The dwarf Grunor Oredwelle ended up in the dungeons of the Amkathra family for trying undermine their nefarious efforts. The swordsmith was apparently caught when he came to know too much about their more illicit dealings. Apparently the Amkathras are involved the thievings of horses, arms smuggling (swords in particular?) and wine. Oredweller was brought in because of his experience in crafting blades. Of course he recognized The Misses as a superb piece of work.
According the Grunbar the Amkathras are worshipers of Sharn. They may in fact be the leaders of the Blackthorne group – particularly Alister (the oldest son whom we have not yet met). We gathered that the Amkathra family live on the High Road, East of the Market. Grunbar doesn’t know much about the Ritual Book, but we seem to be of the consensus that the book is tied to the conflict between Sharn ad and Sallun.
It was about 2 pm when we finished resting and talking with Grunor. We decided that the best of course of action was to grab a few of the cultists cloaks, exit the crypt and head back to the temple of Selune with our well disguised Grunbar. There we shall bring up the crimes of the Amkarthra family and see what the temple advises. I personally disagree with tactic. We are parrying when we should thrust. Lord knows the missus appreciates a good thrust. When collecting the robes, we noticed that the cultists were among the upper class. The clothes under they wore were not noble, but not rags either.
We spoke with the authorities at the temple. They believe what we had to say about the Amkathras, but the family is in such a position, and our evidence so thin, that there appears to be no easy way to bring our accusations forth. Consequently, they suggested we try and gather more evidence. They have arranged for us to attend one of the formal festivities that take place to celebrate the solstice and Salune.
We arrange for clothing. Some of us are better at expediency than others. My comrades continue to beat around the bush, engage in indirect attacks. The quickest way to fell a beast is not to poison the well at which it drinks. It is much faster to make it poke its head out from the bush and cut it down at first sight. My companions fail to understand this minutiae at some points and it wears on me. Nonetheless, I managed to procure my garments quicker than the others. As such I decided to see if I could identify our enemies. Get our foes to ‘poke their heads out’ so that I might confront them. At the Merry Albatross, I took one of the cloaks of sharn and left it hanging on a hook in the entry way. I then sat in wait for someone to notice that particular coat. It would seem that our friendly fur merchant has ties to Salune’s twin, for she clearly reacted to the coat. As the rest of the party arrived at the inn, we set about a plan.
I worked my way around the second floor of the building, climbing outside from apartments of the druid and the cleric to the balcony of Elingina. Once inside (thanks to my handy crowbar) I began a search for anything Sharn related. Damn these tactics that call for stealth! When prying open a chest I made a huge clunking sound and set off some sort of a supernatural trap. A spectre arose and stabbed me. Of all the ways in which I am comfortable being hurt, this one was both physically painful and emotionally shameful. A DAGGER. A thin and puny dagger caught me from behind. Although I may have bled out on the floor, I think I would have much prefered the spirit use a proper blade. The only creature I have seen use a dagger to ANY effect is that hobbit…
A quick escape later and I was healing in the girl’s chambers. Some how the priest managed to convince the inn keeper that commotion everyone heard was actually the SPIRIT breaking into the room. Further she was able to banish the spirit and talk her way into keeping the contents of the chest. What a perplexing turn of events. Had I not been half blinded in pain, I would have liked to have seen that.
With a necklace of Sharn in hand, we decided that it was time to head to the ball. The eighth hour of the evening is recently past as I sit down to recuperate and journal these adventures. The solstice approaches – perhaps quicker than we can accommodate for. Like a desperate swordsman who lunges without a firm plant for the back foot, time demands we head into peril for which we may be ill-prepared.