PlanetADnD.com

"Of course, I wouldn't even consider wearing it. Dawn you say? I shall be ready." She smiles and looks to Bastian, "Whatever works best I think, he is of no use to me like that."

(ooc: Thank you my friend.)

Fraso looks momentarily puzzled, then gets back to business. "Nothing wrong. Nothing wrong at all. Never been better. Just trying to think, is all. Quite an intricate puzzle we have here. Lots of little bits to fit together. Lots to think about.
"It's like one of those tavern puzzles, where you try to pull apart the two horseshoes and get the ring out, and you spend all night on it, and some hotshot comes in and folds it one way and turns it half a turn and suddenly he's everyone's hero and you look like an idiot and the waitress starts giving him free drinks even though you brought her a flower..."

"Yes," Daos interrupts. He keeps his voice as even and monotone as possible, trying to keep the sharp edge of impatience from showing. "What have you found, specifically?"

Fraso looks at Daos as if he does not understand what he is saying. "What do you mea..Oh! The puzzle. Well, this is not a failed lich, or a vampyr, or any kind of undead creature I have ever heard of.
"But there is something familiar here, something I can't put my finger on. It's like when you lose your keys, and you go to look for them and you find a book that you had misplaced, and you stop to read it for a moment, and you forget why you were looking for your cloak in the first place.
"Why are you looking at me like that?

====================================

The fishermen laugh and offer to produce a drunkenness remedy for Bastian. Captain Jon and Captain Fil's two sons barge into the kitchen to begin preparations.

Daos sighs and shakes his head. "Nothing, please continue your investigation." He had forgotten how easily distracted Fraso could become, a frustrating trait to deal with. Instead, he moves closer to look at the corpse without getting in the necromancer's way, to see if perhaps he can learn anything himself.

Realising she has little to do, Angel orders a drink, sits down near Filaris, shoving the drunk Cleric onto a chair opposite her.

"Tell me, how safe are the waters nearby? Have there been any other incidents nearby?" She smiles and kicks Bastian lightly. "I am here for my skills with a blade, yet.. This has piqued my curiousity..."

"Also.." She blushes, "What should I wear, to go out tomorrow? My knowledge on such subjects is limited.."

Bastian snickers to himself and says, "My, what a brazen question to ask a bunch of sailors!"

Angel kicks Bastian far harder this time, hoping the Cleric is made of strong stuff.

"My question was innocent enough, I mean't nothing by it." She appears to have meant nothing other than an innocent question. "My knowledge of fishing is.. limited."

The captains share a look, while the junior sailors struggle to supress their own responses, until Captain Sigurd says, in a reasonable voice: "Well, it does get warm at sea, with the sun beating down on you. I would recommend something lightweight, and preferable white, to reflect the sunlight as much as possible. Would that be appropriate, Fil?"
"That'd do nicely, I think." Filaris replies, hiding his impish grin behind his beer mug.

Moments later, Captain Jon returns from the kitchens stirring a noisome and steaming mug with a spoon. He lisfts the spoon out as he hands it to Bastian. Standard storytelling conventions would demand, at a moment like this, that the spoon be partially dissolved when it comes up out of the nasty brew, but it is actually intact, although it is terribly tarnished halfway up.
"Drink up." says Capt. Jon, before dashing for cover.

================================================================================

The closer Daos gets to the corpse, the more he finds it hard to concentrate on the task at hand, and instead he finds himself staring at the chainmail. Beautiful workmanship, six in one pattern of rings with the central rings doubled, every ring riveted. A work of art, really, not just an example of the armorer's craft.
He tears himself away from the armor and begins to examine the body again, only to find himself looking at the carvings on the sword belt. Again, beautiful work, familiar and yet unfamiliar, the geometric motif resembling ancient elven temple carvings but taken to bizarre and uncomfortable proportions. Daos' education, particularly in the intricate calligraphy necessary for drafting spellbooks, has made him familiar with the "Golden Rectangle," said to be the most visually satisfying shape and proportion. This looks as if someone has taken a Golden Rectangle and twisted it into a Möbius loop.

Eventually, Fraso concludes that he has spent enough time examing the corpse and begins packing his tools away with a slightly disconnected air about him.

================================================================================

[OOC]Edited Post[/OOC]

"Thank you." Angel repiles innocently, seemingly unaware Capt. Sigurd meant anything un-toward. "I believe I have something suitable." She smiles, looking at Bastian.

She doesn't react when Captain Jon appears with the drink, having seen many such brews in merc bars.

Bastian has started to sober up slightly by this time. Enough that he can feel a slight throbbing in his head and notices the heaviness beneath his eyes. Staring at the mug he questions the wisdom of his life-choices that brought him to this profession, let alone the choices that brought him to this specific point. Taking the mug knowingly, he grasps it firmly and, without smelling it, begins to chug it.

[OOC] Attention all personnel: minor time warp in progress. Editing above posts to correct time loop. Please stand by until the thread has returned to normal space. [/OOC]

The concoction that whipped up by Capt Fil's sons and Capt Jon has the expected effect...almost.
Bastian is more hardy than most suckers that the fishermen have offered this "remedy" to.
Although he gives one huge twitch upon downing the stuff, and tears flow from his eyes, and a horrendous belch rumbles through him, he and the contents of his stomach manage to stay up and down, respectively.
The brew does little to alleviate his drunkenness, though.

As the afternoon wears on into evening, you while away your time talking with the fishermen and the staff, awaiting the return of Fraso and Daos. Neeri arrives near suppertime to inform you that space has been made for your group in a bungalow overlooking the bay, a short distance from the mayor's villa. Hiric and Salia have already been escorted there.

================================================================================

When you return to the villa Neeri informs you that the mayor is in conference, but that Hiric and Salia have been set up in a small bungalow near the villa with room for all of you to stay the night. Prepared food is being sent from the villa's kitchen for your evening meal. A cynical person might conclude that Sertulius was less than thrilled at the prospect of entertaining Fraso at the villa.

Angel returns to the Villia and finds the bungalow, with a reasonably drunk Bastian in tow.

She offers to 'bunk' in with Salia if required, otherwise she will move her things to her own room. And then go back outside and discuss the day with the others.

She returns to a group area if there is one, dressed in a plain white top and brown trousers, she carries no weapon.

Bastian plops down on a chair at the table. "I believe I could use a little food, right now." His eyes are beginning to get dark circles beneath them. "VERY little food. Perhaps some bread first..." He remains unfocused and really, not talking to anyone specific. Most likely he's just thinking out loud, as is his want when intoxicated.

Angel sits quietly, her hands in her lap, looking thoughtful at the Cleric she says nothing.