
Hope Polp can vouch for his buddy
OOC: Things sure have escalated since I left! To avoid messing up the sequence of events, I’ll have Polp remain out of it and instead elaborate a little on explaining his passivity.
Polp finds himself a bit dumbstruck by the ranger’s initial reaction as they reach the cottage and takes a few steps back in surprise as he proceeds to quarrel with the gnome gardener. Upon hearing words of magic being intoned, the young shad seeks to step in between before violence erupts, but alas it is too late. Hesitation and surprise leaves the scenario playing out before his eyes, and when Polp nearly is overrun by the charging paladin, his survival instincts tell him to duck and cover as shad most often do.
The earthling regains his senses and sees Hilaren lying broken and unconscious on the ground, a noble gnome warrior tending to the gardener nearby. The young scout pulls at his tiny tufts of grey hair and jumps from one foot to another in a panicked fashion.
“By the undergarments of the ancestors! What just happened?! Mister Warrior, Mister Gardener, I deeply apologize for the actions of my companion, he’s very new to… everything, I suppose. He’s a very long way from home and doesn’t really know how anything works outside his own world it would seem, and I can’t just leave him to his fate like this. Is there some way we can make this right?”
Polp proceeds to be as apologetic as he can on behalf of Hilaren, though without trying to justify his actions (of which the shad has yet to fathom). If none of his pleas leave an impression and the ranger is to be taken away by the authorities, Polp seeks to learn where he will be incarcerated and if there is some way for Hilaren to be bailed out.
M'rek will continue to tail Kadar until about lunch time, at which point he will show up and report on the two suspicious individuals.
"So Kadar, what do you suggest we do here in Sigil? Should we go check on Baba see if he is alright?"
Polp and Hilaren:
The paladin nods and says, "You can start by telling me who you are, what you were doing here, and why you let such an obviously unstable Prime out of your sight." The paladin then removes all of Hilaren's weapons placing them in his own pack, pulls out a length of rope, and tightly ties Hilaren's hands together behind his back with thick hemp rope. As he does so, he mutters to himself, "Stupid arrogant primes making us all look bad. And they call my world Backwater!"
The Paladin then uses Lay On Hands to heal the ranger entirely of his wounds, even fixing the broken kneecaps (but leaving them too tender to run on), and says, "Well lad, what do you have to say for yourself?"
Relieved to find the paladin so agreeable and kind, Polp puts on his best behaviour and explains the circumstances.
“I’m Polp Stingsong of the shad village of Gemstone Gardens on the Elemental Plane of Earth, and this is our first time in Sigil. I and a group of travellers encountered this human, Mister Hilaren, in the gate town of Bedlam about a day ago. It seems he ended up there by a planar mishap and knows nothing of the worlds beyond his own, and we’ve aided him in reaching Sigil so that he may learn to find his way home.”
“We were drawn here by the - to my impression at least - beautiful locales, though it would seem Mister Hilaren were offended by some cultural oddity that I can’t quite grasp. I gathered that it revolves around nature and trees in particular, he seems a tad touchy around worked wood. Still, I hadn’t foreseen him reacting in such an extreme fashion, but then again I’ve only known him for about a day or so.”
“Please, Mister Safekeeper, I plead for you to forgive him in this dreadful misunderstanding, he is not really a malicious character to my impression. I promise to talk some sense into him.”
Should the paladin have any more inquiries, Polp will answer as well as he can with upright honesty.
Polp and Hilaren:
The Paladin reaches over and shakes Polp's hand, "My name is Duckluck the Steadfast of the Fraternity of Order," my paladin namesake says so that you can both hear, "and I'm sorry to say that this offense is not a matter that can simply be forgotten. I'll try to get the judge to go easy on you, but this is a bad time to be a Prime in Sigil. Now if you'll excuse me for a second, I'm going to find some witnesses." Duckluck then walks over to the smoking gnomes and starts pestering them to come with him.
Muttering druidic as he shakes his head and tugs at the restraint, the ranger draws inward the envigorating essence of the morning dew toward his knees. He sees the morningstar clad warrior walk off and turns to Polp. His eyes are somber and determined, like a martyr realizing his death is in parallel with his Lord--well, Lady. "Shad, why have they done this? Are all deaf to the song of the trees??...surely someone else hears their silent knell!"
He looks down, tears running from his eyes and seems to whisper to an unseen audience. "The elders warned that we would lose our senses if we lost our heart for Mother Nature..."
Um, the only weapon present is his staff. He carries an empty quiver, which might make him look barmy to the paladin, but not clue the holy warrior to its magical properties.
Oh, and cure light (don't figure the restraints hold my fingers): 10 to touch off the rest of my healing.
Sense Motive: 8
Spot: 27
Listen: 10
Search: 18 (for runt; sympathetic souls; etc)
The Paladin did, in fact, remove your quiver. He's a clever one. Your healing also does little to make the stiffness go away. Evidently, broken bones are one of those things that aren't so easy to heal.
Should've known, as he bears your namesake. lol
Edit: While I can understand in reality bones don't heal swiftly, cure spells would be the equivalent to blitzkrieg natural healing, esp. when dealing with nonlethal damage, which heals faster than lethal...but you're the DM, so Mr. Hobble is...well, still Mr. Hobbles. (Better than Mr. Scriber)
Polp doesn’t meet Hilaren’s gaze, but instead watches the gnomes’ reactions with his ears hanging in grief.
“Mister Hilaren, I’ll try to see what I can do, but it might be best if you don’t say anything to make this whole mess worse than a tangle of flutterroot.”
The shad respectfully waits until Duckluck returns, before inquiring on Hilaren’s fate.
“I’m sorry for this whole ordeal, Mister Duckluck, but I understand your resolve. I have a little familiarity with gnome communities, but I’m unsure about how this whole legal system works. May I ask what will happen to Hilaren now, and if I could visit him where he is to be taken to?”
Realizing his new friend does not share his stance, the ranger drops his chin to his chest and settles into a sitting position that lessens the pain on his knees. Leaving his face downcast, Hilaren whispers in druidic, "Then may my voice be as the wind blowing through a dale on a summer's day, rustling nothing but the softest of leaves."
The gnome arrives with a couple of stoned gnomes and an elf in tow and nods. "Basically, I'm going to take him before the city courts. He can plead guilty or not guilty of assault. If he pleads not guilty, we have to have a trial to prove his guilt (which we could do easily, given the number of witnesses) and then he'll likely be harshly sentenced and probably spend at least three months in jail. If he pleads guilty, then we can plead with the judge to try to get his sentence reduced to a fine or community service. Sound good?"
The shad nods in compliance.
“I understand, Mister Duckluck. Could I accompany you and have a word with him at the courthouse before all of this is to proceed?”
The gnome nods, "Of course. Anyway, we should get moving. I've got a lecture to present this afternoon that I'd rather not be late for." With that, he helps Hilaren to his feet and leads the two of you, the witnesses, and the gardener off to see the judge.
On the way, Polp gives Hilaren a disheartened look and softly elaborates on what is going on in Druidic. He will otherwise remain cooperative and sympathetic, waiting until there is a moment for him to sit down with the ranger and talk things over.
Hilaren continues to stare at the ground, continuing to remain silent and forlorn as they proceed toward wherever the razors have chosen.
Hilaren and Polp:
Duckluck leads you through the increasingly busy streets to the Lady's Ward and Sigil's Triad district. The City Courts are large and majestic but handily outshone by the splendid manors of the Golden Lords and around it, particularly the sweeping expanse of the Palace of the Jester nearby. Duckluck leads you through a partially concealed side entrance and to a desk where a bored clerk is filling out paperwork.
Without looking up, she says, "Yes? What can I do for... Oh excuse me Factor, I didn't know it was you." Duckluck smiles, "Relax, Cheryl. I'm retired now, remember? Anyway, I've got a green prime here who assaulted a gardener over in Little Bytopia. Some sort of cultural misunderstanding or something. Think I can get a trial set up quickly?
Cheryl looks through some forms for a moment and says, "Sorry, we're not going to have a free judge for at least an hour. Why don't you stick him in a holding room until then?"
Duckluck then proceeds to lead Hilaren down another corridor into a little room with a couple of chairs and a table. Once Hilaren is inside, Duckluck says, "Polp, you two can go in there and discuss this matter to your heart's content. Call me when you want to be let out," and proceeds to lock them in there together.
Kadar shrugs at M'rek, "As far as I know Baba's in Tradegate and will be heading back here by the time we find him. Perhaps we could look around the city a bit since you're new, we might even be able to make a little jink as we do it, although I'm open to other suggestions."
Polp sits down in what resembles a lotus position, except his legs are impossibly contorted in a knot as only a shad is able. The normally joyful tunnelrunner has a solemn atmosphere about him, a calm quite contrasting his usual jumpy self.
“Well, Mister Hilaren, it’s just like my Pa used to tell me when I was a wee little sproutling and gone did a shovelful of trouble: It’s time to sit down and clear your ears of weeds.”
“Mister Hilaren, we shads have vivid experience with intolerance and misunderstandings. Most folks seem to find us a pest to be rid of and happily disregard anything we may find sacred. My own village lives underneath the stern gaze of our dao keepers, and they tend to bully and punish those who deviate even slightly from their norms. Yet we are lucky to be left to our own wits, unlike some other gardens where my poor kinsmen are enslaved, exploited, periodically raided or simply butchered by assailants that deem us an infestation.”
“Being pushed around by outsiders is one thing, but that’s not the extent of our need for tolerance - there’s an inside perspective to consider as well. In my home world we live under very enclosed conditions, and there isn’t a lot of room for privacy. By the standards of most other humanoids we shad are very fertile, and it’s happened plenty of times that a pair of young lovers find themselves with a whole garden of tiny toddlers, but no forethought to discuss the expansion with the elders. That leaves the village quite overcrowded, and cavern expansion is a very slow process (as Mister Zhegre also will tell you).”
“Sometimes it happens that we get individuals with unwieldy tempers. Young troublemakers rebel against their environment or even elders snap after a lifetime of sucking it up. What does it leave the rest of us with? Hurt feelings, sour moods, and yet few have the option to pack up and leave. It’s a dangerous world out there, and most outsiders seem to want to squash a shad for standing in the same room. If we shads didn’t learn to stick together, we’d be wiped out several generations ago, and the work of the druids of Verdorth would have been for naught.”
“Personally, I find that open-mindedness and good manners works best whenever you meet someone new. There are many things I disprove of, but I don’t find it very constructive to shout it in the face of others. I’m more inclined to stay happy with what I like, and if there’s something I can’t stomach, I take my business elsewhere.”
“Mister Hilaren, it’s rare that I find cause to say these words, but I think you could learn a thing or two from shad ways. Even if you should find your way home and never step through a portal again. What do you think?”
Hmm...did we, by any chance, level up?