Group 2, Chapter 1: Tyranthius, Olo, Cord


"Just out of curiosity, you all heard the laughter, right?" he halfling asked, as the movement in the room ceased.

"I don't think it is just the living that doesn't like you much, Tyranthius. Just so you know." He sighed, and sat on a barrel. "Well, let's just hope that finding Kark doesn't take too long, once we can get out of here.


I heard that laughter earlier. Someone's a little prankster here. Olo, I'm not concerned whether who likes me or not. Dead or otherwise. Cord, is there a chance we may see more of those things in here? With haughty dismissal, Tyranthius will stroll over to the footlocker he opened earlier and open it.


Methinks that just about anythin' is possible, elf. Best ter keep our eyes open in th' meantime. Speakin' o' which, if this bite gits infected, an I don't look ter be makin' it, do me a favour and kill me yerselves. Then burn me corpse.

12:30 - The Golden Bow, mid deck
The elf's dexterous fingers deftly manipulate the tumblers in the old lock, a satisfying click rewarding his efforts. The hinges on the footlocker resist the unaccustomed motion as the lid is lifted, revealing a rather full chest. Sitting atop is a set of fine
Black woolen cloak, breeches, and hose, linen shirt, ornate waistcoat (black and silver brocade with silver buttons), black woolen tailcoat with silver buttons
clothes, obviously the previous owner's best raiment. A brace of
exquisite daggers lies beneath the clothes, each tucked into an ornate sheath. Fine hobnailed jackboots sit beneath the daggers, beside a small leather-bound wooden box and a small leather pouch. Inside the pouch is a
10 gold, 16 silver
handful of gold and silver coins, while inside the pouch are 4 vials. One is empty, but 2 hold a thin light blue liquid and the last holds a viscous orange fluid.

The second footlocker is in much worse shape than the first, it takes Tyranthius a while to get that lock open. Another
Ceremonial silk robes, green with silver trim, carved wooden sandals, and a green cape and hat, each with matching silver trim
set of fine clothes of decidedly elven make sit atop the rest of the locker's contents. Also within is a quiver of arrows,
"Sing the arrow swiftly home"
elven script lining the edges of the leather quiver. A pouch containing ivory-carved elven deities and a locket on a silver chain round out the compliments of the footlocker. The locket has a finely rendered portrait of a beautiful elven woman contained within.

The door keeps shutting on the elf as he removes and examines the contents of the footlocker. Blocking the door from closing doesn't seem to help, anything unattended placed in front is shifted away and the door closed. Standing in front of the door doesn't work either, the individual must either move or be forced into the room as well. When the door is closed it is impossible to open from within the room, but anyone outside is able to open the door with ease.

Aside from the noises coming from the room, and the ghostly sounds centered there-about, no other sounds are to be heard aboard the derelict.


Cord suggests that Tyranthius gather the stuff and bring it out. Once it's all out of the room, he casts Detect Magic on it all.


Well whatever the poltergeist is, leave it. It's not attacking us. Check out the stuff I found. If this is what we're in for, I might just stick around with you guys for awhile. Tyranthius will gather the goods and leave the cramped room, leaving the ghoul corpse inside for when the door close it's final time.

12:45pm - The Golden Bow, mid-deck
Tyranthius drags the ghoul corpse into the room after removing all the sundry valuables from the chests and Cord casts his divination upon the pile of goods. "Murderer..." the poltergeist whispers in a multitude of voices, both venom and satisfaction audible in that single word.


The halfling looks into the air. "The spirits tell me I should take the cloak. I don't know which one. If you two don't mind? They also accuse us of murder, but some of them don't seem too upset about it."

He looks slightly irritated, and addresses the air around himself. "I asked, because otherwise it would be rude. Be quiet. I'm not a thief. These are my companions."

Sliver laughter, tinged with madness, echoes through the hold.


Rooting through the items long enough to inspect them each thoroughly, Cord chuckles softly, Well, it looks that none o' this be magical. He then sweeps his gaze around the deck to see if there are any other magical emanations, while thinking back on anything he can recall about poltergeists.


Olo nods, and sighs in apparant relief. "Good. If there was a magical cloak, I would be worried, but if there isn't, then I won't feel bad about claiming it. In any case, although most of this doesn't look very useful in terms of survival, I think those back at camp might like a chance to change some clothes, now and again." He picks at it, taking the cloak out, and trying to find a way to pin it up to be short enough for him.

How many daggers are in a brace? I assume they are Medium sized, so Olo will probably stick with his dagger, but still.
A brace typically means two. They are medium sized.
OOC Response

The cloak, sized for a human, is not really viable for a halfling without significant alterations. Laughter once again echoes through the hold. "Not the cloak, the cloak. The cloak! Take the cloak," the multitude of voices whisper madly.

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