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[STATS]
>Combat: +++
>Social: +
>Knowledge: ++
[Traits/Perks]
>Indomitable, Rank 1: Ignore the penalties imposed by Blood Loss. Does not negate health loss.
>Atelier of Death: Craft your own Bombs and Poisons
>Nimble Fingers: +30 to non-attack actions involving your hands (lockpicking, pickpocketing, etc.).
>Nobility (Aderaveth): Take a flat 50 to Knowledge rolls concerning this subject.
“Alchemist’s fire,” Palme observed, gingerly holding the phial in armored hands. The contents within the small decanter emitted a soft glow every few seconds, even without the aid of nearby torchlight. “Not exactly a common substance, and definitely one no mere brigand can purchase from a common hedge witch.”
“Get to the point,” Emeron snapped. Once his sister had been returned to her quarters, the full extent of his acerbic temper had long slipped past his cool exterior. “I’m in no mood for bandying words, Palme. Speak quickly and as plain as you can.”
Even with years of mortar to reinforce the stone, the cool touch of evening winds still found their way deep into the castle’s dungeons. The jailer’s room was almost as cold as a midwinter’s night, but not so frozen as to prevent the spread of mildew. But both had little effect on the men gathered at the table, cloaked in thick furs and well-used to the smell of foul things.
There was a fire going in the pit, the dry hiss and pop of resin veins in the tinder audible even through the howling of the prisoner. It cast macabre shadows across the walls, flickering shapes and phantoms against the ageless stone. And as the night went on, the darkness lengthened as crimson flames consumed the half-ashen wood.
(cont.)