"Okay." Ntaj was quite aware of Kyra's sarcasm in her voice, but regardless he'd speak to this stranger as he'd please. Perhaps she was paranoid and didn't trust strangers, or just didn't like how he addressed her. Didn't matter to Ntaj, if this man wanted to help then Ntaj would make use of him. Anyways it was time to eat. Ntaj walked inside towards the tavern and as he was walking pass the stranger he spoke. "She no help. Want something done, talk to me." Whether or not the stranger would risk talking to Kyra or attempt to trust Ntaj's word, would ultimately be on that man. For now Ntaj was more concerned about getting something to eat.

But before he could do that, the dwarf Ntaj had spoken to before asked him something. He spoke a bit too fast for Ntaj to understand, especially as he tried to decipher the accent. "Where's Keystone when you need him?" The best that Ntaj could understand was the the dwarf was trying to peddle soap to him. It was nice to be clean once in a while, but until Ntaj actually understood what it was that the dwarf was selling, he'd have to decline. "Later." Nodding his head towards the dwarf Ntaj finally went inside the tavern, and the first thing he did was put down two gold coins to order himself a meal and drinks. He wasn't sure of the exchange rate in these lands, so hopefully 2 gold could at least get him some meat. "Food and drink. Meat, please."

---

---

Location: Yellow Rose Temple

Interacting With: Satilla, Cyneburg, Guards, Yomdi

---

---

Keystone bowed his head to the guards in front of the Temple. There were only two last time; the addition of another set of guards seemed to make sense with the general feeling of malaise that spread across the entirety of Salarn. Something happened here. His expression was grim but open as he entered the Yellow Rose Temple.

Solid marble flooring and high ceilings supported by masterfully constructed columns greeted the group. Keystone had been in here before, about a week ago. He remembered the soft sound of his boots connecting with the stone surface beneath them, amplified by the size of the room and material of its construction. Whispers could be heard readily in here, which was usually enough to keep visitors quiet, Keystone imagined. The last time he burped in here, the echo would have left a normal man embarrassed beyond measure. Keystone considered it something of a curiosity. The man there were here to meet, Yomdi, didn't seem to care. He remembered something, and turned to his companions to share. "I ought mention, the guy what's in charge 'ere, Master Yomdi? He eh... He walks his own path, y'understand? Grain of salt. Pinch, maybe."

This time visiting, it seemed even quieter. For a few moments, Keystone couldn't quite figure out why. It came to him when he stopped checking rooms and began looking for someone to ask where he might find the Master of the Temple. More specifically, the fact that he couldn't find anyone who wasn't already occupied, if he saw people in the rooms at all. There were far fewer people inside the Yellow Rose Temple than there were a week ago and those that remained looked as haggard as the patrons of the Crossed Swords.

It took a little time, but finally Keystone was able to locate Yomdi. He was in his training room, downstairs. It was a room of black marble; walls, floors, and ceiling. Several candles lined the room, giving off serene, lightly flickering illumination. Toward the center sat the mostly decrepit looking (except for a wonderfully folded yellow turban that resembled the Temple's namesake) Master of the Yellow Rose, Yomdi.

"Master Yomdi, sir?" said Keystone. There was no response.

"Ah, Master Yomdi, it's Keystone. Xiang Disciple from north of 'ere, yeah?" Nothing.

"Sodding bloody 'ell, old man! C'mon then! Bronzecockery's afoot an' we're needin' some a-fonging-ssistance, y'old cocker!"

Slowly, very slowly, Yomdi opened his eyes. Silently, he pressed a finger to his lips, signalling quiet. Then a broad grin took over his weary face, and a somewhat unhinged aspect twinkled in his otherwise tired eyes. He looked to each of the people in turn who had graced his training room uninvited, including the unconscious form of Sana, upon which his gaze lingers for a comparatively longer time.

"Yes, yes... Yomdi knows you. The Monk-Who-Is-Not-A-Monk, yes, hmmmmmmmm? You have other friends that have not introduced themselves. Bad manners, very very bad. Especially the pretty young one with the burn scars you carry there. She does not breathe a word at all! How very impolite."

"Master Yomdi, she's a bit indisposed just at the now, which is why..."

Yomdi cut him off. "We can't have that! Unconsciousness is no excuse for being rude. Must fix, obviously. Tell me! Tell me how it happened. Tell me what you did to help. All of it."

Keystone spared no detail.

---

---

Both the huntress responded they were interrupted by a half-orc (who this time really was a half-orc) who described the situation succinctly, if not eloquently, then introduced himself as Ntaj.

Magnus took a moment to ponder Ntaj’s words, scratching at his beard absently as the rusty ol’ cogs in his head did their grinding. Undead in the forest, attacking the Orc tribes that had been assaulting Salarn? Now that was news. If he didn’t know any better, he’d say that somebody out there was playing them. But who, and for what reason? Mysteries within mysteries, all conspiring to give Maggie the headache of a lifetime.

The headache wasn’t helped by Kyra. If she wasn’t the most boorish woman he’d ever had the increasing misfortune of coming across, he didn’t know who was. When you could learn a thing or two about social grace from a half-orc, then it was time to enrol yourself in an etiquette class. Yes, she and her compariots looked haggard and beaten, and they may have been tired, but that’s no excuse for being a dick. Well, maybe it was a little bit of an excuse to be a little bit of a dick, but Magnus’ was under the growing assumption that the huntress was always like this, superior and bad-tempered towards all and sundry. The growing desire was to snap back, fight fire with fire.

Easy now. Just like Pa always said, ‘a quick temper will make a fool of you soon enough’. He took a calming breath, unclenching the hands that he hadn’t realised had curled into fists. He glanced at Ntaj, deciding that maybe just the once it would be better to deal with the person who wasn’t in charge.

“Sarcasm, my that’s refreshing.” He couldn’t help growling at the huntress. He was still human, after all. “Nah, think I’ve spent enough time in your glowing company. Just let him know that the dead ain’t crawling outta their graves. Someones digging them out. Seems a wrinkle worth noting.” That said he turned to follow Ntaj back towards the tavern.

On the way they were accosted by a Dwarf, one who was apparently a barber, or at least seemed to be if his offer of a shave and a haircut was anything to go by. A look of mild disgust mingled with fear crossed Magnus’ features, and he took an unconscious back step from the Dwarf. Shave? Haircut? He’d spent months cultivating this beard, and his warriors braid was the work of years, a sign of his prowess and the pride he had in his sword skills. Like hell was he gonna let some eager little man hack away at them with a rusty razor! Besides, strangers with knives getting that close to my face is a big no-no for me.

He moved on to join the half-orc in the bar, and dropped a handful of coins, ordering himself another mead. This time he chose to give Ntaj sometime to feed and water himself before accosting him with questions. Might be judging Kyra a touch harsh. Maybe execution was my problem first time around.

Cyne & Nor

Location: Temple & Crossed Swords Tavern
Interacting with:Keystone & Ntaj

It was one thing to deny a man the chance to do business, it was another entirely to disrespect his entire profession without so much as uttering a single word. What was motivation seated in greed erupted into a great flame of rage and spite. This bastard was going to end up with quality hair care whether he liked it or not.

"What's with that look? Jus' think that cause ye managed te grow oot a greasy mop o' hair on yer face and a wild mess o'vines on yer scalp that you got good hair that you'd deign te have a wee razor touch it, eh? Having proper facial hair requires more work than jus' waitin' around 'til ye can't properly eat a good stew anymore, laddy. Ye gots te wash it on the regular, clean it, brush it, comb it, make sure it's properly styled an' regularly trimmed. Else ye just look like some filthy savage that don't know his own rear end from his 'ead. Or maybe ye jus' don' think I know me way 'round a blade, do ye? I honed my craft since long before you were a mere glimmer in yer daddy's eye. I've had more satisfied customers than the sum total of strands o' hair covering yer whole body!"

---

This Yomdi character was certainly a card. She'd never heard of him, so the extent of his knowledge and wisdom was left entirely up to the imagination. But judging from how formally Keystone treated the old man, he certainly held him in great repute. What was a bit more surprising was that Keystone actually was a disciple of a monk clan.

That he had received some sort of monk training was fairly obvious hanging around the cook the past few days. The glimpses of combat she'd seen him perform were very Monk-y, but how he kept up all night with meditation was the dead giveaway for that. She'd just assumed that he'd traded food and protection to some monk in addition for some pointers on... whatever it is Monks actually used to perform their superhuman feats. They were a weird lot. However she was called out by Yomdi for not introducing herself, might as well follow Keystone's lead and give the formal introduction.

"My apologies. I am Cyneburg Jregh-Croft, 8th ranked Initiate of the Broken Fang." It occurred to Cyne immediately after the words came out of her mouth how unlikely it was for any non-druids to have an knowledge of the way the organization was set up, let alone be able to recognize a faction within based solely on the name. "That's a circle of the Druid organization anchored West of here," she added on at the end. Hopefully that would be enough clarification to settle things on her part.

Satilla Valen

This was weird. The man was weird one, Satilla had no idea what to make of him. The way he carried himself and the way he talked to them and Keystone. She suddenly blushed in embarrassment when he kind of started sounding like he was scolding them for not introducing themselves. The witch felt so bad about it, she had been so intrigued by the man and Keystone's connection that she forgot her manners.

“Please forgive my bad manners.” She said, making a half official bowl.” My name's Satilla Valen, I'm a witch, follower of the path of good.” Satilla explained, hoping her profession wouldn't cause her to be attacked or thrown out the temple.” I'm proficient with medical treatments and healing magic.” She explained her abilities with a smile.

“I've never seen anything like this.” She added when they started explaining Sana's condition.” After her initial healing was successful, stabilizing her condition and pulling her out of the grave danger, all magical healing attempts seem to backfire.” She explained, explaining all she noticed about her condition while she was examining and treating her on the road.” I've tried a number of medications also, some just to aid her recovery, some to relieve pain.” She then explained every little herb, every medicine she had prepared for Sana.

"I didn't dare trying to use a healing hex after I saw how normal healing magic backfired." She added.

Settling for a Cot for five Silver, and settling with the innkeeper, Thomas did think the prices fairly fair. Although who the others were who had happened to be settling in town as well, who where these mystery guests he'd share room with? As long as they kept to themselves and their peace, Thomas would surely do the same. A private room off Kyra's tab seemed a bit much thus either pride or self-preservation suggested she might ask a pound of flesh from Thomas should Satilla not make it. With at least a quart of blood to boot. But the promise of food outside of Keystone's cooking, which probably went under appreciated by the mage during his star-phase, was something to either dread or enjoy. It may be better, it could be worse, probably worse, but then again as long as the prepper didn't try to kill him...

"Keeping me company here Ntaj?" Thomas inquired of his orcish friend, "I appreciate it. I don't know what's next for me, I could stay here and wait for another cycle of adventurers but... I owe it to Sana and Kyra... And Keystone and Satilla to stick around and try and help them out for all I've done. It was always easier in the stories, I mean my last group had a sociopathic dodgy rogue who double-crossed us, a holier-than-thou paladin, and an idiotic bard who kept on giving away our positions by doing musical numbers, dancing and singing away as if we weren't trying not get killed by lizardmen! But they are dead now. And the group I had before that were all magi, didn't quite work out as planned. I mean our group is decent but I'd wish they'd just realize my spells aren't friendly to anyone nearby them, I feel useless Ntaj, probably because I am useless I mean who am I kidding, I should just go back to my hometown and be a farmer. Adventuring hasn't been all it's made up to be."

One long rambling soliloquy later, Thomas opened up to Ntaj, signaling for an (alcoholic) beverage to the innkeeper (Was there a legal drinking age? Beers were after all often cleaner than water being brewed and all). He even considered getting a touch up from the equally rambling dwarf, had he longer hair. Although Thomas' hair was clearly unnatural with its tones of black, silver and gold representing the star, moon and sun respectively. But enough talk of hairstyle and high fashion, it seemed the foolish swordsman came back in and Thomas didn't just have Ntaj and a pitching dwarf to keep company but someone who Thomas would imagine was the equivalent of him during Star-Phase, although Star-phase was aloof and didn't tend to stick a nose in anyone's business.

"You made a mistake earlier, I should know, I did the same thing and I'm still in the doghouse." A casual comment to the swordsman who joined them.

---

---

Kyra stepped into the Magistrates office building, the door closing simply behind her before she followed Marcus to his office and had a seat. Taking his seat across from her the exchange began over what had happened to both the town and out in the woods over the last week. Seemed there were a lot of similarities between both attacks. There were skeletons, both your common ones and exploding. Those that died in the battle rose again afterwards and some during. The red mist was another issue both had to face. Seemed though that the red mist did not appear in the town fight until later on, it wasn't until Femnal had come out of the tavern and took part.

Kyra leaned back thinking to herself but she couldn't recall when the red mist decided to take part with her group. At least not a trigger for it since her group was together when the attack began. The only thing she could think of was the magic users but could that be it? Shaking her head clear of the thought she sat up and leaned forward as Marcus brought out a map of the village and showed where the attack had started and its progression.

It seemed he was both relieved that the Orcs were not the cause but at the same time nearly disheartened. It was more than obvious the man had a prejudice against the orcs, or was it just because with the Orcs not being the cause there was no one to point a finger at just yet. "Well what the hell are we supposed to do now? Other than just continuing to fight to stay alive?" he half asked her, half asked himself.

Kyra didn't say anything as she continued to study the map of the village. Her brow cocking a bit before she stood up. "What?" he asked as she took the map and folded it up.

"Just want to go over it with my group," she said before letting herself out after scribing a quick word back to her King and sending it on its way. It was time to get back to the tavern and wait for the rest to get back. She worried about Sana and her state, hoping that whoever Keystone had taken her to could help.

Down in the Temple, Yomdi was well, being Yomdi. Looking over the two new comers as they introduced themselves and explained what they knew. It was an odd way of listening, as he kept going from standing up, to crossing his legs and sitting down; stroking his beard as he went. Seemed he had a lot of energy or was just wishing there was a chair in his mediation area. Could have gone either way with him.

"Well that is just down right weird! And I know weird. Tell me, tell me, what were your original injuries?" he asked Sana, who was rather perplexed but tried to speak. Hearing the gravel coming out in her voice he clapped his hands over her mouth. "You sound like grating steel. Good thing you aren't a singer," he said. Sana turned her her trying to talk but he kept moving his hand back over her mouth.

"Someone else tell me. How did she get hurt? I can't listen to that voice."

After placing an order for food, Ntaj went to put Sana’s horse in the stables. Simple enough; hopefully Epona had a good impression of Ntaj the first time they spoke. Afterwards Ntaj got himself set up with a table and a large meal. He had hoped for something like beef or pork, though instead all they had was fish, beans, mushrooms, and bread. He supposed that it’s much what he could expect, and he certainly wasn’t going to complain. For five gold he got himself a feast, buying all the old bread the inn had an a pot of soup for himself. He’s been eating sparsely in his travels, so the chance to gorge wasn’t something he was going to pass up on. Ordering a tankard of ale and some water for himself, Ntaj began to feast, tossing meaty chunks of fish onto a plate on the floor for Honey as well. As long as it keeps him off the table.

As Ntaj was halfway through his meal Thomas joined him at the table. Clearing his mouth of food, Ntaj gave the bumbling mage a curt greeting. ”Hi.” Shortly after, Thomas went on some long rant that Ntaj couldn’t quite get all at once. Something something company, followed by the tone of shame and disappointment. Ntaj actually had to stop eating for a moment and try to take in all these things Thomas was saying. Though while Thomas had no thick accent like others, the fact he said so much in such a short amount of time made it impossible for the Common-challenged half-orc to understand anything he said. The best he could glean is that it has something to do with Sana, Keystone, and Kyra, so Ntaj imagined it had something to do with Thomas’s place within their group and his screw up from before.

So picking up a bread roll, Ntaj shoved it towards Thomas’s mouth. ”Talk too much. Worry too much. Keystone, Kyra, Sana don’t like you. Meh. They not problem. Undead are problem. They don’t want be you friend, okay. They not enemy, better. Thomas mage, yeah? Mage are smart. So be smart, don’t be stupid. If you do stupid, stay with Ntaj. Ntaj make you useful.” Ntaj felt putting it in common would be the easiest way to get his point across. Do away with the fancy talk and get to the core of it. Taking a few more bites of bread and draining the soup pot of it’s contents, Ntaj let out a satisfied burp and drank some ale. ”You try help Sana, almost kill her. Now Kyra and Keystone want kill you. Let healer like Satilita help Sana. You want help them, kill undead. Simple.”

Speaking of this undead threat, Ntaj turned to face Magnus. If what Ntaj understood was correct, he wanted to do something about this undead menace as well. Ntaj wasn’t sure what his stake in this was, but then again Ntaj was practically doing this pro bono. Still best to at least get an idea why these guys were sticking their necks out for total strangers, and in Thomas’s case, strangers who don’t like him. ”So, said before. Name Ntaj . Ntaj Totem Warrior, mighty orc berserker from Dark Star. Who are you, and what can you do?” He also looked over at Thomas. While he was aware that Thomas was a mage, Ntaj actually doesn’t know what sort of magic he can do. It’d be a good idea to learn. ”Thomas too. What’s Thomas magic?”

---

---

Say one thing for the Dwarven barber, say he was committed to his craft. Magnus had never met a man so skilled or insistent at the hard sell. Truth be told, the man’s passion was more than a touch intimidating.

And maybe he had a point. After all, who would know more about proper beard care than a dwarf? Maybe he should take him up on his offer after all. That said, Maggie didn’t have the time just now. Too many questions were still left unanswered about Salarn, too many rocks left unturned, too many people hiding secrets. There was a job to do here. After, and only after, could he even countenance relaxing.

He held his hands up in surrender. “Alright, alright, I give, ok? I’ll let you ply your craft on my mug, if’n the price be right. Not just now though. There’s work to be done, and not as much time to do it in as I’d like. I’ll come find you when I’ve got a moment to spare, and then we’ll test the proof of your claims. Happy? In the meantime, have a drink on me.” That said, he raised his hand and ordered a tankard of mead for the barber. Hopefully that would pacify the irate shorty.

He watched on in awe as Ntaj devoured what seemed like half Salarn’s food supplies in one sitting, equal parts amazed and horrified at the half-Orcs appetite. It was really quite the scene. They were joined by a young-looking man in a robe, a mage of some sort if Magnus was any judge. He’d try not to hold it against him. The mage seemed to be pouring his heart out about … well, Magnus wasn’t entirely sure, the man spoke too quickly to keep track off, and he was only half paying attention anyway – too busy entranced by the spectacle that was Ntaj eating – but the supposed-spellcaster seemed quite aggrieved. He finally paused in his monologue just long enough to offer his opinions of Magnus’ earlier actions. The swordsman offered him a small grin and a shrug in response.

“Don’t worry about it lad. I have that effect on all the ladies. Usually doesn’t take quite so quickly mind you, but I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t used to it.”

Ntaj, finished with his titanic sized meal, introduced himself for a second time, revealing that he was a berserker from Dark Star. Seemed polite for the swordsman to do likewise.

“Names Maggie Arhakaine, from out Neverwinter way. Not much too tell really, I got a sword, I hit things with it. Simple, but simple works, ken?”

---

---

Location: Yellow Rose Temple

Interacting With: Satilla, Cyneburg, Yomdi

---

---

Keystone had explained in detail what he witnessed personally concerning Sana's condition and the fight that brought it on. The presence of undead in massive numbers, the tactics used, and Sana's drain from spellsinging (for lack of a better term). Even the well-meant but hamfisted attempt to administer a potion to her unconscious form was detailed, as well as Keystone's own mundane efforts to assist. Yomdi, however, insisted upon hearing it again. The broad pugilist retold his story.

Perhaps it was a tactic; repetition to sort out the truth of the matter. Asking all of them to tell from their own points of view to look for details in common as well as details that individuals might have missed. Or just to see the looks on their faces to ascertain if they were intentionally hiding something. Whatever the case, Keystone told his story as best he could.

He had been to many monastic orders, martial training facilities, and the like. Every temple leader was a little different. Some actively used magic, a thing in which Keystone was particularly unversed. Some were actually Clerics that gained insight on barehanded fighting. Others were people similar to him - ordinary folk who pushed their minds and bodies to limits thought unattainable by normal men. Still others challenged themselves to achieve personal enlightenment, a more mystical or mental path that gave them abilities similar to magic, but something else altogether. The core of Keystone's thought on this matter being that he actually had little idea what Yomdi was capable of doing at his best, or what miracles he could perform to assist in the healing of Sana. All he could do is repeat his story as clearly and honestly as possible.

Perhaps an answer existed in the combined efforts of those present in that candlelit, black marble room. At this point, it was anyone's guess. Keystone merely hoped that the crazy old man who ran things here could provide him answers and his friend help. For that, he would repeat himself many times if requested.

Cyne & Nor

Location: Temple & Crossed Swords Tavern
Interacting with:Yomdi & Magnus

"Sorry te disappoint ye, lad but I stopped drinkin' long ago. Maybe if ye caught me ooooh 20or 30 years back I woulda taken that drink merrily. But now? Not so much." Nor pulled out a chair at the table before hopping up and clambering into a proper sitting position. He'd been doing this shit for years, but he'd still end up fucking it up very rarely. Luckily now wasn't one of those times. Nevertheless, he still resented the tall races for making all their furniture too fucking tall.

"And I'm Nor Dunadkar, son of Gnor. I come from the lands of Arian. A very mountainous country too the far South." Nor clearly wasn't part of the current conversation between the two warriors, but here he was anyways. They were exchanging pleasantries and the like, so he would too. Not like there was anything else to do in the godsforsaken village while waiting on his one customer to settle his business.

---

"Master Yomdi, he just said that her original injury was hypothermia caused by overexertion while performing a magical spell." This Yomdi was quite the card indeed. After listening to Keystone recount the entire chronicle for what had happened, he asked for information he'd already received. Old age might have affected his ability to hear/remember and there were plenty of cases of such things occurring. She'd even met some senior druids who appeared to have gone completely senile, but at the point where she had almost given up on conversation, they would show a glimpse of the true extent of their wisdom. She'd just have to hope that this was something of a similar situation.

Satilla Valen

Satilla was quite confused by this old man. He made no sense or if he did she couldn't follow it. Maybe it was his progress towards being senile? Maybe it was just her unable to follow his train of thought, it wouldn't be the first time she couldn't follow someone's way of thinking, but hey might as well just reply to his questions.

“From what I saw, she used her magic to create wall of ice... which on itself would be pretty energy draining. Additionally the ice nature of the spell seemed to have seeped into her, causing the chill to take hold of her body and thus lowering body temperature, which caused her hypothermia. Following that from what I remember she also used a wide healing spell of some sorts while she was still in bad condition which while spell did happen she was thrown unconscious by the effort of casting it.” Satilla then quickly also detailed her observation of the situation back then.

"After that I used most of my magic to stabilize her condition, but after pretty much the current improvement, any attempt to heal her via magic backfired so I stopped attempting out of fear it may cause a lot more damage than improve her health."

Well despite consuming what may be half-a-meteric-ton of food, Ntaj was all the wiser for it. Having listened to Thomas' spiel as he concerned himself in manners he probably should have buried. But the burden of guilt was something even Atlas would buckle under. Hence his long-winded words rambling on and on. But the half-orc was right, Mages are supposed to be smart, clever folk who had their noses buried in texts so deep that, well nevermind. That being said Thomas hadn't one of those books on hand, and perhaps the safety of a good book would shield him from the wrath of Kyra, Sana and Keystone. Maybe he could dabble back into his spellbook and work on his spellcraft, maybe learn how to refine his spells to avoid striking down allies in the fray.

"I guess, thanks Ntaj." Thomas sheepishly replied, the winds taken from his sails. "Thomas, Cosmic Sorcerer. Uh, I'm what they say to be a natural-born spellcaster, my blood's got some magical essence, particularly one attuned to the celestial spheres. So in theory, all that you see in the sky beyond us, those are my relatives, or something like that. It's far less simple than hitting things with a sword, and I'm not sure anyone understands how exactly it works." Thomas's introduction and a nod towards Magnus and the Dwarf who had comically tried to climb a mountain, figuratively, as dwarves were usually at home on a mountain, or rather in a mountain? Under a mountain? Tales of how great Dwarven empires created the impossible, the roots of the mountain. And they too had more impossible things like the beard of a woman. Good crafters and skilled artisans, scholars perhaps if not drunken on mead, ale or other frothy pints.

And speaking of cold ones, Thomas picked up the cup he had ordered and began to drink.

"Yep, so there's undead about, some caster I'm sure. I don't dabble in necromancy, but in theory you can deconstruct a spell. The zombies we faced were like puppets, and like puppets on strings they acted without an instinct of self-preservation. And hearing their puppeteer taunt us, I'd say there's a definite range to the attacks. Maybe some interference, I don't know a ritual to protect the town, but if someone's got a copy of the instructions I'm pretty sure I can cast it with some help. Then again, he's got some powerful allies with that Crimson Death he had. So I'm nearly certain we are dealing with a pretty powerful necromancer who's either had years of practice to effortlessly detonate his minions and toy with us, or someone very naughty with a very powerful dark artifact who is experimenting."

Another sip, as a break from his projections ruminated to anyone in earshot. Hopefully the others would have more news, and Sana would be okay.

Ntaj didn't expect Nor to sit in on the conversation but the dwarf wasn't a problem, so it didn't really concern the berserker. He listened to the three talk and stayed quiet, mostly because he was trying to piece together what they were saying in his head. As per usual Thomas said a lot of things that didn't really make sense for many reasons, so Ntaj addressed that first. {Speak elven Thomas, my grasp of the common tongue is not as strong as you believe.} Best Ntaj could discern with Thomas is that his magic had something to do with sky. Weather magic perhaps? Ntaj didn't know, hopefully the boy wizard would explain himself better.

Maggie Arhakaine, as he introduced himself, did get a whiff of Ntaj's interest when he mentioned Neverwinter. "Neverwinter? Neverwinter City? Friend in Neverwinter. Good friend, good place." Aside from that Maggie was a simple swordsman. Suited Ntaj just fine; after Calanon left to somewhere unknown they could use an extra sword in his place. That aside, Ntaj also vaguely remembered Maggie saying something about the dead being dug up. Not simply the undead digging themselves out, but someone robbing graves for their corpses. Seemed odd to Ntaj, though then again he's never dabbled in necromancy before. Generally he just thought necromancers got most of their corpses from killing people and then raising them. "Maggie, you say dead dug out? No dead dig self out? Necromancer must rob grave. Any tracks?"

That's when Thomas mentioned something about a Crimson Death. Seemed like an odd two words to put together unless it was a name, and Ntaj knew that crimson was a variant of the color red. So Thomas must know something about that red mist thing they had fought at the orc camp. It was some sort of ghost so mundane weapons couldn't touch it, but it could fly and had some way of hurting people physically. Ntaj wondered if perhaps this Crimson Death could dig up corpses, or at least ferry them away. "Thomas, what is Crimson Death?"

And lastly there was Nor. Ntaj wasn't sure what Nor wanted; Ntaj wasn't really in the mood for soap right now. Unless Nor was also a mercenary as well as a merchant. Ntaj had met only a few dwarves in his life, but each one had some skills with axes and hammers to protect themselves and properties. He'd imagine that Nor was much the same, and if not, he was at least a merchant who might have goods and maybe even horses they could use. A funny idea struck Ntaj's mind: since Cremwise revealed to be a war profiteer, perhaps Nor was too. If nothing else if Nor joined the party he'd be replacing Cremwise's former position, wherever that dodgy old man is at now. "Nor. Merchant, yeah? Could make money if you help."

---

---

Sliding the map into her pack she slipped it onto her back and kept walking towards the tavern from the Magistrates office, her mind going over what she had discussed with Marcus, what was on the map, and what they had been through over the last week. Stopping her her tracks, she remembered something and pulled the map back out before glancing around the streets and back towards the way they had come form the Orc Camp. Pursing her lips the map was back in her pack without another thought.

Stepping over to the tavern she spotted Ash curled up outside of the stables, seemed he wasn't going too far from Epona and that Ntaj had taken care of the horse for her like she had asked. She was grateful enough for that as she made her way into the building proper. Though seeing Thomas and Njat with the guy from earlier and another new comer made her brows furrow. Turning she slipped over to the bar and had a seat on a stool as Femnal came over to her.

"Has Keystone returned yet?" she asked before ordering something to eat and drink for the evening.

"No, they aren't back yet from taking the girl to the temple, granted if that crack pot is as winded as ever, they might be there a while," Femnal said as he poured some mead for Kyra and slipped it across the bar towards her.

"I see," she said before glancing around the room, her eyes falling on the four of them speaking before turning back towards Femnal. "Know the two sitting with the mage and the half-orc?"

Femnal perked a brow as he glanced over and shook his head. "Don't know them, granted don't know the two that came back with you either. Not going to cause any problems are they?" he asked.

"Just don't let the mage try to be a healer and keep the kitchen stocked and you should be fine. At least from the two I know. Can't vouch for the others," she said before she took a sip of her mead and awaited her meal.

"That why you aren't over there with them?"

"Pretty much. One of them gives me a bad vibe. I don't trust anyone who goes snooping around a village trying to get information but won't even tell the local constable what he knows or thinks he knows about the attacks. Doesn't sit right with me. I don't share information with those types," she said as her food was brought over. Picking up the bowl she tossed a few coin on the bar top and headed outside with her food and drink. Taking a seat on the ground next to Ash she leaned against the wall of the stable she began to eat slowly, thinking to herself while she waited for Keystone and the others to return.

Over at the temple Yomdi listened, well maybe he was listening. He was pacing around the room not even looking at them as he stroked his beard and kept messing around with his robes. It was when he finally heard about Sana singing to cast that he stopped and looked over before looking away again.

"Ahh a singer! Wind! Yes, yes, it all makes sense. Winds moving, cold, hot, hard, soft. So many winds so little time," he said repeating those very lines over and over again. He must have repeated those words a dozen times before he finally stopped in his tracts and looked over at Keystone from across the room at this point.

"Put her in the center of the room, yes, yes. Winds. Why you bring her to yomdi, Yomdi knows this. Yomdi knows these things. Wind things. Cannot do without wind. Yes, hurry, there, there," he said pointing to the center of the room. Sana looking weakly but strangely towards Yomdi.

"He's nuts..." she said but Yomdi only laughed.

"Not nuts, nuts grow, come from earth. Yomdi is wind!" he exclaimed like a giddy school boy. "Now, stop talking, sounds like you been gargling gravel. Yuck winds!"

Nor

Location: Crossed Swords Tavern
Interacting with:Ntaj, Thomas & Magnus

Nor looked blankly at Thomas through his many ramblings. He understood maybe half of anything he'd said, but chalked it all up to a bunch of arcane mumbo jumbo. Nothing involving arcane magic ever seemed to make much sense. Wave your arms around like a buffoon, throw around some toenail clippings and then that somehow makes a bolt of lightning? And that was just the practice of it. The word form was even more nonsensical. Try bringing up a star to a wizard type and they'll chat your ear off about astrological something or others and the phases of the ocean. Were it not for the fact that they could break reality, they'd have probably been rounded up and tossed in looney bins long ago. And then they have the gall to be surprised when nobody trusts their lot.

"I'm a barber, lad." Nor replied curtly to Ntaj. Had he not heard a word of the plethora of pronouncements he'd just made about hair? Of course he could speak the elvish tongue just fine though. "'Merchant' doesn't quite do me justice. Implies I be buying and selling things I've no interest in. Forms the wrong impression. But what did ye have in mind? I might be able te make it work."

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Location: Yellow Rose Temple

Interacting With: Sana, Yomdi

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In reaction to Sana's blunt but likely accurate assessment that Yomdi was in fact "Nuts", Keystone held up his hand and brought his thumb and forefinger close together, as if to measure just a small amount. His subtle but vigorous nodding and widened eyes pointed to a general agreement with her findings. Yes, Yomdi's cheese had slipped almost all the way off of his cracker. "Don't mean he's wrong, though."

Keystone stepped forward with Sana to the center of the room, where the Temple Master had instructed she be placed, and knelt down to place her upon the ground. "Mayhap he'll surprise you, yeah? He 'elped me align m'bloody chakras and whatnot. Interestin' tutorial 'bout effective use of bodily wind... er... but that ain't related, quite."

"Yeah! Total faith in the man."

Okay, so he meditated with the guy a while back, and true to word, Yomdi passed along knowledge of harnessing wind to accomplish tasks that normal men could not. It wasn't his fault that for whatever reason, Keystone's attempts to manipulate that particular element were met with catastrophic, personally injuring failure. It wasn't until he worked with what was described as "The worst slice in the history of Monk-ing." Might as well go with it. Instead of trying to manipulate, he started with the concept of expulsion. And in that regard, Keystone was magnificently adept. Of course, all this meant was that he was a shoo-in for provincial contests involving the buildup and release of internally produced vapors (both upper and lower), across the board with depth, duration, and raw decibel output, but damnit, it was a start.

So naturally, when Yomdi said it was an elemental wind issue and could be treated thusly, Keystone was willing to give the old man the benefit of the doubt.

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Magnus inclined his head in Nor’s direction, both as a greeting and as acknowledgment. Maybe the Dwarf hadn’t been invited into the conversation, but he wasn’t hurting anyone by joining in. Wasn’t as if there was much else going on in this hamlet to divert a man’s attention anyway. Remarkable just how boring a war with the orcs and an assault by the undead could get.

Ntaj was quickly proving himself a far more thoughtful fellow than his brutish appearance would give him credit for. He raised a good point about the tracks, one that Magnus had considered himself while in the graveyard, though lacked the skill to follow up.

“Aye, there were tracks. Place has seen too much traffic though, ground to churned up and far too disturbed. It quickly went beyond my skills to track. Someone more versed in such things, a huntress perhaps, could have better joy.”

The mage, Thomas, mused on what he felt may be causing the zombie infestation. Long-windedness was obviously a requirement for spell-casters, whether they’re magic came naturally or not. Da an Renard would’a loved this kid. All three of them could’a talked long into the night, just to realise at the end of it that not one of them had said anything of substance. One thing Thomas said did pique his interest though.

“Crimson Death? What’s that?” Seemed Ntaj was just as interested. Magnus had never heard of anything called such. Though rule of thumb was that anything with ‘death’ in its name was gonna be bad times all around.

Satilla Valen

After Satilla finished her part of the explanation she simply stared quietly and in confusion. This man was so clearly out of his mind, but that wasn't always a bad thing. The witch knew more than well that sometimes those who were out of it were often quite adept at tackling interesting questions and challenges since they had a very different point of view. It was that different way of thinking that made them so valuable allies and terrifying enemies at occasions.

Also when she thought about it, Satilla did realize the thing the man spoke about was quite logical. In this case wind...air...song...voice... all were closely tied. Maybe it was also the reason why her spells backfired, there was internal... 'wind' problem in her body? She'd have to wait and see, maybe hear the very mad explanation about it and work her way around understating what Yomdi said. There were many different ways to heal out there, different ideologies and different understanding of medicine. Satilla kept a rather open mind about it, always happy to see and learn anything new when it came to healing. This could be an invaluable experience for her!

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Sana looked less than convinced that this man wasn't about to kill her or make matters worse but at this rate she knew she really didn't have many other options. Well, other than giving up her bard skills. They were something she had fought against for so long but now that she had them and she was one of the few last of the Rawn Clan, she didn't want to give them up now if she could help it. As Keystone rested her in the center of the room she looked over to him and mumbled in a gravel like voice. "He kills me, I'm haunting yer ass..."

"Ick, stop, bad voice. Dirty wind. Like friends Kraken!" Yomdi exclaimed as he motioned over wildly to Keystone. "Yes, Yes, Yomdi hear. Big talk in town, ride on wind. Nasty winds it was. Could be deadly if done right, or wrong. Dirty winds. Peeeeyu!" he added with a laugh as he hopped around the room. Each motion and word coming from his mouth caused the look of concern to grown on Sana's voice.

"Now, just hold still, no worries. Yomdi fix you right up Yomdi will." He seemed very excited. "Only small chance it go bad but Yomdi got this," he said as he began. Sana was about to say something but a wind picked up around her and took what "dirty" breath she had and stilled it.

Yomdi was moving in what looked like some premeditated movements but one couldn't be sure. He was all over the place. (Think Yoda in a fight, on crack, laced with red bull) - Had to give the man props, he was agile for a man that could have been anywhere from between sixty and two-hundred. He was evidently much taller than he appeared to people most of the time as well. Usually appearing very hunched over and causing him to appear with his robes to be a mere five foot and five inches. Yet as he moved, it was clear he was well over six feet in true stature.

Sana would have noticed this but she appeared to be suffocating as she couldn't release her breath or draw her in as a whirl wind picked up around the room and swirled about her. This didn't stop the old man as he continued, each movement building the winds in the chamber to a blistering speed causing dust to kick up, clothing and hair to ruffle, skin to feel pulled. It was like being caught up in the straight winds of a hurricane and Sana was caught in the eye but things were anything but calm. As the winds reached their apex, Yomdi thrust his hands forward and every swirl of wind hit Sana and sent her flying like a rag doll across the room.

He smiled! Like actually smiled brightly as he laughed and hopped around. The winds going to a calm clean breeze. "Breath the fresh air!"

Sana didn't move.

"Yomdi say breath the fresh air!" he said still laughing but the laughter was dying down.

Sana still didn't move.

"I SAID," picking Sana up by the scruff of her outfit, her body hanging blue and limp. SMACK! right square on her back and Sana gasped, taking the first breath she had in what felt like forever. "Breath the fresh air!"

Coughing he let her go, Sana dropping to her knees and gasping for air, taking it in as if she had just come up after being held underwater for far too long. "You idiot! You could have killed me!" Sana said between gasps but her voice was clear as a bell. She stopped, still chest heaving as she tried to catch her breath fully now and looking at the old man shocked.

"Told ya, Yomdi fix you up right as wind!"