Kegger-Aid

Log Info

• Title: Kegger-Aid
• Emitter: Jinks
• Characters: Paenitia, Randolf
• Place: Alexandria, Lower Market District
• Time: Sunday, February 20, 2022, 1:00 PM
• Summary: It's the last night of Kegger Fest and the Khazadi population of the lower districts is looking to get in as much drinking as possible! Several different brews are represented and the revelry is intense.

Paenitia is enjoying her drink while noble Ramirez is near-unconscious atop a keg-wagon trying to attract the attention of two nearby mares. Randolf mingles among the other Khazadi revelers working had to sample as many drinks as his stomach can stand. Paenitia meets three of the Khazad-Morning visiting the city for the holiday and politely points out that her mount is in no state to allow the dwarves a ride. Randolf meets another member of the Stoutbrew clan and is offered a sample of a milk stout.

Festivities are interrupted when two kegs explode to reveal... ALEMENTALS! The animated brews attack, laying low three unsuspecting Khazadi citizens before the two adventurers intervene joined by the pistol-wielding Stoutbrew. The alementals are dispatched and the group finally notices a nefarious dwarven cultist at work.

The Thulite curses the whole gathering before disappearing into the mist, promising doom in three days!

• Encounters:
  • CR7, XP4000: (1) Khazad-Ur Cleric of Thul 6
  • (CR5, XP1600) (1) Water Elemental, Lg
  • (CR5, XP1600), (3) Water Elemental, Med (CR3, XP800)

-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=  Appearing  =-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=
Paenitia     3'0"     34 Lb      Halfling          Female    A Lucht knight, dark skinned in bold feathery finery.
Randolf      4'10"    280 Lb     Mountain Dwarf    Male      A burly, well-dressed Khazad in wizardly robes.                                     
-=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=

-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=  NPCs of Note  =-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=
Deirdre Stoutbrew         Dwarf      Female    A startlingly sober, middle-aged Khazad-aul with greying red hair.
-=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=<

-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-  As the GM  -=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=
Jinks        Gnome        Male       A gnomish fellow in fancy garb and jewelry.                                
-=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=-

Looking at the dwarves packed into one of the squares in the lower markets one might assume the nearby trades districts are at least half-empty (or only half-full, depending on your outlook). The Khazadi horde is making a block usually reserved for temporary stalls and carts theirs as the final night of Kegger Fest nears its close.

Great, decorative braziers are forged to have Roa the Maker's face on their five-sides and the raging flames flicker through His open mouth and eyes and stretch above as flamboyant red hair. They dot the block to make the whole place feel hot in spite of the winter's bitter evening chill and the whole place glows like the inside of a massive smithy's.

There's song and food and-- of course-- drink! Kegs on floors, kegs on tables, kegs on wagons, and kegs that ARE entire wagons are scattered about the place to ensure there's not a dry mouth (or beard!) in the area. 'Aul and 'Mornir, both, are in attendance to revel and share their drinks.

The other races are welcome, obviously, and they can pay homage to Roa, the Lady of Inspiration, and the Great Laugh as they get blind, stinking drunk.

Appearing on behalf of the laughing one, a lucht in red armour with a grining visor is currently cheering Reos, Ceinara and the silver knight with two steins full of brew.

Nearby, on top of a wagon that is keg on wheels, the Red Knight's mount, Ramirez, the peacock-andalusian hippogryph is sprawled out and draped around the great barrel, whilst making raucous peacock noises at the pair of clydesdales that draw the wagon.

"Ha! Great luck!" The Red Knight shouts. Her Ivory Steed squawks, 'Ruaaaaah!'

Randolf staggers down the way. His hair and beard are a mussy tangle, his robes and kilt askew, and his bonnet crooked atop his head. A rosy flush reddens his cheeks and his nose, and it's a safe bet that the mostly-empty mug clutched in his meaty paw isn't his first. "See yon sleepin' khaaaa-zad, so fine an' han'some built... *hic-UCK!*... I wonder if it's true what they don't wear--*BRAAAAAAAALPH*--wear beneath the kilt!" he sings boisterously. He throws back his mug, gulping the last couple dregs and wiping his mouth off on the back of his fist. "Ohhh, ring-ding diddle-iddle eigh-dee-oh! Ring di-diddly-eigh-oh! I wonder if it's true what they don't wear beneath the kilt!" Hearing a familiar hippogryph, he turns his drunk-bleary eyes up. "Oh! Dame Paenitia! Happy Keggerfest!" he booms heartily. He stops by the wagon, swaying a bit as he swings his mug up in salute. He pauses, and turns the mug upside down, shaking it a couple times. "Oh, piss up my arse... empty again!"

There is no shortage of different brews to try and most are offered gratis-- with the option of offering a gratuity should the brew be found pleasing. While the Khazad are often regarded as being sufficiently miserly to rival reclusive wyrms atop their great hoards, there hats, sacks, and boxes left out for such donations are overflowing this time of night.

A trio of pale-skinned 'Mornir with short beards stumble in a tight group to stop and gawp at Ramirez, forming a sort of precarious tripod when they finally come to a swaying halt. They're all shirtless (the lass of their number has her chestbound to keep the limp-wristed city folk from feinting) and covered in runic tattoos. "'ey! Miz," the thickest of the lot calls over to Paenitia, shoving his mug up towards her noble steed. "Let uz have a go, yuz?" His beard is short and intricately braided, clung tight to his square jawline. "Yor boy look bored."

Standing nearer to Randy, a middle-aged dwarven woman in traveling clothes looks away from the fresh-faced blonde blacksmith she'd been talking to. "... don't run off now," she grins fiercely, another kind of fire in her eyes. "I need t'hear more about them 'conquest rings, miss." She's sober as a judge but entertains a bit of a limp when she comes up to Randolf, holding her hand out for his mug. She's a traveled look and streaks of grey in her wavy red hair.

"Howdy, mister. Empty mugs'a crime t'night. Fancy a cup'a Stoutbrew? Served locally at the Tarrace and other fine 'stablishments." Her voice is rough and confident and one hand rests lazy on a battered pistol as she waits for his cup. "'Ave the go at what?" The Red Knight in the grinning mask calls back, laughing, "I have hear the many strange phrases. I am uncertain what I agree to."

"You are wanting the ride? Or the fight? He has too much to drink for the fighting, which make him want to even more." Paenitia sounds firm, "So I say no for him."

Ramirez squawks again, 'Ruuaaaah!'. Yes!

Randolf looks over as his wilder-looking kinsmen come stumbling along. His gaze gets drawn to the lass among them, his shaggy brows arching like astonished caterpillars. A sly grin creases his features, and he puffs up his burly chest. Reaching up to straighten his bonnet (and managing to only crook it to the -other- side of his head), licking his fingers to smooth down the worst of his beard-tangles, and giving the lapels of his robe a sharp tug, he makes ready to head over and strike up a conversation. But what's this? Surely an angel sent by Reos Himself to save him from the cold, horrifying torment of sobriety. Randolf turns to the dwarven matron, grinning even wider as he hands over his mug. "Why, that's most hospitable of ye, missus!" he booms. He fumbles in one of his pouches for a few silver coins, offering them out to her as she refills his mug. "Keep that fer yeself!"

"S'what we're here for," the Stoutbrew peddler winks, taking the mug and producing an expert pour. She's mouthing something to the bird that's caught her interest while the worst of the head runs off to splash on the cobbles and then turns and hands Randolf his mug back. "This one's a bit sweet on th'finish. Call'r a 'cream stout' as the goats make a bit of a contribution. Nice'n smooth. Straight from th'Redridge." The nearby blonde dwarf blacksmith shifts, her form jingling quietly as she walks over for a refill of her own. "Easy roads, mister," the middle-aged Khazad waves at Randolf.

Meanwhile, the trio of storm dwarves issue a collective groan and all bend at the knees, eyes squinted shut in protest. There's some brief deliberation and the sway back and forth to stand closer to the paladina. "We hav ride. Am eckselent griffon rider. Never ride zomething like white bird-horz. Imagine zame but wish to tezt." Closer now, it's clear that the middle Khazad-mornir is barely half-conscious, rubbed-legged and heavy-lidded. His feet are flat on the ground but you're quite certain he'd fall prone should his bigger companions cease to hold him up.

"He iz good rider," the female 'Mornir nods with a wide smirk and a glance at her larger fellow. "But not good az think. Likely crash horz-birb in kurrent kondition."

"Ha!" Paenitia agrees, bobbing her head to the 'Mornir, "Ramirez is the same! He is the good flier, but he drink so much he cannot fly now. Ramirez, show that you cannot fly!"

'Ruaaaaah? The Ivory bird-horse says, looking towards his misstress.

"That you cannot fly! Yes." She cheers.

The hippogryph spreads his wings, flaps once slowly and doesn't go anywhere. He folds them up again."

"See?" The dark lucht asks triumphantly, "It is the time to drink, not to fly. More mugs."

Randolf happily accepts the refilled mug back from the matron, flipping her a jaunty two-fingered salute. "Hammers high, missus! Enjoy Keggerfest!" Suitably re-fueled, he turns his attention back to his storm-born kin. He makes his way on over, tipping back a hefty gulp from his mug. "Aww, poor Ramirez," he says with a chortle. "Not tae fret, laddie, it passes quick! Ye'll be airborne an' rainin' terror down on the enemy soon enough." He hefts his mug towards Paenitia, sloshing the creamy brew within. "The Dame has it exact! This is a time fer celebration! An' by Reos' flamin' beard, do we ever -need- it, after the month -we've- been havin'!" He turns his attention to the dwarves, his grin broadening. "-Buuuuut-," he says, reaching to his belt and pulling his wand. "If ye'd -like- tae fly... I might could be able tae manage a wee summat fer ye!"

GAME: Paenitia rolls fortitude: (5)+10: 15
GAME: Paenitia rolls 1d20+9: (9)+9: 18 (Ramirez Fort)
GAME: Randolf rolls Fortitude+2: (13)+6+2: 21 (+2 for Poison)
GAME: Randolf rolls Fortitude+2: (5)+6+2: 13
GAME: Paenitia rolls fortitude+1: (3)+10+1: 14 (+1 lucky lucht)
GAME: Paenitia rolls 1d20+9: (10)+9: 19 (Ramirez Fort)
GAME: Randolf rolls Fortitude: (19)+6: 25 
GAME: Paenitia rolls fortitude+1-2: (7)+10+1+-2: 16
GAME: Paenitia rolls 1d20+9: (20)+9: 29
<OOC> Jinks says, "Pae and Randy are at Stage 1 of drunk for..."
GAME: Jinks rolls 1d4: (4): 4
GAME: Jinks rolls 1d4: (4): 4
<OOC> Jinks says, "4 hours"

"Disappointink!" The large 'Mornir complains, crestfallen after he watches Ramirez struggle getting airborne. "Am in town for weekend, yuz? I find you tomorrow. We go fly on bird-horz. I show you--"

"Leave it! Out of yor league, Czeslav!" interrupts the woman, reaching around and flicking at the other dwarf's nose. Her knuckles each have bright blue, interrupted squares surround them, with more complex forms on the back of her hand. "Apologeez, little knight-person. He haz no luck with wimen at home. Triez to impress strangers."

"I DO--" the other conscious dwarf begins to protest but is interrupted by a thunderous cracking sound, splashing, and a whole chorus of drunken curses. A massive, liquid form begins to lurch up into view at the other side of the square.

"WHAT'VE YE DOON!?" Shouts a kilted Khazad-aul with dark, braided hair as he backs away from what used to be one of the keg wagons. There's another crack, crash, and splash and something smaller lurches over the cobbles not far from the larger form.

The creatures are vaguely-humanoid in shape but made up of beer and suds, they move with malicious intent and begin battering the assembled dwarven citizens that had been talking, laughing, and drinking only moments before!

GAME: Randolf rolls knowledge/the planes: (7)+12: 19
<OOC> Jinks says, "These are water elementals! Or... well, similar. Alementals!?"
<OOC> Jinks says, "The three closest dwarves were the victims if their fondness for punching."
<OOC> Randolf hrrms. Ice Storm on the corner, centered so it doesn't catch the two dwarves, hit the two elementals.
GAME: Randolf casts Ice Storm. Caster Level: 7 DC: 18
GAME: Randolf rolls 3d6: (15): 15 (bludgeoning)
GAME: Randolf rolls 2d6: (8): 8 (cold)

Randolf puffs his burly chest up with a grin as the mornir lass berates her inebriated companion. He may not have tailfeathers to match Ramirez's, but his own plumage is certainly eye-catching in its way. He makes ready to sidle up to the three, perhaps intent on demonstrating how impressive -he- can be. But then, there's that boom and the whoosh of ale made animate. His eyes bug out of his head and his jaw drops. "Oh, piss up my -arse-!" he growls. "Do they have tae ruin Keggerfest too?!" He slugs back the last of his brew and hurls his mug to the ground in a rage. Stomping forward, he whips his wand up. "RE EX RAYA AN GLACIA TEMPESTOS!" he roars, snapping his wand out. Above the two rampaging alementals, a dark cloud whorls into being. With a howling of frigid winter winds, a column of freezing snow and sleet comes whirling down, along with several razor-sharp shards of diamond-hard ice. The giant hail pelts the two animate booze-fiends, splashing brew hither and yon, while frost crackles across the ground, freezing the spilled beer solid. "COME BACK WHEN IT'S PROPER ADVENTURIN' TIME, YE SUDSY-ARSED GITS!" he thunders.

Ramirez, the drama-king, was acting as if he was Knocked Out, but he was faking and just didn't want to carry around strange dwarves.

GAME: Paenitia rolls weapon5+2+1: (18)+13+2+1: 34 (+2 charging, +1 Drunken Boost)
GAME: Paenitia rolls damage5+1+10: aliased to 1d8+1+1+10: (7)+1+1+10: 19

"Ah?" Paenitia swings around, her grinning mask taking in the sudsy opponents, and the dwarves already fallen. "The mad uncles speak of this," she says, dropping a mug and unlimbering her warhammer. She knows the penalties for interrupting a high holy kegger day. "The alcohol that come after them, fight them, beat them."

"I thought it the metaphor, for fight the addiction. I did not think it to be literally so."

"Raaaaaaargh!" The Red Knight clanks across the square, swinging. Take that alcohol! Her warhammer hits. It's a solid blow, landing on the liquid as it crystalizes, then cracks.

<OOC> Jinks says, "Returning Pae's attacks."
GAME: Jinks rolls 1d20+12: (12)+12: 24
GAME: Jinks rolls 1d20+12: (6)+12: 18
GAME: Jinks rolls 1d8+5: (6)+5: 11
<OOC> Paenitia says, "DR3 for Adamantine heavy armour, the next 3 points of damage after that are Non Lethal"
<OOC> Jinks says, "Deirdre walks over and draws her pistol, she shoots down the medium alemental."
GAME: Jinks rolls 1d20+10-2-1: (14)+10+-2+-1: 21
GAME: Jinks rolls 1d8+1+4: (8)+1+4: 13

The alementals loom, their faces described in suds and sworls in the riotous splashing of their liquid forms. The larger of the two pulls up to its full, towering height after being wounded by spell and spear, two long tendrils stretch out to either side as it slams forcefully into the Lucht knight, drenching her in the pungent aroma of strong brew. The second slam misses, crashing into the ground and splashing more of the spilt beer every which way.

But this is no time to cry over spilt beer!

The Stoutbrew woman looks back at the blonde she'd been flirting with, warning her "Stay here, miss, I'll protect ya!" as she half-skips on a dodgy leg towards the melee. He leather holster gives up the pistol smoothly and she pricks her thumb on the hammer. A drop of blood has the weapon come to life, glowing with red-orange fire as it charges. The dragonspitter crack-BOOMS! and the little bullet tears through the air to send the smaller creature splashing to the ground in a puddle.

There's a lot of alarmed shouting. A few of the Khazadi revelers make to stand tough and meet the fight but they're dragged away from their drunken foolishness by their wiser, less-inebriated friends. Curses in all manner of accents from all manners of clans from all corners of the world spill out as the square quickly clears.

The three wounded dwarves still lay still in the puddled ale around Paenitia and her sworn foe.

GAME: Paenitia rolls perception: (4)+8: 12
GAME: Paenitia rolls 1d20+5: (18)+5: 23 (Ramirez Perception)
GAME: Randolf rolls Perception: (2)+8: 10

Ramirez notices a fishy Khazad-aul in dark-brown robes and a darkmetal breastplate not-running-away and watching the fight intently.

GAME: Randolf casts Scorching Ray. Caster Level: 7 DC: 16
GAME: Randolf rolls 1d20+5: (20)+5: 25 (THREAT)
GAME: Randolf rolls 1d20+5: (1)+5: 6 (EPIC FAIL) (Not Confirmed)
GAME: Randolf rolls 1d20+5: (2)+5: 7
GAME: Randolf rolls 4d6: (21): 21

Randolf stumbles forward, his head still buzzed from his drunk. He sways a bit as he draws a bead on the remaining alemental. "Re ex--BRAAAAACH!--urf, ahem! Re ex re antu akh ascorius! HAH!" He snaps his wand out, firing off a searing beam of molten orange-red. The first burst skates harmlessly over the frozen beer, sending up a roil of hoppy steam. But when he passes back the other direction, the beam scores a solid hit, sending a flurry of boiling bubbles blorping through the elemental's form. "KNOCK IT OFF, YE BASTARD! YER WASTIN' ALL THE SODDING -BEER-!!" he roars.

<OOC> Paenitia says, "full attack, and Ramirez will join at 13,11 behind me and pull the dwarf out of the beer"
GAME: Paenitia rolls weapon5+1: (5)+13+1: 19
GAME: Paenitia rolls weapon5+1-5: (3)+13+1+-5: 12
GAME: Paenitia rolls damage5+1+10: aliased to 1d8+1+1+10: (8)+1+1+10: 20
GAME: Jinks rolls 1d20+3: (18)+3: 21
GAME: Jinks rolls 1d20+3: (1)+3: 4 (EPIC FAIL)
<OOC> Jinks says, "Will save from Ramirez, Pae."
GAME: Jinks rolls 1d20+6: (13)+6: 19
GAME: Jinks rolls 3d6: (12): 12
GAME: Paenitia rolls 1d20+4: (13)+4: 17 (Ramirez Will)
GAME: Jinks damaged your companion for 6 points. 61 HP remaining.

>SPLASH!< >Swissssh< Paenitia swings twice, her warhammer sinking into the mass of beer and throwing a wide arc of it. On the back-swing, she strikes through collapsing suds. The first hit was enough to splash him to nada.

'Ruaaaah!' Ramirez lands just behind his mistress, a tall ivory towering bird-horse.

"Yes, it is the beer elemental! The dwarf is drowning." The Red Knight says.

'Ruaaah,' Ramirez counters, there is the strange man, over there, watching. Yes.

"The dwarf is wet, pull." Paenitia repeats, poking the head of her weapon through suds, just in case. As ordered, the dwarf is moved.

The middle-aged Khazad-aul looks around as the alementals cease to be, nodding one, curt nod in approval. "Nicely done, youngin's. Quick-like, too!" She buffs a breath to clear the smoke from her weapon and then turns back to the other dwarf, showing off a bit with some pistol-twirling before sliding the thing away.

That was easy!

Only...

It's not over!

"The Dread Breather waits at the bottom of your cups! Enjoy your revels now for your souls are forfeit in three days' time!" The Khazadi monk holds black-smudged fingers wide, exulting with a cry as black tendrils of energy spill out in a dark nova. The two fallen dwarves die in a beat, turning desiccated and frail in the blink of an eye. Ramirez, too, feels the cold, and the pistol-wielding dwarf lets out a bark of surprise.

Then... he's chanting and vanishes from sight.

GAME: Randolf used a Scroll of See Invisibility.

Randolf nods his head firmly as the alemental bubbles its last. "That's what ye get when ye piss me off!" he growls, going to holster his wand. But... things take a horrifying turn as that evil monk reveals himself and strikes down those poor revelers. Randolf's face turns as red as his beard, his eyes blazing with rage. "You filthy murderin' -bastard-!" he roars. As the monk vanishes from sight, he moves without thinking. His hand delves into his hip satchel and roots around, coming up with a scroll. He unfurls it with a hasty snap of his wrist and lifts it. "RE EX ROSOS OCULA SPECULARE!" The magicked ink flares gold on the page, crumbling away to glittering dust, while his eyes flash with bright white light that fades quickly. He snaps out his wand pointing. "THERE 'E IS!" he thunders.

<OOC> Paenitia says, "I'll double move to 7,11 and Ramirez to 5,10. Ramirez will attack at 6,12 with 50% concealment"
GAME: Paenitia rolls 1d20+9: (12)+9: 21
GAME: Paenitia rolls 1d100: (35): 35 (1-50 = miss)
<OOC> Jinks says, "You could charge if you want, Pae. double move and attack."
GAME: Paenitia rolls weapon5+2+1: (19)+13+2+1: 35
GAME: Paenitia rolls 1d100: (14): 14 (1-50 = miss)

"That not the life of the party!" Paenitia shouts. It's the opposite. She catches sight of the dark clad figure before he vanishes again. Then, Randolf is helpfully pointing him out.

"Raaaaargh!" The little knight clanks acoss the cobbles and swings.

'Ruaaaah!' The hippogryph squawks, flapping in the air, pecking as he lands again.

Both miss.

<OOC> Jinks says, "Dei will draw and shoot with all the same shenanigans"
GAME: Jinks rolls 1d20+10-1: (7)+10+-1: 16
GAME: Jinks rolls 1d100: (69): 69 (51-100 = Hit)
GAME: Jinks rolls 1d8+1+1+4: (4)+1+1+4: 10
<OOC> Jinks says, "Randy watches him run and then cast Obscuring Mist"

The Khazad swears under his breath when Randolf seems to look right at him-- and swears DOUBLY when the other dwarf points out his position. He snarls and readies to scurry off only to flinch and cry out when a second report from the pistol sounds and he flinches at his arm being struck.

Time to leave!

The sound of footsteps retreat away from Paenitia and Ramirez, Randolf watches at the Khazadi cultist ducks behind a large keg and comes out the other side. He looks back over his shoulder and bends low, exhaling impossibly long to conjure a thick fog that spills out and up in every direction, blocking out the street beyond and hiding the fiend from view!

GAME: Randolf rolls Acrobatics: (6)+1: 7 (vs DC10 - Fail)
<OOC> Jinks says, "You wanna spend RPP for a reroll or live with it?"
GAME: Randolf rolls Acrobatics: (2)+1: 3
<OOC> Jinks says, "You make it that far and bounce of the brazier foot and trip, falling prone."

Randolf snarls as the monk throws up that wall of confounding mist. He takes off as fast as his tubby stride can carry him, bulling headlong into the fog. Almost immediately, his foot catches the rung of one of the braziers, sending him tumbling to the ground. "GYAH!!"

<OOC> Paenitia says, "move up on his last known location in the fog, I'll go to 8,14 and Ramirez to 6,14"
<OOC> Paenitia says, "swift to challenge also. oh, and I probably need to do those rolls"
GAME: Paenitia rolls weapon5+1: (8)+13+1: 22
GAME: Paenitia rolls 1d20+9: (8)+9: 17
<OOC> Jinks says, "So you can pose bumping into him in the fog, Pae."

"We seek him here, we seek him there!" Paenitia laughs, diving into the billowing cloud of obscuring mist. Her cheerful voice becoming muffled, "Ramirez! Follow me!"

The great white peacock-andalusian pounces into the fog-bank like an eager, avian fox. Within the whisps, the little knight bumps into the mysterious stranger.

"Hey!"

GAME: Jinks rolls 1d20-1: (20)+-1: 19
GAME: Paenitia rolls knowledge/local: (15)+11: 26
GAME: Randolf rolls knowledge/local: (15)+11: 26

Randolf and Paenitia and Ramirez dive into the fog looking for the spoiler of revelry. He grunts when Paenitia bumps into him, growling out accented curse.

"Three days and the dead come. Three days and graves will empty..."

There's a hocking spit and then the sound of footsteps retreating through the fog and down the street.

The accent is markedly Khazad-Ur. He's clearly a Black Iron Dwarf.

Randolf grunts, scrabbling to his feet with a growl. He fumbles his way through the fog, trying to follow the taunting voice of the black dwarf. But his drunkenness is not helping at all. He stumbles out of the mist, turning this way and that, wand whipping back and forth. Seeing that the enemy has given them the slip, he stomps his foot. "-FUCK-!!"

Paenitia finds her way out of the other side of the mist. Ramirez settles for a more direct option, and flies above it to land on another large beer-keg, a perch from which he can survey the whole area.

Which is not empty, but which is absent and dark clad, threatening, magical monk.

"Well, the good news is there the three days of partying still." Paenitia says cheerfully, with only a hint of cynicism. Her expression, as always, is disguised and hidden by her grinning faceplate. "then the dead wake and come join."

Randolf shoves his wand back into its holster. "Damn it, Pae, this is nae time fer partyin'," he growls. He gestures back to the corpses of his fallen kinsmen. "We have tae find their families an' inform them. An' we have tae -find- that black-hearted bastard an' make him -pay- fer this. Dwarven blood has been shed by dwarven hands. Och, it's an omen o' the blackest kind." He gestures angrily at the sundered keg. "An' look what he did tae the BEER!"

The Khazadi pistoleer guards the remaining kegs with her weapon leveled in front of her. She has her forearm braced against his nose and mouth in case the mists spread and the spell sought to be more offensive than just blocking one's vision. She waves the weapon back and forth as Paenitia, Ramirez, and Randolf each reappear.

"... seein' as there's no hoopin'n hollerin' I'm'a guess he managed t'skedaddle?" she asks.

The blonde blacksmith walks forward, out from behind the kegs she'd been using as cover. Her two large braids drape down over her chest and end in decorative, heavy steel loops. The metal about her person jangles as she walks.

"What the blood fuck was tha'?" She wonders in yet another accent.

"Yes!" Paenitia says agreeably, answering several questions at once. She's moved over to examine the fallen. There's nothing she can do for them, and even a cleric would be hard pressed.

The little knight clanks around, "Well we start with the obvious, who they enemies are, and if they have none, who the khazadi here do. He have the strange accent, yes? This the sign of bad blood."

Ramirez is looking about, and noticing large steel loops.

Randolf scowls angrily. He's sobering up alarmingly quickly, and he does -not- like it. His beard bristles from more than just inebriation now as he plants his fists on his hips. "He was a khazad-ur," he growls. "Filthy folk, them. Give all us dwarves a bad name! An' now he's committed murder, an' Reos only knows what -else-! An' what was all that codswallop 'bout graves emptyin'?"

GAME: Paenitia rolls knowledge/local: (3)+11: 14
GAME: Paenitia rolls perception: (20)+8: 28
GAME: Randolf rolls knowledge/local: (8)+11: 19

On the smashed kegs that birthed the elementals you find a familiar dwarven family crest: the cracked coin of the Oddskeepers.

"I do not know what that mean." The little lucht says, clanking around in the aftermath and poking at things with her warhammer. A half barrel might have a pool of good ale remain. Something catches her eye, "Ah! I recognize that."

She points at a dwarven family crest: The cracked coin of the Oddskeepers. "I know these, they have the many curses and connections."

Randolf tugs at his beard, scowling darkly. "Wait a tick..." He counts off on his fingers. "Oh, Reos' bloody blue balls. It'll be Doomwatch in three days." Pause. "Doomwatch? No. Deathwatch. Some Thulite filth that was banned a forever ago. Piss up my -arse-."

"I have to ask about that one back at the temple. I have not hear of it." Paenitia says, looking around then finally approaching Deidre, "Thank you for the assistance. I am Sister Paenitia."

She points at Randolf, then herself, "if you wish to join us."

The victims of the Alementals can't be helped. They were beaten into critical condition and then the negative energy finished them off.

They are proper-dead.

"Sounds like you kids have work t'do," observes the Stoutbrew, finally sliding away her pistol and licking the blood off her thumb. She grins and extends a calloused hand. "Good t'meet'cha, miss Paenitia. 'm Deirdre, Deirdre Stoutbrew. Liaison for the Redridge Stoutbrews. We've got fields, a brewers'n waystop out that way," she cants her chin north and east. "'fraid I should stay here, though, 'n help clean up a spell. Talk to th'Watch when they come nosin'..."

The Khazadi pistoleer turns to look back at the blacksmith, reaching over to give the stunned woman a squeeze on the shoulder. "Make sure th'ones not used t'this sort'a excited don't go crazier'n a squirrel stuck on'a tin roof in high heat..."

"Wishin' you easy roads on this, th'both'a you."

OOC

Map
https://www.mipui.net/app/index.html?mid=msfyw6xd3iw

 ===================== Current Initiative Order - Round 1 =====================
 ---Init--Name------------AOO-Notes--------------------------------------------
  >> 24   Randolf          1   <<
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     13   Paenitia         1  Flat-footed (0 rnds remaining)               
 ------------------------------------------------------------------------------
     12   Lg.Ale              
 ------------------------------------------------------------------------------
     10   Deirdre             
 ------------------------------------------------------------------------------
     9    Med.Ale             
 ------------------------------------------------------------------------------
 ==============================================================================

<OOC> Randolf tunes in to the latest installment of Alexandria: Shortstacks Gone Wild.
<OOC> Randolf says, "It's Dwarven Christmas! XD"
<OOC> Jinks says, "my peacock brings all the mares to the yard and he's like, Ruaaaaah! I'm pretty and yours! Damn right, I'm pretty and yours!"

<OOC> Jinks says, "After a failed fort save at the DC of the beverage being consumed, the character gets a +2 morale bonus to physical stats for 1d4 hours. Additional alcoholic intake within this time requires Fortitude saves at a -2 Morale penalty to avoid going to Stage II."

GAME: Paenitia rolls profession/brewer: (20)+15: 35