Game: In the Spire's Shadow

Zhegre put his head together with everyone else, puts in his two cents as mentioned elsewhere and goes along with the group consensus.  He certainly agrees that they need to be kept in the loop regarding studies of the thing; if qualms about saying the Kobold Empire "owns" the orb dents their offer, he can live with that.

He'd also hand over the Torch of Alzrius, held very gingerly and with no small disgust, with strong recommendations that some mages be put to work disenchanting the thing, which might require a trip to the 9th ring for a disjunction depending on how powerful it is.

Other than that, stuff looks good.  We should turn our attention next to the upcoming meeting with the High One. 

Polp turns back to the kobold and bows politely.

“We happily accept, Miss Minister, though with our former arrangement in mind and given what we experienced down there we do have to insist on a small caveat. The Orb may be very dangerous and we’d like to be kept informed on what you discover and what your plans are for it. We have reason to believe disaster struck when it last was used, so all the more reason for caution and trust.”

“Also, I would very much appreciate if you could point me the way to your finest park. Oh, and a comfy place to stay until our meeting. Pretty please.”

“Excellent! We should be able to get a good overview of the city from there. Hope to see you again, Miss Minister!”

Once the matter of payment and meeting arrangements for tomorrow have been sorted out, the shad turns to Zhegre and Aloric.

“Will you two be coming with us to the mesa peak? Otherwise, we could all meet at Kurtulmak’s Spear in half an hour or so.”

As soon as the two dwarves have decided, Polp locks eyes with Kadar, a challenging smile on his lips.

“Race you to the top!” he bursts and speeds away with an enthusiastic weee, jingling earrings, and the tattered cloak of the servant of Alzrius fluttering behind him.

Zhegre is already entering a semi-meditative state, a combination of art and worship, the mindset of the dwarven craftsman-priest. The arrangements he will need are laid out one by one in his mind: the forge, the time, the magic. He must sleep before he works, but he must secure the forge before he sleeps if he is to achieve this task swiftly enough to be of use in their current mission. It would be good to sleep there, perhaps. Yes.

He thanks the Minister and secures a brief letter of credit against the gems they're owed. He explains his plans and takes leave of his friends, a little distractedly. He makes his way as she directed, heading downward again, toward the heart of the mesa. It's a good strong place, close to the earth.

The clang of hammer on metal. Sparks fly. The forge-fires and glassblowers' ovens and potters' kilns glow among the tightly packed stores of the craftsmen. Good, this is the right district.

Raw materials. He'll need a few of the more common sort -- well, as common as the simplest of magic items go. He ducks into a few shops sporting mystic symbols, chatting knowledgeably with the shopkeepers about local magical conditions, picking up a few valuable fuel woods that will give a good fire, and some standard metal treatments that will hone an edge to beyond physical sharpness. For this he must admit he has only credit at the moment... he'll need to bargain with the storekeepers on the Minister's word.

{OOC: Two rolls below: Craft (weaponsmithing) to select good quality materials, and Diplomacy to try to persuade the shopkeepers to take my credit -- with my Haversack as collateral if for some reason the payment doesn't materialize, but the Minister didn't strike me as that sort.  The first has a bonus of +12 and ends up as a 20, for Craft (weaponsmithing), and the second has a roll of +9 and ends up as a 28 for Diplomacy.  Let me know if any other rolls are called for.}

Materials secured, he makes his way toward the shop he was directed to, and waits in the doorway until the smith is ready to talk to him. "Smith Opik? I was directed here by your cousin, Minister of Mining. She said you would be willing to let me use your forge for day or so, during day... I assure you I know how to keep smithy in working order, and would more than replace any materials consumed."

Zhegre thanks Opik kindly and arranges a small workspace for himself in a corner out of the way.  As dawn approaches above the mesa, he says his morning prayers, happy there's a forge nearby to serve as an altar for once.  That done, he stretches out and zonks after the night's battles.

When his internal clock calls him, he wakes up in the middle of the day and gets to work.

Bank the fire, keep it low / silver melt like water flow

stoke the fire, blaze it high / mithral carries star from sky.

Edge and tip, grip and guard / made to pierce and made to ward

crafter's pride in every bend / on your skill my life depends.

God of fire, prepare my flame / I call upon thy holy name

God of war, instill this blade / with truer aim than hands have made.

Teach it how to pierce and harm / flesh that heeds no mortal arm.

Deep to thrust, and clean return / for justice strike, and victory earn. 

He'll spend the next two days doing this, and the evenings recuperating, possibly visiting a temple if one's open to the public; if not, then just waiting for the announced time of the meeting. 

Kadar accepts the pilfered fruit with a smile. "It looks like it Polp, perhaps we should speak to the High one about them when we have our audience."

Kadar pauses, reflectively looking across the outlands to the distant spire before continuing,

"If you have planted your seed perhaps we could explore the city for a little while before turning in."

"I'm afraid not, although it's one I'm interested in picking up." Kadar turns to the kobolds, asking if they understand him and would be interested in joining Polp and he for a drink in each of the languages he knows - Planar trade, Xeph, Infernal, Celestial and Abyssal.

“I guess they’re not thirsty…”

Expecting the worst, Polp draws his rapier and shield while looking around for law enforcement in the immediate vicinity. He keeps very close to Kadar and crouches ever so slightly with his footing on some manner of slight elevation, in preparation to vault over a kobold that should close in and engage.

Shifting anxiously on his wobbly clawed feet, Polp is already starting to pull back as Kadar speaks.

“More than happy to comply... Watch out at the tunnel exit, that’s how ambushes are pulled off back where I come from!”

With that said the young shad rush away from the albino kobolds with his Cipher friend, seeking to keep well ahead so that he’ll be first to encounter a potential trap or ambush that should be sprung on them at the tunnel opening. As they speed toward the exit, Polp keeps an eye out for any boltholes in the tunnel and keeps well clear of any they might run past.

Kadar takes off behind Polp, scanning the area for anyone who might be of assistance.

(ooc- Yay, that new level just gave me +5 to my movement)

[ooc- Sorry DL, couldn't think of a good IC reason for Kadar to slaughter the locals. I'm good to move on I suppose]

Zhegre is happy to chat with his friends dropping by, and has no particular other plans before meeting the High One. Given the description of the races around, he supposes that some of the passersby may not be thrilled to have a dwarf working in some locals' smithy, permission or no, so a friendly face would doubtless be welcome.

"...why hammer and sickle? Well, they are tools, you see. Pressed into serwice as weapons. It is intended to say, we do not seek war, but we will go forth to fight from our farms and our smithies if you make it necessary."

"...is easier to enchant weapon I forged myself, not to mention have owned and used for some time, da. There is certain bond. Priest of Moradin enchanted my hammer in Sigil, but this is first chance I have had to put into practice my own more recently completed studies on matter."

"...Process of enchantment itself is symbolic re-forging, is what this tracing of mithril and bath of molten silwer are all about. To become magic, it must have existence beyond material lewel. Since we are on Outlands, this will be the nature of immaterial existence it will bond with. Legend has it... and I speak no secrets because I do not know for certain..." Zhegre's voice drops conspiratorially. "...but legend has it that there are hidden forges scattered across Lower Planes, where priests of Soulforger and Forge-tender make for us weapons imbued with holy power, shining lamps welded to the fabric of those dark places, powerful in realms where Good must go to combat Evil. Creatures of darkness hate such forges, of course, and our smiths there are in deadly danger constantly. Discovery means flight or death; no attempt to hold territory can possibly last long in heart of enemy's turf."

Zhegre sets aside the strangely delicate feather of some celestial bird he's been using to dust a glowing powder on the blade very, very gently. He picks up the sickle upside down by the handle and turns to a basin of holy water in the manner of a smith performing the final quench of a forging.

"First by hammer you were made / on anvil flat, to shape the blade

heat to soften, thus to mold / cool to quench, your edge to hold.

Now by power of dwarven pride / I call upon thy power inside:

By word of war I summon you: / awaken! and be forged anew!"

He plunges the sickle into the holy water, and the powder flashes to aromatic smoke, raising a cloud of steam just as if the blade had plunged in hot from a forging -- which, in a mystical sense, it had. When he draws it forth, the enchantment is complete.

{OOC: Oh, and personally? I'd have gone for a nonlethal smacking of the little wannabe gangsters. Teach 'em a lesson safely. :^)}