~ The Quest for the Ring of Fire
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Turn 162.0: A Warm Welcome from a Cold Journey
Posted: 9/19/01
During
the ride to Jilten, Skandor, like Hannibal, is quiet and reserved. During these times of war, there is much for
a man to think about. And, it seems as
if the Six are riding closer and closer to enemy lines, or at least closer to
where the 'action' is.
Skandor
ponders his small part in all of this.
Should he be with his brothers and sisters along the front-lines? Isn't that where Anhur watched the most,
where He smiled the widest? Yet here he
was, with a small group of fellow Rinderians, sneaking about the countryside
looking for lost treasures and artifacts.
But
he had been assigned to protect Shield Maiden Emma. Surely, those in charge would have consulted with Anhur before
assigning him to her, wouldn't they?
Skandor ponders...had Anhur specifically chosen him to watch over
her? Or had the choice been a selfish,
un-counseled one, to choose him as her guard?
And with Emma's apparent concern for the leadership of the caste...what
if she was indeed onto something?
The
Standard's actions had lit a small candle of doubt in the Sword Bearer's
heart. The Standard had not asked
questions which he, Skandor, would have expected. It seemed as if he cared little for Emma's "spreading of the
faith," so to speak. Indeed, he
seemed a bit more intent on other things.
Yes, indeed...times of war, both internal and external, gave cause for a
man to think.
'Elves
in the city!' El thinks, upon hearing the barkeep's case, 'The forgotten
ones?' Like they saw in Merriam? Or the other kind, the kind that only he knew
about? Either way, the idea was
terrifying and it filled his mind with that familiar buzzing, obliterating
thought. The common room turns to stare
and suddenly El realizes what the stares were for. He tries to remember, fighting down panic, if he saw a single elf
on the way into the city. El wants
nothing more than to be out of this city, out of this tavern, and out now. He starts backing away, hand on hilt, even
before Storm trots up to the bartender.
Before
Emma (or anyone else) can attempt to persuade the bartender to their point of
view, she's pleasantly surprised as Storm endeavors to take matters into his
own hands...
Storm
takes a peek toward the table of dwarves, wondering if he recognizes them or
where they might come from. A broad
toothy smile encompasses his mouth, and he makes the motion of raising a
tankard of ale toward the dwarves in greeting.
It had been quite a while since he'd seen another dwarf, not since he'd
last seen his father...
He
is shaken from his reverie by the outbreak from the bartender. Storm's brow furrows; he looks over to
El. The elf is somewhat frail--though
by his understanding most elves were--and he looked almost...sunken or depressed,
somehow...dimmed. Yes that was it. There was no thief there, no robber or
arsonist. Only an elf with a haunted
past. And haunted pasts were more
common among the group than others might think...
Suddenly,
with another glance toward the five dwarves, Storm is overcome by something
which he cannot explain, and he responds to the bartender before any of the
more talkative members of the group can.
He says in a moderate voice, "Are ye sayin' he can't be in here
just because he be a elf?"
Interrupting the positive answer that comes forth, he bellows out
laughing "Ha!!! Hahaha!!!" He
pounds the bar with his fist in laughter.
"An' I thought dwarves be the only elf haters in this here
place! Hahahaha!!! Ye know," he takes a seat at the bar
right in front of the barkeeper, "the first time I's meetin' that there
bugger, he jumped right up and hit me across the nose! Ain't that a wheezer! Ha!
I's hate that elf just as much as the rest o' ye! HA hah!!
Them lanky, frisky buggers!
They's be nothin' but ta give ye an earful, eh? Hahaha!!!"
He
sighs a moment, catching himself from his laughter, then suddenly goes quiet
and leans forward,
getting his face right in the bartender's. "But then again, human, that there
annoyin' elf be my friend. As much as I
be hatin' him, he fight fer ye home more than ye do, an' I'd pick that thin
rascal over ye any day." He stares
the man down for a good several seconds, then leans back, louder again. "Or would I! Let's see..." He
squints obnoxiously toward the barkeeper, sizing the man up. "Ye's lookin' like ye got some meat on
ye....I's tell ye what. Ye look like a
sportin' man, so we's gonna do a little sport.
Ye an arm wrestler? I's think
so, you runnin' this here bar-type place.
How's about this. Ye and me are
gonna arm wrestle. If ye win, I'd take
ye inta Rinder's Six, and we kick this little elf on his way back to the
woods. But if ye loses..." he
leans in close again, his voice dipping, "ye shut yer noisy trap about the
warrior elf an' serve him and me an' our friends like everybody else. Ye got it?"
He
calmly raises his right hand, lowering his right elbow to the table. His forearm is noticeably shorter than the
average human's, yet it is built and corded like steel. Noticing the hesitation in the man's eyes,
Storm cocks his head. "Awww, ye
scared of a tiny dwarf? I ain't be a
half yer size. Now take me damn
hand!!!" His face is suddenly
grim, and he is breathing hard, waiting for the human to step up to his
challenge.
Emma
waits to see what the bartender might do, but before he can answer, Crayne
interjects...
"Quite
frankly!" Crayne says to the bartender, "I do not like your
tone! Your insults cause offense and
offending a mage is never a wise course of action." Crayne quickly uses his innate ability to
cast cantrips. The flames from the fire
on the other side of the bar suddenly die down almost turning the fire
out. A few seconds later the fire
springs back to life. Seeing the look
of doubt suddenly cross the barman's face, Crayne continues his fun. Focusing his attention on the barman's
handful of mugs Crayne uses the Ring of Water Command. He envisages the mugs slowly filling up and
overflowing.
"Now
you will serve my friend here Elloharin and the rest of us a splendid meal
along with the best wine of the house.
If you choose to not do so then..." Crayne pauses, "Let's just
say the consequences will be most unfortunate for you." Crayne retakes his seat expecting no more
trouble from the barman.
Emma
quickly steps close to Crayne's chair, recrossing the distance back to the
table. Her hand gently squeezes his
shoulder in an effort to calm him.
Circumstances could easily spiral out of control here. Still, she took just as much offense at the
bartender's words as anyone else...
"I
would suggest that you do as our dwarven friend has asked," Emma advises
the bartender, slipping her calmer voice in between the outrage displayed by
Crayne and Storm, "It's a fair enough form of justice to resolve this
problem...and as a Shield Maiden of Anhur, I think I'm qualified to speak on
that much, at least.
"Think
of the alternatives," she continues, softly easing a tone of persuasion
into her voice, "Would you cast out an elf from your establishment and
lose all six of the rest of your newest customers as well? Surely business along the border hasn't been
all that good lately. Would you turn
away our coin in this time of need?"
She jangles her purse so the man can hear the gold and silver
inside. "We would seek shelter in
your tavern from the cold outside," she says, "And surely our elven
friend is welcome to that as well. I
assure you he had naught to do with your brother's shop or any previous
altercation in these parts. We've all
traveled a great distance in service to the Crown, only just now arriving here
in Jilten. And our elven friend has
done his part to defend the common citizens of Rinder along the way, such as
you and your hardworking brother."
Hannibal
didn't bother moving but did arch an eyebrow at the sudden outbursts of his
companions. They had all changed a
great deal since the caverns, much of it was for the better, but at this moment
he didn't approve of this new behavior.
El was more than able to speak for himself and hadn't even been given
the opportunity to do as much.
Furthermore, these 'threats' that Crayne and Storm had implied upon the
barkeep were unnecessary and unlike the Six.
They reminded him of a darker time in his own life, when collecting
'insurance' money could quickly turn into making an example of a defiant
barkeep or blacksmith.
Hannibal
didn't say anything, he just watched and waited.
"So
come now," Emma urges, "Wrestle with Storm. Let the outcome of the contest settle the matter and we'll all
live by the results as good friends."
Hannibal
found it a little ironic that he suddenly agreed with the priestess. Hadn't they bickered and argued so
passionately outside El-Balans about the welfare and fate of Wade? Of course that was different though, wasn't
it? And now he was seeking the peaceful
solution over the vengeful one?
Elloharin
is stunned by the challenges of both Storm and the mage. Particularly the dwarf! He was well aware of the scorn of each
other's races, but that the dwarf should so openly, in front of his fellow
dwarves, side with him.
"I
don't think that will be necessary, good sirs.
I can respect your wishes. Is
there a tavern in the city which will take elves?" From the corner of his eye he can see all
the armed men in the room, easing around their scabbards. He can sense the bar servants settling back
against the walls, ready for anything.
Inn fighting was not unusual, El felt, but this could be a
slaughterhouse.
There
is so much already being said, so much chest-pounding, the Sword Bearer is
content to remain in his chair and view the activities from the outside. He remains where he is, but ready to spring
into action should someone be so foolish as to endanger one of his comrades.
With
so many of his companion's eyes on the barkeep, that left few to keep an eye on
the patrons who might not take having their barkeep roughed up or badgered. Instead, Skandor turns his gaze around the
room, searching for who appears to be the most likely to initiate a brawl. Fortunately, he doesn't spot any
particularly dangerous-looking types.
Hopefully,
the Six can get out of this without incident.
And Skandor silently curses when one of his comrades throws their group
name out for all to hear. Now, it would
be an easy matter for Caerloon agents to track them.
Patting
El's arm, Hannibal motioned for him to stay.
"Let this run it's course friend, maybe we can all learn a little
bit here today."
After
a pregnant pause, the barkeep finishes sweeping the room with his eyes,
returning them to Storm. Then, with a grunt,
he throws his weight into the arm-wrestling match. But the match is over too quickly: no sooner had the barkeep
begun to push than Storm's immense strength overpowered him and sent his fist
crashing down on the wooden bar, causing the mugs resting nearby to jump and
rattle. Swallowing hard, the barkeep
extracts his hand from Storm's, rubbing it with his other hand. He looks around, angry and embarrassed. "I'll get yer grub..." he mutters,
turning away toward a door to the kitchen.
After
some time has passed and food (and good wine) has been served, Emma slips away
from the group's table once more and approaches the bartender after giving him
ample time to cool down. "Good
sir," she smiles as pleasantly and sincerely as possible, "The
problems that you referred to before...the ones about a group of elves causing
trouble in these parts...can you tell me more of them? My friends and I often travel about
correcting the wrongs committed by others during these times of tension and
conflict. Perhaps if we apply some of
our skills and talents to the problem, we can correct it for you in repayment
of your kindness to us?"
The
bartender looks to Emma, sighing.
"I don't like to talk about it.
Especially with him here," his eyes dart to El, who sits facing the
other direction. "But there's a
group of 'em. We'd never seen 'em
before. We used to get elves every once
in a while, but not these. These looked
different. They came in on a market
day, late in the afternoon, and it got real dark. By the time the clouds parted again, my brother's shop had been
picked clean. The next night they come
walking in here, as if nothing had happened.
Well, I don't serve 'em. And
they get mad. And my brother walks in,
and he gets mad. Well, they trashed the
place and went and broke my brother's arm in the brawl. That was two weeks ago. We ain't seen 'em since."
The
good humor El had achieved over the last three days is gone. He is pallid and reserved again. He thanks the members of the Six tersely but
it is evident that his mind is elsewhere.
Eventually,
Emma brings up the subject of the treasure taken from El-Balans. "It's time we considered what to do
with our wealth," Emma begins, "Obviously, a portion should be handed
out to all members of Rinder's Six. We
can then use the coin to properly outfit ourselves for the road ahead. We have a number of supplies to renew. And I would like a new suit of
armor..."
She
checks with Storm regarding the official count and then suggests, "I
recommend that we take 910 of the gold and 420 of the platinum coins to split
evenly amongst us seven. That will give
us all 130 gold and 60 platinum. In
addition, we should each choose two gemstones to keep for ourselves, provided
that Storm and Hannibal can get them properly appraised for us. That should leave 340 gold, 155 platinum,
and 6 gemstones that we can contribute to the coffers of King Bryant. I think that's a sizeable gift...and it will
also leave us enough wealth to procure whatever items we want to take on the
quest with us. How does that sound to
everyone?"
Hannibal
says nothing during this discussion, only agreeing with the majority. He hadn't planned on getting an equal share
of the loot after having been chosen to take an item. Quietly he thought about what he could purchase for himself on
that kind of money...their best catch yet!
A man could almost retire and live comfortably on a sum such as that!
After
receiving no other objections, the money is distributed according to Emma's
scheme, and then, bleary-eyed from many days of travel, Rinder's Six finds it
way to their rooms and turns in for the night.
(OOC:
Please update your CIS's accordingly for the distribution of the
treasure.)
Crayne,
waking from his slumber, yawns violently and rubs his eyes adjusting them to
the light. It was a long time since he
had had such a good night's rest. After
refreshing up and a cooked breakfast he heads out into the crisp winter air. Walking along the main road, he nods at a
few passers by and takes in the city of Jilten. Jilten seems to him to be quite a successful city with a bustling
trade. A few wagons loaded to the brim
with materials and spices pass his way as he heads further into the main
commercial sector. A group of soldiers
stand on one of the street corners laughing amongst themselves. It grabs Crayne's attention for a moment,
bringing him back to the realisation that a war was going on. Would these men still be laughing when
lining up to fight the soldiers of Caerloon?
Crayne doubted they would.
Shaking
the small moments of melancholy from his mind Crayne heads into the
market. There were a number of things
he was looking for and so he takes a list from his pocket and starts to wander
on deeper
into the market. There he spends some time wandering and shopping, purchasing four
darts, as well as two vials of ink, a quill, fifteen sheets of paper, six
candles, and three week's of iron rations.
He also picks up a selection of herbs with which he plans to concoct
some more poison paste as well as an antidote.
After
shopping for a few hours, Crayne returns to the inn, orders some lunch, and
sets about making some herbal potions.
In a few hours he has completed one small jar of poison paste, two
healing balms, and one sleeping potion.
He also manages to create the antidote to his poison paste, saving that
in case it might come in handy. He then
sets to recopying some of the spells from his spellbook to the fresh sheets of
paper--a slow and tiring task. But he
is intent on someday soon having a complete copy of his spellbook.
Emma
heads directly for the craftsman district of Jilten, seeking out blacksmiths,
armorsmiths, and weaponsmiths most of all.
Finally discovering such a shop, she enters and asks to speak to the
best artist among them. A smile of
happiness and eagerness lights her face as she speaks.
"Hi. I'm most happy to find you. Your reputation as a skilled craftsman
precedes you," she begins, "As you can tell, I am a Shield Maiden of
Anhur...specifically, Emmalya Serralund of Seden. I'm also a member of Rinder's Six, a group of special agents doing
the good work of the Knights of Rinder and King Bryant, himself. I'm even a close friend of Cyvieliog the Cavalier,
whom I'm sure you've at least heard of by now.
He and his men no doubt have availed themselves of the services that you
and those in your profession provide.
"With
that in mind, it's becoming more clear that we all need to prepare for the days
of war and conflict looming across the border," she says, gesturing to the
south, "I have every intention of preparing myself as well and I need your
help to do so. I need a suit of armor
constructed of steel plate...and properly shaped so that it will fit my
form." She gestures to her natural
curves with a bit of a charming smile, hoping to distract the armorsmith. "I have here enough coin to compensate
you for the work and I sincerely hope that you might have something in stock
that I can take with me tomorrow...or pick up on our return from Fort
Dillend," she explains, "I'd also like to trade-in this suit of chain
armor to sweeten the deal. It has
served me admirably these past few months, but I feel it's time to move to
something stronger. Do you think you
can assist me, good sir?"
The
armorer looks over the suit of chain mail, inspecting it, and then casts a long
glance over Emma's form, trying to gauge whether he has something on hand. Finally, he shakes his head. "My lady," he begins respectfully,
"I don't usually fashion such armor for women." He then catches himself, holding out an open
hand, "not that I can't...it's just that women don't usually come asking
for it... So it's gonna take me a few
days, maybe a week, to have one ready for you.
I'll have to take some measurements as well..."
Nodding,
Emma allows the man to take the necessary measurements, which he scribbles on a
nearby sheet of parchment. "That
chain mail's alright. I can probably
resell it. But keep it for now, since
I'll need to fix it up a bit anyway and won't have time while I'm working on
your plates."
Emma
nods, understanding. "Also, I have
this light flail which has seen better days," she continues, holding up
the weapon, "I'm afraid I had to bash something made of solid rock and it
didn't hold up too well. Do you think
you can find a replacement for me? And
perhaps a spear as well, if you have a serviceable one."
The
armorer nods and smiles. "You just
want everything don't you, my lady?"
He chuckles, and Emma does as well.
"Yeah, I got a flail like that one. Nothing exceptional, but it will get the job done. And I got a spear, too. As for the plate mail, come back in a week,
and ask for me, Dorrin. I'll have it
ready for ya."
Emma
smiles and nods. They agree on a
reasonable price for some pieces of the suit of plate mail, the breastplate,
greaves, and bracers. Emma decides that
additional items would be too expensive--for now.
Human
cities are not elven cities, but to Elloharin they are absolutely
fascinating. At first the smells are
unbearable to the delicate elf. He
smells rotting fish and other refuse along the streets. From the markets he can smell the wood of
newly finished furniture, from the flower-sellers and fruit vendors the odours
of winter's withered produce assails his senses. Occasionally a lady of wealth walks by, carrying the strange
scents and perfumes that are worn by the fairer sex. And then there are the sounds.
The armorers, shouting at their apprentices, the din of the hammer on
fiery red steel. The cries of children,
bustling about at the feet of their parents, throwing strange leather globes
into the air and catching them.
And
the poverty is what El finds the most remarkable. He watches as a young urchin, no older than eight or nine human
years, filches the pocket of a respectably dressed businessman. And for the first time in a long time, El is
confused by his own morality. What to
do? Call the child out? What would the man do? He has seen human violence before. But the moment passes before El can even
think of what to say. The child is gone
through the press.
He
feels a burning sensation at the corner of his eye. When was the last time he had cried? Did he cry when his own father sent him away?
Putting
these thoughts aside as best he can, Elloharin ventures forward with a
purpose. He soon makes his purchases,
seven more arrows (bringing his total up to 56; note that up to 18 can fit in a
normal quiver, the rest in his pack), three weeks-worth of rations, three
flasks of lantern oil, as well as an assortment of cheap clothing to replace
his beaten, battered, and torn apparel.
Hannibal
hits the streets alone walking the rows of stores along market square
casually. The smells of food and sounds
of people saturate him and bring a smile to his face...city life! The colors, the people, the excitement of a
winter festival still brought goose pimples to his flesh!
Hannibal
stopped at several shops, selling his chain mail, stilleto and old sword as well
as picking up a grappling hook and rope, three daggers, restocking his arrows
(purchasing 13 to bring his total to 24), and buying more foodstuffs--three
weeks of rations--for the journey ahead.
He also looks up Storm and joins him in appraising the gems. In the process, he learns a surprising
amount from his dwarven friend:
"Each
gem be unique," Storm explains to Hannibal, tossing a gem in the air as if
a worthless rock. "There be no
other like it. Lookie here, these
lines, if they be straight, it be worth more..."
After
a lengthy conversation, Hannibal and Storm turn their attentions to their own
gems (Hannibal has two, Storm has three).
After some work, they decide that Hannibal's two are each worth about 10
gp, as are two of Storm's. But Storm's
third gem (which he had before the trip to El-Balans) is worth considerably
more...close to 50 gp.
During
the day, Skandor also finds the armorer, Dorrin, thought not at the same time
as Emma. While there, he manages to
procure some pieces of plate mail: a breastplate that fits fairly nicely, a
pair of greaves and a pair of bracers.
(Unlike Emma's case, Dorrin does have these items on hand for
Skandor.) He also purchases a medium
shield which suits him. Elsewhere in
the market, he picks up a wool blanket and three weeks' rations.
By
the middle of the afternoon, the group is reunited and ready to depart. Most members have packed away their new
items, and the chest of treasure from the Ancient Chambers is significantly
lighter now that most of the wealth has been distributed, and in many cases,
spent! And so the journey resumes,
heading south-east toward the border, toward the front lines, and toward Fort
Dillend.
The
countryside continues to change, becoming smooth, with an occasional rolling
hill. The ground is completely covered
in snow, making the area--known in Rinder as the Lowlands--look smooth and
white. The horses' tracks are, in fact,
the only tracks the party sees, since the snow has fallen, save those of some
small animals. Camp is set after sunset
and rations are cooked over a warm fire, which seems more needed than ever
before as the cold winter night sets in.
Late in the evening, the snow begins to fall again, casting a peaceful
mood over the camp and the landscape.
Morning
arrives and the journey continues toward Dillend. The snow continues to fall, and the temperature continues to
drop, to the point where travel becomes slightly uncomfortable. The wind now howls across the open land, and
finally, after lunch, the sight of trees in the distance is a welcomed
one. Finally, some shelter from the
bone-chilling wind, and what's more, the trees mean that the border is near,
and so must be Dillend.
Late
in the afternoon, the first signs of life begin to appear: smoke drifting up
from the horizon into the cold gray sky.
As the party continues to journey closer, they can make out more than
one smoke plume, but in fact many. At
their current distance, the party can just make out a banner, a flag flying
over a tent in a clearing ahead: the standard of the Great House of
Merriam. As Rinder's Six draws nearer,
more and more tents and makeshift structures begin to appear, until it is clear
that they are approaching a large camp for the Merriam army, presumably part of
Rinder's forces here at the front.
A
small scouting party is sent from the camp to greet the approaching Rinder's
Six, and upon learning of Rinder's Six's identity, the officer in the party
courteously directs Rinder's Six ahead, through the encampment and onward
toward the fort itself. The camp is
surprisingly large, here in the light forest, with a division of at least seven
hundred men, including soldiers, squires, officers, cooks, and others. The smell of bacon is in the air, as is
roasting beef over large fires, for it is nearing dinner time.
Arriving
at the main gate of Fort Dillend, Rinder's Six finds the sight very familiar,
and comforting at that. They ride in,
tall on their mounts and obviously not the average soldiers, or even officers. Heads turn from menial tasks, such as
shoveling hay or sharpening dulled swords.
Squires rush out from the stable and stand to watch, as if royalty had
just rode through the door. A guard
quickly runs into one of the main buildings--obviously new construction since
the recapture of the fort--and returns with Captain Wheeler, who smiles widely
as he perceives Rinder's Six dismounting in the parade ground at the center of
the fort.
"Rinder's
Six!" he calls out, his open hand leading the way. He takes Canter's hand and shakes it, and
then moves on to the others. "It
is a pleasure to see you here at Fort Dillend again. From whence have you come?
I trust you are hungry after a long journey in the dead of Rinder's cold
winter. I invite you inside, by my
fire, so we can talk comfortably."
Accepting
graciously, the group heads into the building, where a warm fire is, indeed,
burning, and comfortable seats surround it.
There is a map table in the center of the room, as well as various
shelves of additional map scrolls, parchment papers, cases, and various
weapons. Goblets of wine are quickly
poured. Once all are comfortable,
Wheeler sighs and smiles once more, his shadow cast large on the bare wooden wall
behind him by the flickering light of the deep orange fire. "Tell me, good friends, what brings you
to Fort Dillend? And how can my men
here help you complete whatever task has been set before you?"
1.
CRAYNE did not have time to complete all the tasks you set out for him and
still depart the city with the rest of the party. So he did not get to investigating the scrolls from the Raimead
Mine.
2.
CRAYNE now has the following spells memorized:
1st
level: Sleep, Charm Person, Magic Missile (x2)
2nd
level: Invisibility, Darkness 15' Radius
3rd
level: Spectral Force, Lightning Bolt
Also,
Crayne has cast Armor on himself, bringing his HP up to 30/16.
3.
Although Storm does not have the appraising proficiency, we'll assume
that as a dwarf he has special knowledge of gems. So HANNIBAL may add the appraising non-weapon proficiency to his
CIS.
4.
Division of treasure: Each
character gains 130 gp, 60 pp, plus 2 gems of unknown value.
5. Here
is specific information on purchases in Jilten:
CRAYNE:
4 darts, 2 vials of ink, 1 quill, 15 sheets of paper, 6 candles, 3
weeks' rations, herbs; total spent: 29 gp, 6 sp. Crayne used 7 sheets of paper copying spells from his
spellbook. He created 1 poison paste, 2
healing balms, 1 sleeping potion, and 1 antidote.
EMMA:
deposit for plate mail pieces (breastplate, greaves, bracers) (75gp
deposit, 40 gp due at pickup), new flail, spear; total spent: 83 gp.
ELLOHARIN:
7 flight arrows, 3 weeks' rations, 3 flasks of lantern oil, an extra
change of clothes; total spent: 10gp, 3 sp, 5 cp.
HANNIBAL:
sold chainmail (+50gp), sold stiletto (+2gp), sold old long sword
(+11gp); total earned: 63gp.
Purchases--grappling hook, 50' hemp rope, 3 daggers, 13 arrows; total
spent: 7 gp, 6 sp.
SKANDOR:
plate mail pieces (breastplate, greaves, bracers), medium shield, wool
blanket, 3 weeks' rations; total spent: 122 gp.
6. Note
to EMMA and SKANDOR: Because your
characters have purchased pieces of plate mail, but not a whole suit, these
armors will function at an AC4, instead of the AC3 that a full plate mail suit
would offer.
7. Welcome back to Fort Dillend! What will you say to Captain Wheeler? What will you say to Dire Luthor if/when he appears? How long will you stay at Dillend? Once you leave, where will you go, exactly?
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