Out of the Abyss, Session 1.2

When we last left our heroes, they were still captives of the drow, but through some astounding luck had managed to steal back some of their gear and were in the midst of planning an escape attempt.

The Cast

Zern- a duergar cleric of Asmodeus, on a crusade to prove his Lord is the true god of the duergar; he was the first to be captured (24 days ago) and knows almost everything about the camp.
Nosey- a half-elf paladin of Ao, whom she discovered while living as a hermit; she has an obsession with shiny objects, has found a pet spider, and has no respect for other faiths (for some reason).
Kian- a mild-mannered green dragon-born barbarian; he has been concerned for the fate of his pet mouse ever since his capture.
Frec- a halfling monk and man of few words; no one is yet sure what Frec is capable of, but he is generally friendly and surprisingly competent.
Angel- a drow, possibly cleric of Vhaeraun; no one knows why he was captured but he seems surprisingly charismatic.

Gonna Be a Fight Tonght!

The shrine to Lolth was dark and filled with the saccharine perfume of a hundred scented candles.

But it did little to cover up the wicked stench that permeated this place. The stench of evil… of death. Far too much innocent blood had been spilled across the Spider Queen’s altar—that much was certain!

“Last chance,” Mistress Ilvara’s sultry contralto hissed in the darkness. “Repent, and you may yet be spared.”

On the floor before her was a slender half-elven woman. She had sun-kissed skin, now covered in an array of bleeding whiplashes, and long red hair that had become a pooling mess on the floor. Her dirty prisoners’ robes had been discarded, and she was now shivering, stark naked, in the cold air. A crowd had long since gathered around the pair: some worshippers, some guards who had flocked to the commotion. No one wanted to miss a show like this! The onlookers watched with fascination, eyes flickering from Nosey’s wounds, to Ilvara’s Tentacle Rod, and back again.

Jorlan, one of the elite guardsmen, was standing at the head of the throng. His imposing stature—considerable, for a ‘mere male’—enough to bar any who might interfere. A pair of captives—one drow, one dragonborn—hovered just behind his living wall, eyeing their cage-mate with baited breaths. These two had been witness to the gruesome show since the beginning—ever since Ilvara’s shriek of rage had echoed across camp. Kian watched nervously, biting at his clawed fingers. It was hard to tell with a dragonborn, but it looked as though a line of worry creased his brow. Under his breath, the man murmured a quiet prayer to the ‘Lord of Endurance’, whatever obscure deity that may be. What was going through the brute’s mind was anyone’s guess. But he certainly looked less than menacing at the moment…

Meanwhile, the elf at Kian’s side surveyed the scene with a stony face and a stiff countenance. Angel did… sympathize with this ‘Nosey’s plight (much though it pained him to admit it). He’d nearly challenged Ilvara himself, after all. He would have challenged her, had Kian not stopped him! In another life, he could well have been the one being whipped in Ilvara’s arena… The thought stirred something in the young drow’s soul—something uncomfortable and foreign. Pity? Surely not. That sort of nonsense was for these soft-hearted surface-folk—the ones fortunate enough to have walked in the Night Above. It had no place here in the Underdark…

And thus, in their respective silences, Angel and Kian had watched—watched as their fellow prisoner was whipped until her back was bloodied. They were hardly the only captives in the audience now. As the dramatics had continued, more guards had appeared with other slaves in tow. Sarith, Derendil, and Buppido had been here already; likewise Ront and Stool had followed their work-mates. Frec, Zern, and the Svirfneblin twins had arrived later, and had settled somewhere by the door. Like their companions, the other captives had settled into an uneasy silence, as if afraid to draw attention to themselves.

That had been several lashes ago. 

And the hits just kept coming.

Nosey, however, had not weakened. In fact, the half-elf seemed to grow stronger with each cracking of Ilvara’s Rod. Every time she was  struck down, she got right back up again—steadfast and defiant! No number of blows made any difference. Her will could not be broken. And Nosey seemed to realize that, for she spoke in a quiet voice words that made Ilvara’s hair curl: “You cannot break me,” the paladin hissed as she stood once more on her unsteady legs. “No heretic can defeat me!” she cried, “And I will not be ashamed!”

Then the girl pushed to her feet, her enormous bosom bouncing in time. Whistles and cat-calls erupted from the male-dominated audience as the stark-naked half-elf whirled back to face her captor. Pathetic. Angel could think of several insulting comments to scream at the classless masses. And normally, he would be screaming! At the movement, however… The drow boy felt his skin flush a deeper black. Sheepishly, he averted his gaze—though whether out of respect for Nosey or… something else entirely… he wasn’t completely certain. At the moment, he couldn’t get the words past the tightening in his chest. Privately, Angel envied the dragonborn beside him, who looked as unshaken as did Nosey herself. It was infuriating!

But whatever strange spell had overtaken Angel, it was swiftly broken as Ilvara let out another shriek. Nosey, apparently unaware of her ‘admirers’ had balled her hands into fists and launched herself at her tormentor. And, by the sounds of it, Loth’s High Priestess was not at all pleased.

…

“Amused, are you?” Ilvara’s voice boomed over the crowd as they whistled and laughed.

Nosey wasn’t really sure what had amused everyone so much—nor why it seemed to bother the ‘priestess’. “Think she’s pretty? This filthy Darthiir!” Ilvara screamed again, brandishing her Tentacle Rod at the surrounding spectators. Most of the cheering men fell back immediately in fear, as if they knew something about that whip that Nosey didn’t. However, one Hunter at Ilvara’s side didn’t seem to get the memo. He gave a particularly loud whistle, and Ilvara flared with rage. She suddenly produced a rusty knife from within her robes, and rounded on the man. “To the Demonweb Pits with you!” she shrieked, and slashed open the drow’s throat with a single stroke of her blade. Blood exploded like a fountain from the wound, and the offender’s cat call died in a pathetic sputter. As he fell, twitching at Ilvara’s feet, the so-called cleric threw her head back in a burst of cruel laughter. “Fool,” she hissed, “Thus is the fate of those who dare show favour to these iblithen!” 

Across the way, Nosey could have sworn she saw Jorlan flinch. If that was the case, however, Ilvara didn’t seem to notice. The woman spent a moment enjoying the sight of her most recent victim, writhing and gagging in his death throes. Then, when he’d stopped moving, she kicked his corpse back into the crowd and whirled to face her opponent. Still fingering her bloodied knife, the ‘priestess’ leapt forward and grabbed Nosey by her long, flowing hair. “Now, tell me,” Ilvara hissed, as her captive punched ineffectively at her armour, “Which of these prisoners do you love most, hmm? Which one’s your dearest friend? They may yet have a chance to save you…”

At first Nosey didn’t answer. She continued to flail and punch and kick her way free. Unfortunately, it seemed Ilvara was tougher than she looked. Damn. But perhaps the paladin should have expected that. Big brother had warned her about the so-called ‘clerics’ of Lolth. The Demon Lord expected her daughters to be able to break a grown man’s sternum! And Nosey, meanwhile, had been worked and starved in this camp for some two weeks now. Despite her pride… she knew there was no way she could escape. And that left only one option: the truth. “I don’t have any friends…” the half-elf muttered at last, hiding her face behind her ginger fringe. “Not here, not anywhere. I’ve never… had a friend in my life…”

Hearing this, the ‘priestess’ growled in frustration. She gave the naked paladin a rough toss that sent her sailing across the arena. She landed roughly at Jorlan’s feet, and watched as her fellow prisoners scurried about behind the guard’s back: Angel and Kian by the looks of it. The pair both stirred, Nosey noted, at the sight of her. She might even say they looked momentarily conflicted about her predicament. But of course, neither man moved in her defence—not with Ilvara and Jorlan watching. Privately, Nosey wondered if they would even save her in more favourable circumstances…

Then Ilvara spoke again, addressing the crowd. With a flourish, she threw her hands in the air and demanded a combatant. There would be a fight tonight: that was to be sure! And if no slave volunteered, then she would pick an opponent herself from their midst. At first, no one moved; no one breathed. Ilvara’s eyes glossed over all of the assembled slaves, growing narrower and narrower as each one avoided her gaze. No one was going to volunteer, that much was certain—though whether out of fear of losing, or out of compassion for Nosey… no one could say. Not even Nosey herself; somehow, she doubted it was the latter… An uncomfortable hush settled over the onlookers, in any case. In the back row, the voice of a deep gnome rang out: “5 gold on the half-elf! Any takers? Anyone?”

Ilvara’s right eye twitched at the sound, reflecting her growing annoyance. Then the ‘priestess’ herself broke the silence. “Fine.” she spat, “Cowards, the lot of you! …Or weak-hearted fools!” Frustrated, she put away her Tentacle Rod, and strode back across the arena again. When she reached the other side, Ilvara kicked a nearby male in the shins, making him double over in pain. She then shoved the man roughly towards the altar, and fashioned him into a sort of chair for herself. Settled upon her living throne, the noblewoman turned back to her audience, eyes narrow and gleeful.

“Sarith!” she screamed, and the drow captive immediately froze where he stood. Ilvara gave herself a single moment to relish in the man’s obvious fear; then she nodded to her nearby elite warrior, who grabbed Sarith and threw him into the ring. “Redeem yourself!” Ilvara shouted. Then she hurled her dagger to the ground, where it stuck in the floor like the magic Sword in the Stone. In the dim light of the faerie fire, two pairs of eyes reflected in the rusty surface—green on one side, red on the other. For a brief second in time, both appeared blank, dumbfounded. But only for a second: then the warmer pair flashed with realization. 

The fight was on!

…

Out in the audience, the remaining refugees watched in horror.

Behind the cover of Jorlan, Angel felt his heart give an uncomfortable throb at the sight of Ilvara’s rusty blade. He knew precisely what was going on here. Ilvara didn’t intend both slaves to survive this squabble: this was a fight to the death. Unfortunately, that didn’t seem to have dawned on the damned half-elf! At least, not yet. Nosey was just sitting there on the ground, looking very much like a fish out of water. And she would probably continue to do so right up until Sarith drove Ilvara’s dagger between those perfect breasts of hers! (Not that he’d noticed…) Dammit. At the thought of the girl’s impending demise, the tightness in Angel’s chest returned with a vengeance. That half-elf had shown… promise. He’d hate to see her slaughtered so meaninglessly here, before Lolth’s grinning fucking face. He’d hate to give the Spider Cunt such satisfaction! At least… that was the reason Angel was clinging to…

Making the matter more complicated, the drow had a spell in his arsenal that could turn the tide of this battle. It was a touch spell but, at the moment, that stupefied half-elf might just be in reach… Of course, if he was caught, it would mean Ilvara’s wrath—as well as revealing the truth his magical powers. No one would mistake him for a cleric anymore—not if they saw him casting Mage Armour! And he barely knew Nosey! True, she might make a valuable ally in their upcoming escape, but…

 He had no idea why he was considering risking his skin for her!

(Certainly it had nothing to do with her startling beauty…)

Before he could make his decision, however, Angel was startled by a sharp jab to the ribs. Looking up, he met the beady gaze of Kian, who sombrely shook his head at the shorter man. Privately, Angel understood: it wasn’t worth it. The other prisoners couldn’t intervene in this fight, much though they might want to. It was the same discussion they’d had outside the shrine, when Angel had nearly tackled Ilvara. If they wanted a chance at escape, they had to act like good little slaves… for now.

Besides, regardless of who came out of this fight victor… there was another opportunity here—one that might just be worth the risk of life and limb.

His comrade now calmer, Kian took a quick survey of the surrounding guards. Fortunately, they were completely distracted by the goings-on of the arena. With a subtle nod of his head, he indicated the fallen corpse of Ilvara’s earlier victim—the one who had been carelessly discarded, still in possession of all his gear. At first, the startled drow regarded the taller man with confusion. Then realization slowly dawned, and he nodded his head in solemn understanding. They couldn’t save Nosey, but they might be able to help the rest of the team (or at least gain some advantage for themselves). If they could sneak over there without getting caught, they could loot the Hunter’s body. It was a risky move, and terribly grim… but it could be their only opportunity to gain weapons and other crucial supplies.

Stealth. Stealth was the name of the game here. And, as a proud Nightshadow, there was no way Angel could back down from such a challenge. Thus, drow and dragonborn took one more glance at the cheering guards around them. Then, content that no one was watching, both men expertly ducked beneath the crowd. Somewhere at their rear, the screaming intensified, and the two were certain the fight had begun. But they couldn’t worry about Nosey now. If she was half the fighter she claimed to be, then the paladin should be just fine with or without them. And, towards the far wall, there was a bleeding corpse that lay, forgotten…

…

Meanwhile, inside the ring, Sarith had figured out what was going on as well.

While Nosey continued to blink in confusion, he made a lunge for the knife—and the crowd roared in appreciation. Some cheered for bloodshed; others urged their disgraced kinsman onward. A few warriors still rooted for Nosey, though Ilvara’s gruesome display seemed to have reduced their cat calls. The half-elf didn’t seem to hear them, however. In fact, the half-elf wasn’t processing any of this! She was still sprawled on the ground at Jorlan’s feet, blinking in confusion at Ilvara’s blade.

Then, suddenly, a new voice erupted over the din of the audience: deep and booming. “Move, ya damn elf!” the voice shouted. “It’s kill or be killed!”

Then, all at once, Nosey snapped to action.

Hearing Zern’s cry, she suddenly regarded the rusty knife as if it was a lifeline. The paladin dove for it at once, but realized with disease that Sarith already had a split second head start. At first it seemed Nosey was doomed—after all, Sarith was an elf, and elves were noted for their dexterous nature. Fortunately, Nosey had trained for this—and all her years of snooping made her terribly fast! Pure-blood and half-blood collided in the centre of the makeshift arena, tanned skin punching at black as they squabbled over their only weapon. But fortunately for Nosey, while Sarith’s thick limbs spoke of years of physical fighting… they seemed strangely without strength. With little difficulty, the paladin wrenched the knife away from her opponent and stood poised to attack.

But Sarith wasn’t about to let a little drawback stop him. With practiced precision, he spun and delivered a swift kick to the half-elf’s torso. Nosey was forced to fall back for a moment, panting as the breath was knocked out of her. She quickly recovered, however, and glanced up at her counterpart, trying to decide the best means of attack. It was clear that Sarith was a seasoned fighter, so this wouldn’t be easy. But…

There seemed to be something seriously wrong with the proud drow Hunter…

No sooner had the thought crossed Nosey’s mind, than she raised her head to a confusing sight. Sarith had borne a face of fierce determination when he had struck her. That had been just a heartbeat ago. The drow’s appearance now, however, was like night and day.

Sarith was doubled over, a few feet away. He was breathing heavily, even from so little exertion. In fact, the man looked utterly exhausted. There was a strange, unfocused quality to his eyes, and a pained expression upon his face. His hands were trembling, and they clutched at his chest as if in terrible pain.

Nosey didn’t know what to make of the strange turn of events. But she was not going to waste the opportunity either! Kill or be killed—that was what Zern had said. There was no room for mercy in Velhynvelve… Monopolizing on her opponent’s distress, Nosey swiftly closed the gap between them. Sarith made no resistance as the paladin grabbed him roughly by the shoulder, and forced him upright. For a split second, red eyes met green. They locked for a single breath, in silent understanding. Then the green pair looked away.

She didn’t know much about elven anatomy, having met few purebloods before: her adoptive family. Needless to say, the question—‘how best might I murder you?’—had never come up. But Nosey didn’t need a complicated biology lesson. Not for what she was about to do. She just prayed that, despite their legendary coldness, the drow still hid a vulnerable heart within their blackened breasts.

She wouldn’t want this man to suffer…

With every bit of strength she could muster, Nosey drove her knife home. The blade slid between Sarith’s thin ribs as easy as butter. The warrior gave a wet-sounding cough as the hilt graced his chest; a spurt of warm liquid accompanied, and cascaded down Nosey’s arm. Her aim had clearly struck true. All the same, the paladin refused to look at her opponent. She didn’t want to see the light leave Sarith’s eyes. Didn’t want to see the red foam surely dancing upon his lips. Instead, she withdrew her blade and tossed the limp elf roughly to the ground. The spurt—blood of course—became an explosive fountain, coating the naked half-elf in a disturbingly sticky shower. It continued to pool upon the polished floor, splashing Ilvara’s feet. The man in its midst, however, did not get up again.

Nosey doubted he ever would.

On all sides, the crowd erupted with cheers and guffaws. The drow were apparently unconcerned whose blood was spilled—even one of their own. It left Nosey with a sick taste of bile in her mouth, but this time she would say nothing. She was done with her criticisms today. There was clearly no saving these people. They were savages. Ilvara in particular seemed to relish in the grisly killing, and laughed manically from atop her seat. The drow man beneath her, meanwhile, only shivered as he eyed the dead man upon the floor, as if hoping he might not be next.

There was one good thing about the drow’s sickening brutality, however: it meant they were highly inattentive. While the group throbbed in ecstasy over the dramatic slaying, they seemed to have forgotten about Nosey entirely. In fact, they seemed to have forgotten about the fight entirely. Though stunned, Nosey still had the presence of mind to take advantage of the situation. With a  numb hand, she slipped Ilvara’s rusty knife into her long, tangled tresses. After all: what was there to lose? That man’s life was wasted now if she did not succeed in her escape. And her hair was already the colour of fire… who would notice a bit more red amidst the flames?

Eventually the Ilvara and her guards came down from their high. With a dismissive wave, the priestess ordered her subordinates to throw Sarith’s corpse to the giant spiders and mop up the stains upon the floor. Fortunately the prisoners were not forced to watch the feeding, and were soon shepherded back to their cage. As they marched, Nosey dully noted that Kian and Angel were particularly giddy about something—and she could only hope it wasn’t the recent murder. Given the day’s proceedings, there was nothing that would surprise her anymore…

 …

“You did that man a mercy, you know. He was dying anyway, and in a manner considerably more horrible.”

The tenor voice rang clear as a bell in Nosey’s ear, but the paladin feigned sudden deafness. She really didn’t want Angel’s sympathies. She didn’t want to hear from anyone at the moment… a drow least of all. And perhaps Angel realized this, for he said nothing more as he continued his examination. In fact, if anything, he was more careful. Long-fingered hands sifted nimbly through the paladin’s hair, scarcely making contact with the skin below. Still, each time she felt Angel’s breath against her neck, Nosey shivered. She couldn’t help it. But she bit down the urge to yell—to retaliate, to tell her cage-mate to leave her the hell alone!

It was of the utmost importance, after all: they had to be sure she wasn’t infected.  And this particular drow hadn’t technically done anything to earn her wrath… at least not yet

When they’d returned to their pen, the prisoners’ first order of business had been to re-activate their telepathic network (now including Angel) and immediately compare notes. Kian and Angel revealed (much to Nosey’s relief) that their mirth after the fight hadn’t been due to some depraved bloodlust—though they had faked it for the guards. Instead, they gleefully revealed they had looted the Hunter Ilvara had murdered—and had apparently stolen some useful gear. Kian had somehow nicked a hand crossbow and 20 bolts, and Angel had managed to braid a rapier into his long silvery hair. Nosey didn’t question their smuggling tactics beyond that. She didn’t want to know. She was too numb inside.

Following suit, Zern and Frec had revealed they had found the location of the team’s own gear—in the guard tower, as it turned out. They had likewise warned the party that it was all to be shipped out to Menzoberranzan tonight. If they wanted more of it back, they’d have to act fast! Based on Zern’s description, Angel had determined the glyph on the duergar’s crate was the High Drow glyph for ‘heretic’. With some dismay, he reflected that the crate was likely designated for himself and Sarith. If only he’d been there as well, the elf had lamented. There was one nigh-irreplaceable item he’d have liked to steal back…  

With a laugh and some considerable relish, Zern had then tossed his hidden half-mask at the drow’s face, to the tune of a rousing: “You don’t say, Mr Heretic?” This was, of course, the very item Angel had been brooding over. It was apparently his holy symbol—of some deity named Vhaeraun, whom Nosey surprisingly didn’t recognize. Angel had looked like he could have kissed Zern for rescuing it.

Briefly, Kian and Angel had reported their various findings after that. They had thoroughly investigated the waterfall on shift, and recommended it as a possible means of escape. This had been followed by a general murmur of agreement among the prisoners, though the select hold-outs had been obvious. Derendil, Bupoido, and Ront had all looked particularly displeased at the idea of simply leaping into a pool and running like cowards. If they had more particular complaints, however, the trio kept them to themselves… at least for the moment. After all, escape was still a tricky notion. Regardless of which route the refugees took, there was still the issue of getting out of the cage... and past the quaggoth guards.

The topic then had turned to Nosey’s fight, and the half-elf had found herself suddenly uninterested in listening. The others had all been quick to share their sides of the story, however, and managed to roughly piece it all together. Angel commended the paladin on her blasphemy of Lolth—and to Ilvara’s face, no less! Buppido and Derendil then conveyed her supposed bravery whilst the priestess stripped and flogged her. No one could say how Sarith would have felt… though the dead man had been there from the beginning as well. Everyone had seen the fight itself, naturally. Nosey felt no need at all to listen to that bit. She was already trying so hard to forget the day’s proceedings… But then she overheard someone asking the one question that piqued the paladin’s interest: why had Sarith fallen so easily?

To Nosey’s surprise, it was Angel who answered. He’d gotten a decent look at Sarith’s symptoms whilst the drow fought in the arena, and had found them disconcertingly familiar. He called Sarith’s illness ‘Zygmatory’s Plague’, and claimed the man had been infected with demonic spores that sometimes drifted into the Underdark from the Abyss below. These would have wracked the drow’s body and slowly infiltrated his brain. When the disease finally proved fatal, it produced a beast called a ‘Spore Servant’—a sort of infectious, fungal zombie that existed only to infect others. It was a particularly disconcerting diagnosis, for the spores would normally burst prematurely out of the victim’s head if they were informed of their condition. Or… if they were killed before the disease had run its course…

And thus they had gotten here.

Nosey had insisted she’d seen neither spores nor exploding heads when she had killed Sarith—and that was apparently worrisome to the denizens of the Underdark. According to Angel, any infestation would still be benign, and the spores were rendered inert within a few hours if they did not manage to invade a humanoid host. Therefore, it was of prime importance that Nosey be looked over. The team needed to ensure she hadn’t been infected without their notice. And, as the most equipped to identify the spores, Angel had been left with the task of combing through Nosey’s hair in search of them. It was a tedious process, and at the moment Nosey wanted none of it. She understood the urgency, however, and so gave her consent to the painstaking examination. Her paladin training wouldn’t allow her to surrender to petty impulses like fear or revulsion.

Of course… Nosey wasn’t sure if she felt either of those towards Angel in the first place. She barely knew the man, and she hated to make assumptions based on race—even an evil race! After all, the half-elf thought to herself: one of her beloved brothers was a drow… But she was still thankful, after several tense minutes, when Angel pronounced her “clear”. He stopped sifting through her long flaming locks, and looked apologetic—he even offered to help with the tedious task of re-braiding. This, however, Nosey adamantly refused. It may have been petty of her, but there was something about this particular drow that unnerved her, and she wanted him out of her business as soon as possible. Thus, with a shrug, Angel bowed out and swiftly joined Kian in relaying their camp survey. It was an important discussion, but Nosey just couldn’t bring herself to pay much attention. She couldn’t explain it.

Eventually, she was approached by the pair of deep gnome twins—Topy and Turvy—who likewise offered to help re-braid her hair. This time, the half-elf accepted the aid, and found herself surprisingly comforted by the contact of tiny hands. It was… nice. Nice in a way Nosey couldn’t quite remember feeling before. It was unlike the affection than the paladin had felt toward her brothers back home—or even the young apprentices. Even with all her linguistic expertise, the paladin loath to describe the sensation. But it was warm—warm in a way that touched her very soul. Perhaps the half-elf hadn’t realised just how lonely she had become in Velynvelve…

Ilvara’s words from earlier that day rang loudly in the paladin’s head suddenly:

“Which of these prisoners do you love most? Which is your dearest friend?”

Nosey hadn’t been lying earlier when she had told the ‘cleric’ she’d never had a friend. With the exception of her brothers, she had scarcely been close to anyone—had scarcely met anyone! But, right this moment, the half-elf decided that needed to change. In the future, she didn’t want to be saved by virtue of being lonely, as she had today. From here on, she would attempt to befriend her fellow prisoners—for better or for worse!

And she would start with these two.

Nosey would make absolutely sure that Topsy and Turvy escaped this camp. She would make certain they made it home, safe and sound! It would be her first step towards redemption… towards becoming…

Becoming… what? 

...

There was a lot of embellishment here, but in terms of gameplay, this fight actually happened and gave a a good chance for some character development/world building. The fight actually started because Angel had almost screamed at Ilvara IC, and had been stopped by Kian's player. Nosey's player had then made a snide comment at the table, and hadn't bothered to emphasize whether she was speaking IC or OOC. So naturally our DM decided to pounce on her. We were all super nervous OOC, of course. Having played LG paladins for most of her career, Angel's player was severely conflicted about helping Nosey out--wanting to OOC, unsure of a reason to do so IC with her CN alignment. Fortunately, the DM gave Sarith next to no HP and disadvantage due to his fatigued condition. So it didn't take too much for Nosey's player to take him down, once she realized the DM was serious. It made for a nice bit of foreshadowing, however, considering what transpired between those players/characters latter in the AP. 

Figuring out Sarith was mechanically just a luck of Angel's player rolling a natural 20 on the die, giving her a 32 on the Medicine check as the corpse was hauled away. But it was ultimately rather poetic. At the time it seemed strange to us that Nosey wasn't infected with spores when she'd killed Sarith, but we'd see why later. The smuggling efforts made by Angel and Kian were likewise the result of some very high rolls. The dice gods were apparently in my favour, because repeat natural 20's (34 Slight of Hand) are what enabled me to hide the rapier. Frec had made a similarly nice check, but considering his player dropped the campaign soon after, I didn't feel the need to give him any credit here. All in all, the party's luck continued, and I certainly won't complain about that!