Part 5: Return to the Moathouse Ruins

Understanding that his attempts are futile and numbered, Eltrezar lets out a sigh before turning to the newcomer. He takes a moment to compose himself, tugs on his beard, and speaks. Ahem! "This is not a place for the feint of heart to be roaming, yet you walk in with a calm that troubles me. What is your name? And what is your quest? Speak now, and pray your answers are suitable. We will suffer ourselves no danger while in this stony keep. The wizened gentleman draws a dagger from his belt, showing that a couple more yet remained, and points it at the stranger. It would appear that he was beckoning the man to speak, but not threatening him. Yet.

The new arrival did not take kindly to the path chosen by the bearded man, for he had opted to not engage in hostilities and yet here was someone exhibiting the same aggression he hoped to avoid. Producing a weapon and pointing it at him was a gesture received poorly- for not knowing anything about the wielder, there was no way for him to accurately judge his intentions. In response, he promptly stood and wrapped his long thin fingers around the grip of the sheathed blade, but being the bigger person, he still did not call it out of its resting spot.

"I'll caution you once, good sir... and only once... to sheath your blade. I opted to keep my weapon out of sight as a peaceful gesture, a show of good faith, if you will... hoping that you would do the same. If you opt for a more aggressive meet, that too can be arranged" he replied sternly, unwilling to yield regardless of the numbers advantage. It was a threat, of course, but a conditional one, which could be avoided if the other party chose wisely.

"I will assure you..." he added, with a deliberate pause for emphasis, "I am harder to fell than those mindless... things..." stressed the newcomer, giving the fallen zombies an indicative nod.

"I will share my name if asked of me, not demanded. So please reconsider your decision; first impressions only occur once, after all..."

Gilly drops her bow! This has gone on long enough! She draws her sword and runs between the legs of her companions! Full of frustration, she stabs at the zombies head, repeatedly!

"Guide my hand, Corpse-re-maker!" Bors stabs at whatever animated undead is within reach.

"Ah ha! Victory is ours! And my sword acquires yet another new name, Corpse-re-maker. Because zombies are already corpses, see, and it makes them corpses again. Look, it's the best I can think of right now," Bors says sounding defensive.

With the zombies in the stairwell felled and the newcomer not moving to attack, Eltrezar reluctantly lowers his dagger. Hrmph! "Had you wanted to kill us, you missed your opportunity. Now then, let us speak as friends. My name is Eltrezar the Medium, known amongst the elves as Tarathiel, the dwarves have called me Dalomdûmir, and the Barbarians of the North have titled me Hrattothvok. What do they call you? And, more importantly, what brings you to this place of death and danger?" He tugs on his beard, eyebrows furrowed, as he appears to be attempting to discern the reason for the appearance of this young man.

"And known amongst our group as 'Grandpa'," Bors interjects after Eltrezar lists his many nicknames. "My name is Bors the Fighter."

"Known as Lean Meat to the Halflings, too.

Gilly Puddlefoot, the Halfling. Halfling by trade, Halfling by nature, my mother always said.

Don’t suppose you met any other Puddlefoots throughout your travels?"

While at first he seemed hesitant and defensive, ignited somewhat by his first impression with the scornful mage, the young man began to seem a lot less standoffish as each member of the party offered greetings and introductions. With the general tension dissipating, he felt little need to maintain his guard, and so his hand drifted away from the pommel of his weapon and off to the side, hanging idly as arms tend to do.

He was about to speak... but then paused, seemingly mumbling to himself for a moment- perhaps gathering his thoughts or preparing an appropriate reply. It was a short-lived delay though as he then promptly addressed the folks in turn. "Well met, Eltrezar the Medium... or Dalum-doomer... rat havoc..." he stumbled, realizing there was no way he would remember all the spellcaster's names, so he defaulted the one he did catch. "I'm glad we could continue our conversation in a more cordial manner, Eltrezar. My hope, frankly, was to avoid any bloodshed" added the man with a respectful nod.

Grinning at the warrior's salutation, the fellow gave him an observant glance from head-to-toe, assessing the towering warlord before him, "A pleasure, Bors the Fighter, and a similar greeting to your fearsome blade... Corpse-re-maker, was it...?" he added in jest.

The charming and bubbly little halfling seemed to catch the most interest from the stranger, who peered at her with unabated glee. "A sincere pleasure it is, Gilly Puddlefoot. I have always favored your race and found them to be the epitome of bravery and the most innately cheerful sort I have ever come across" he emphasized, with unquestionable sincerity. "Oh... and sadly, no- I have not met a Puddlefoot in my travels, but... I did have a disagreement with a Paddlefront once. Went by the name of Ebeneezer Paddlefront, if I'm not mistaken..." he offered, before drifting off momentarily, his attention seized away by some past memory.

Before the others could chime in however, he offered his own greeting. "Norris DeWitt" he stated plainly, accompanying the declaration with a curt bow; nothing excessive, nothing pretentious. He hesitated a moment just then, biting his lower lip in obvious contemplation, "You all favor a slew of names so..." he muttered casually, while his mind raced to offer aliases suitable to the company, "Norris DeWitt, the Unwanted Guest to some, the Ill-Timed Visitor to others, the Forgetful Borrower, to a select few..." he clarified, offering a sheepish but simple grin.

Mal approaches the gathering of names and nods to the newcomer.

"Hoy! I'm Mal, Church of Cuthbert. The others ya met. How came ye here? Sent by someone or just a nose for danger?"

Mal tenses as the sounds of zombie hiss come wafting from the stairwell.

"Plenty more work to do down there lads."

Bors nods, glad the newcomer understood. "These abominations were acting very un-corpse-like, so we had to make them follow proper corpse etiquette." He looks at Eltrezar, looks back at master DeWitt and raises his sword to better show it off. "You'll be happy to know I have no other titles that you will have to remember. My sword on the other hand is a different story. It's current names are Bugbane, Shadowreaver, Pixiepoker, Ticksticker, Spiderspiker, and Slimeslicer. In addition to Corpse-re-maker, of course. My blade has seen much action," He explains.

Norris nodded slowly, clearly impressed with the blade's accomplishments, "Is it a family heirloom?" he prodded, inquiring about the weapon's origin.

"A well-timed purchase? A creation of your own making? It seems to have done so much, I'd not dare insult you by assuming it's ordinary. Or worse... insult it!" he joked, offering a disarming grin in the event that it didn't reach the audience in the manner he had intended.

As the sounds from the basement escaped into the area and caught Norris' ear, accompanied by the cleric's rousing call-to-arms, he seemed to take an uneasy stance, "You're not done with all of them I take it..." he commented uncomfortably.

With a look of worry rushing across his face, he made his offer, "Would you like some help to dispatch them? Whatever will help build trust and such...", and again his palm shifted to the hilt of his sleeping blade- though this time, the setting assured it was in a non-threatening manner.

"A family heirloom? No no. I picked that up off the floor down there… she points to the staircase … and handed it to him. I think the family heirloom ended up in a puddle of goo."

"Sadly, Gilly is correct. My
old sword was mostly destroyed by a corrosive slime creature. I did however perform the Ceremony of Essence Transfer, so now this sword has become my old sword. You do know about the Ceremony, right?"