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Spot Check:
Alæthe: 13+3 = 16 (must be distracted by the mages)
BrightEyes : 14+7=21 (Gotta love a Hawk's vision)


Alæthe shook out her dyed-brown hair as she strode out onto the plains, leading the ragtag fleet of mages behind her. The incessant talking had bothered her all through the trip thus far. The tall woman sighed, realizing that she'd been out in the woods too long, and perversely glad for it.

(Spot Check 12+nary a modifier in sight, near as I can tell=12)

Greyson, struck by a thought, speeds up, drifting towards the front of the little group, drawing up beside the exceedingly tall guide. "Have you, by chance, heard of any portals of some sort hereabouts? Magical ones, that is, they're someting of an interest of mine." That said, he reallizes that he's not entirely sure if he ever actually introduced himself before, so he hastens to do so, "I'm Greyson, by the way. Sorry." He winces, inwardly, at how clumsy that sounds...he's been out in the middle of nowhere by himself for too long.

White Haven wrote: Greyson, struck by a thought, speeds up, drifting towards the front of the little group, drawing up beside the exceedingly tall guide. "Have you, by chance, heard of any portals of some sort hereabouts? Magical ones, that is, they're someting of an interest of mine." That said, he reallizes that he's not entirely sure if he ever actually introduced himself before, so he hastens to do so, "I'm Greyson, by the way. Sorry." He winces, inwardly, at how clumsy that sounds...he's been out in the middle of nowhere by himself for too long.

Both the ranger and the hawk look down at Greyson, eyes the same shade of aqua blue. "I know of none that you would be allowed to use, Master Greyson." is the calm truthful answer. Mages... always searching for ways to power. Even her father and mother had been that way.

“Let’s see, we’ve over three hundred leagues to travel, even as the crow flies,” Aoldu looked up at the interruption, and grimaced, “I see.” he said, “well, I suppose we should go and see if we cannot lend aid.”

Khaless nodded, “If it is not too much of an distraction,” she agreed, “we can be there very quickly, whereas the journey to Damberath will take many days at the minimum.” The human nodded, “If you are coming with me on Sardranon,” he said, “It will be very difficult to fly at great speed with that much of a burden.”

“We must travel lightly?” she asked, unsurprised.

The former nodded, “If nothing else, we can pass over the area and make an effort at finding the marauders,” he said, pulling a belt, a pouch of assorted trinkets he had collected, and another of the focuses for some lesser arcane spells, and most importantly, three scabbards. The first two were small, holding in them a pair of daggers. He took them out for a moment, habitually inspecting them against the golden – presumptuous one might say, and indeed, it would be true, Issard Tariqskel was indeed possessed of an impressive ego – clothes, the silver covered blades gleaming in the soft light of a nearby lamp.

He had eschewed armour this time, travelling light meant that even the twenty pounds of the marvellously light chain was far too heavy to bother with, as was the heavy mace he used, from time to time. The only other weapon he would take was a long sword, a finely crafted length of steel, tempered and forged with obvious and even loving care. He sheathed the weapon, and laid his hand on the hilt. He glanced at the cleric of Eilistraee, who had, quite perceptively, come similarly unarmoured, “Then,” he said, “let us go forth.”

They walked out, and Aoldu paused, speaking to the scout still waiting, who had brought him this news. They spoke for some time as the sorcerer left detailed instructions for the scout and others to travel to the distant city of Cathyr. The followers could bring possessions that could not be brought at once, but their speed was greatly limited by being simple overland speed. The griffin, Sardranon nodded slightly at his ‘master’ as he came out from the building at last. It was a mystery to most if the avian-feline creature could speak, for if it did, it had never done so, even in Khaless’ presence.

The golden-over-clothed figure pulled a heavy travelling coat about his shoulders, only a small amount of his other raiment visible under the mantle, and he fastened a heavier, cloak over that, adjusting the dull bronze clasp at its neck, its all encompassing cowl down, it would only be pushed back in flight. He hopped up into the saddle on the creatures shoulders, one foot in the near stirrup.

Issard smiled despite himself as the drow cleric mounted the animal also, perching herself, similarly dressed, in front of him, as he eased his booted foot into the other stirrup and took the reigns, carefully crafted not to interfere with Sardrannon’s beak. Had the griffin had the inclination to speak, it would have complained about their combined weight. Instead he just laboured his way into the air.

Outskirts of the Forest of Amtar

[OOC: For those who's Spot checks beat 20.]

The more sharp-eyed among the group caught sight of movement in the distance, down on the plains. A group of horsemen was in the distance, riding east.

Stormbringer wrote:Harvey reclined in one of the tables against the wall of the tavern. It was the sort of cheap ale house where the booze warm, the shadows dark, and the serving girls of accomodating virtue. In short a good place to find trouble; those in it and looking to get out, those looking to start it, and those generally thriving at the edge of acceptable. Outside the Order's orphanage in Crimwald it was these taverns closest thing he had to home.

The tall, wiry rogue had spent the afternoon as he had for a good couple months, looking for profitable work. So far aside from a few penny ante jobs the south had proved dismal. Now down on his luck he was running low on funds and was thinking of moving on.

Well, I'll give it a few more weeks. If it's a bust I snatch up some travel money and head back north.

Since there had been no real prospects he contented himself to watch a barbaric looking pair of fellows drink themselves under the table as he cleaned his nails with a dagger.

The watcher, in this case, was also the watched. A brooding figure nursing an ale in one of the darkened corners was nothing unusual here, so as long as he wasn't quite so blantant about it, Markus figured he wouldn't rouse anyones suspicions. The tavern was the usual mix of scum you could find in any of the other gods forsaken ale houses around here. If it wasn't for the fact that he'd only just finished paying off the tab for the last bar brawl he'd been dragged into, he'd almost wish for someone in here to dare commit a crime right here in front of him. As much as he hated it, he had to admit that he needed the work. The pickings in this town for a thief-taker were slim to nothing recently. It wasn't even worth the price of this ale to capture one of the petty thieves running around. If it wasn't for his ring, he'd have long since starved by now.

"Almost makes me wish I took up adventuring," he mumbled to himself, downing the remains of the mug in one gulp. "Maybe I should move on already. This town's just become a bore. New surroundings might do me a world of good. Somewhere up north maybe."

As the door opened, Markus ran his eyes with interest over the newcomer. Obviously not a regular, from the way he tried to chat up the serving girls. Probably from out of town. No one from around here would drw attention to themselves in such an obvious manner. Best to keep a good eye on him. Not because he might do something, but because he was the type who the thieves from around here would just love to mug. Someone who can afford to travel must be loaded compared to the local pickings. He only hoped that he was willing to pay a fee on a similar scare when the thief-catcher was inevitably needed

The man beneath the flamboyant hat sighs, but nods, dropping back into the midst of the group at the rebuff. Typical selfish provincial attitude...portals aren't 'used up,' they don't 'run out,' so there's no reason to be snippy about it. He keeps his grumbling to himself, however; it wouldn't be the most intelligent act to alienate people he may have to rely on.

"The local portals will belong to Halruaan mages.. Some of the most stuck-up folks in the Realms.. Or to the Drow beneath our feet, who are simply xenophobic and violent. Don't go seeking either." Malkamar replied, gazing ot the horizon. "We've got company. Headed east, and mounted."

SirNitram wrote:"The local portals will belong to Halruaan mages.. Some of the most stuck-up folks in the Realms.. Or to the Drow beneath our feet, who are simply xenophobic and violent. Don't go seeking either." Malkamar replied, gazing ot the horizon. "We've got company. Headed east, and mounted."

"More company? I guess it would be too much to ask that they're friendly?" Arnak replied in a frustrated manner. "Was it simply too much to ask for a peaceful jorney for once?" he thought to himself.

Lorn will make his way into the bar. Spotting his recent new acquaintance he'll make his way over to were Harvey is sitting.

"Whatya say Harvey? Mind if I sit down?" Not waiting for a response, Lorn will pull up a chair and sit down. He'll signal a waitress for a beer. The state of the tavern didn't bother him in least, he'd been in a lot of worse dives, most of them in his native Waterdeep.

"Has the booze improved since yesterday?"

Greyson looks over at the paladin with a surprised expression crossing his face...his prior encounters with paladins havn't impressed him with their qualities of open information exchange, to say the least. Before he can reply, however, the Sunite's next words set a frown crossing his face, slowing down and turning his head to the east in an effort to pick them out. One hand loosens the drawstring on a pouch and fishes out a small piece of well-worn, rough shell. "How far?"

[OOC: They're barely discernible. Out of fireball range, anyway. ]

Alduras knew he was drawing attention to himself just a bit. But beeing gregarious would draw not only the attention of those of disrepute, but also of those who he could use. He was utterly confident in such an environment as well.

Though, he did wonder how much attention he was drawing
[spot check: 17+8=25]

ANd caught the eye of a ma of modest stature with piercing green eyes.
[Sense Motive: 14+8=22]
He could tell from the way the man had his head tilted, and the nature of his expression, that it was not one of malice, but thoughtfullness. he returend the stare with a glance that basically said "I wouldlike to speak with you"
[Innuendo: 15+2=17]

He then turned his attention to the potatos that were put on his table

"Thank ye lass" and handed her a gold piece
"for your trouble" he said with a warm smile

"Thank ye" she said with a light blush

"We've got company. Headed east, and mounted."

Jase drew his Greatsword at that and popped his neck. He worked his fingers on the hilt readying himself. He spread his feet shoulder width apart.

"Well, hope for the best, perpare for the worst. How many, Malkamar?" Jase said.

"Still on the horizon. I couldn't hit them with a cannon, let alone a normal shot." Malkamar commented. "There's a few. Couldn't say beyond that. I'm not an elf." He added, frowning to himself. "Let's not antagonize. I don't see any obvious signs of them being trouble. Besides, they're on horseback. We're at rather the disadvantage."

"Horses," Ares sniffed. "Filthy beasts."

"I don't suppose anyone has any wide-area illusions handy? I'm fresh out, I'm afraid, and I don't have the weeks it would take to change that," The gray-garbed mage asks aloud, looking around at the unfamiliar figures he's set out with, "Unless you particularly want to find out what they want?"

"Let's not antagonize. I don't see any obvious signs of them being trouble. Besides, they're on horseback. We're at rather the disadvantage."

"Perhaps you're right." Jase admited has he lowered his sword, he had been a keyed up since coming to the south, it was a strange, hot place to him. However he did not put up his greatsword, better to have it at hand if needed he felt.

As the party gibber gabbers, the riders seem to still be moving along their original course, perpendicular to the gaggles path. To those who are watching at least.

I am am going to clarify, theyare NOT inbound, they are going to CROSS your projected path.

"Can anyone tell what they're armed with?" Greyson asks, peering off at the distant riders himself as he toys with the small piece of shell. He runs over his relatively meager sorcerous arsenal in his mind, patting at the crossbow hanging from his shoulder as if reassuring himself that it's still there, "Anyone?"

everyone who wants to try, make a spot check.

[17 + 0 = 17]

[I really need some ranks in that ]

[Spot 9+2=11]
OOC: Likewise, White Haven.

As the group of adventurers looked on, they got an excellent view of the riders' weapons, as their formation turned to the south, away from the group, and broke into a gallop, some with blades raised, others nocking arrows into composite bows. The more sharp-eyed in the group [Spot DC 16, now that you have a direction to look in] could make out another group of travelers, these on foot and leading a pack horse, further away to the south. The travelers suddenly caught eye of the riders bearing down and turned to run, passing into the shadow of the westernmost peak of the Gnollwatches, swiftly pursued by the riders. A small spark issued from one of the fleeing figures and streaked towards the pursuers, blossoming into a gigantic fireball in the center of the formation...

Or what would have been the center of the formation. The six riders faded and vanished, reappearing three to either side of their hapless victims and a little behind as the fireball blossomed where they had been. The travelers were quickly ridden down. A battleaxe burst into flames as it was drawn by one of the men at bay, accompanying several other weapons being drawn. Through some peculiarity of the mountain's geography, sounds of the distant battle were echoing back to the watchers.

It was over quickly. The riders galloped in a circle around the group, hailing arrows on their prey. One cry rose above the rest. "TEMPUUUUS!" The warcry echoed up a cleft in the mountainside and came back to the watchers, fading on the wind as the man with the flaming blade fell, an arrow in his chest. The fight was at least a mile and a half distant; there was no way for the companions to come to the aid of the travelers in time. They had all fallen in moments.

The riders quickly moved in and dismounted, searching through the bodies. They were only at it a few seconds before loading one, the tall man with the flaming axe, bound onto the back of the pack horse. The entire group then remounted and continued south, towards the River Dambron and the general direction of the city of Herath.

"Sickening." The Sunite said simply. From over a mile from the battle, he watched the slaughter unfold. His hands twitched near his gun, but there was no point. Even the finest aim couldn't reach across the gap. Not even fireworks could cover that sort of distance, and they were about as accurate as a drunken peasant bowman. "Do we still want to attract attention? I can probably hail them down if people really want." He reached into the folds of his monastic robes, pulling out a small iron ball with a length of string sticking out.