He stands and imperiously waves a hand towards the door.
Nashkel
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He blinks suddenly and squints at Aiwe. "Why do you speak in such a manner?"
Sheemish blatantly ignores the wizard. Pompous arrogance at its worst.
Looking to Stella and Aiwe "I’d much rather go help rescue someone than be paid to hunt and kill someone." He catches stitch and tosses her again with a calm smile. "especially if the employer is a pompous moop not capable of doing the job themself. he catches Stitch again with an upraised hand.
She grabs Sheemish by the front of his armour and drags him some distance off.
"Frankly, Sheemish, I'm offended." Back to Edwin, her stance (and face, for any onlookers) remains angry and confrontational, but her voice is quiet and soft. "You think I'd kill someone for that guy? It's a con!" She gestures angrily. "True I didn't think he'd want to come with, but best case, we warn them he's coming and help them get assassins off their tail once and for all. Worst case, we take his money so he has a harder time hiring someone else." She wags a finger in his face. "Fold your arms and huff if you understand."
Sheemish takes a seat next to Stella and hands her Stitch to toss. "Try it," he says with a wink "it’s therapeutic . . . Especially when accepting jobs from arrogant self righteous tiny rich wizards that need to get something looked at."
The mage utters an arcane spell and gestures at Sheemish. The artificer turns into a tiny green lizard.
The transformation lasts for the duration, or until the target drops to 0 hit points or dies. The new form can be any beast whose challenge rating is equal to or less than the target's (or the target's level, if it doesn't have a challenge rating). The target's game statistics, including mental ability scores, are replaced by the statistics of the chosen beast. It retains its alignment and personality.
The target assumes the hit points of its new form. When it reverts to its normal form, the creature returns to the number of hit points it had before it transformed. If it reverts as a result of dropping to 0 hit points, any excess damage carries over to its normal form. As long as the excess damage doesn't reduce the creature's normal form to 0 hit points, it isn't knocked unconscious.
The creature is limited in the actions it can perform by the nature of its new form, and it can't speak, cast spells, or take any other action that requires hands or speech.
The target's gear melds into the new form. The creature can't activate, use, wield, or otherwise benefit from any of its equipment.
Rolls
Sheemish wis save - (1d20)
(3) = 3
"What if dealing with this imbecile is not what Stella or I signed up for? Who ever made that our groups decision?! Who decided to go deeper and darker into a nightmare cave regardless of who it effected? Who decided to force other team members to fight when it’s the last thing they wanted to do?" he shouts jerking his towards Stella "Did someone even ask her? Would you even listen if she disagreed? Or would you just beat a drum and tell her to cope?! We are not going to be the same by the end of this mission!" Sheemish clenches his left hand into a tight fist and his eyes turn a slightly different color. His voice lowers to a tight whisper"It might be wise choosing what we are to become-"
And with that Sheemish turns into a little green lizard.
Aiwë drags Sheemish away. "I'm...not really a mercenary, aha," Stella says, chuckling nervously to Edwin. "Some of them are, though, but—Ack!" She fumbles with Stitch as Sheemish tosses the homunculus at her.
Why does Sheemish keep insulting the wizard?! He could blast us to smitherines!
She watches the argument escalate.
This is exactly why she was going to ask him if he would come...
Stella flinches each time the brawny artificer gestures to her. He was...having a experience than even she was, Stella realized. "Sheemish, I—" she begins, but Edwin cuts her off and he becomes a lizard.
She yelps, looking at the lizard then the mage in panic.
Rolls
Arcana (Recognize Spell) - (1d20+4)
(19) + 4 = 23
"Who asked? Who asked?" Aiwë thundered over Sheemish who lies flat on the table, dazed but fine. "Yeah, I made a snap judgement about this guy. I was trying to help! But I get it. No problem." She tosses the money bags back onto the table.
"But we all decided to go down there. We all decided to stay. And when you charged in like an idiot we were all behind you!"
She pulls him off the table and stands him up. "So don't you dare bring Stella into this! I've offered to take her home lots of times! I offered five minutes ago."
Aiwë sneers. "You're only one I've seen changing. And the scales suited you."
She bows to Edwin. "Apologies, I was too hasty in accepting your offer. Good luck on your quest."
"I'm going to go talk to my cousin and his dumb sword," she says vaguely to the group.
Sheemish blinks a few times and then turns blankly to the wizard. "She may have a point you know" and then turns and walks silently out of bar doors.
She opens her mouth to say something to him, but closes it, not wanting to risk an unexpected reaction.
"I for one am not too happy with the last little snot nosed friend we picked up."
She stops before knocking, hands stinging with the insecurity of remembered pain. Maybe she should just go.
"...this adventure may be more than some of us have signed up for."
Shelur suddenly feels heavy, like shes carrying an orog. In her periphery, Keggruk's slack face gaping with Gruumsh's Mark almost seems to peer over her shoulder once more.
"He must be an artificer cuz he's so smart," Aiwë grumbles in Orcish. She takes a deep breath and mimes a glaive stomping the ground, creating the sound with her foot. Someone has to hold steady.
She knocks on the door, fear and weariness dissolving under a smile. "Cousin Xan?" she calls in Elvish. "Can I come in?"
A spiderweb of sickly flesh becomes visible. "Dragons are known to leave their mark on occasion." Yellowish lines of boiled skin hardened into stained webs of black scales. "The condition can be worse the longer you are around them." There is no uniformity to it, just a patchwork of corroded black and yellow. "If you are abducted from your home as a child and forced to be chained and drenched in it . . ."It stretches in fingerlike tendrils from his elbow to the back of his hand, peeling in a gash off up his thumb and a lash across his palm. "And when the dragon is the Lord of Acid himself . . ." Sheemish clenches his fist, the infected skin cracks and a sizzling rancid liquid seeps through his fingers and hisses as it drips to the ground.
"Not something a young boy wants to grow up with, and there is no known cure." Sheemish sighs and unclenches his fist. "And so I looked for ways to hide it, though its a difficult job to do with with acid, or its other side effects" Sheemish looks down at the sizzled ground at his feet. "Regular armor wouldn't work, and so I needed to find something more, create something stronger." The armor at his elbow expands out again, reforming into a full gauntlet, covering up the grotesque sight.
"And so I became an artificer, specializing in armor. Nobody would question that choice from a blacksmith's son." He looks at his armored hand before him, his secret hidden once again. "Or question why the strange quiet kid always wore his gauntlets."
He finally turns to Stella, "I'm not trying to add my burden to any you carry. But I . . . I figured it might be better for somebody to know . . . in case others don't understand."
"I'm finally realizing why Ug was always so tired. This hero stuff is tougher than I thought." He gives a weak smile, "You ever been turned into a lizard before?" A slight grin returning to his face.
Xan sits upright in bed, with considerably more color to his face than when the party first found him. "How unfortunate that you come all this way, only to find me in dire straits and unable to offer so much as a cup of tea. Still. I am... happy to see you, Aiwë." He coughs into his fist. "Now that we have a moment of peace, please tell me about your family and how they fare. If there is... pleasant news to tell...?"
His moonblade is propped up against the nightstand, hilt up. It flickers briefly as she enters, its light ebbing to a dull glow, almost as though sleeping. Or ignoring her.
She ignores the sword and focuses on Xan. "When was the last time you heard from my father?"