The raw, obvious power of the gemstone called out to the sorcerer the like sirens of lore and he found himself unable to resist its pull. He spent several minutes, maybe even half an hour staring up at the gem, wishing he could move himself closer by sheer force of will. Alas, it was not to be. He eventually shook himself free of its pull and looked around. His companions had abandoned him. All that remained was the unconscious elf… and the cloak on the floor.

Dacheus walked over and knelt beside the cloak, then picked it up and looked it over. It was, by all accounts, entirely ordinary. But, stuck up in the mountains as he was, a heavy fur cloak would come in handy. He slung it lightly around his shoulders and looked back up at the statue. The gem still called out to him, though he could at least resist and control the urge to drool over it. 

[i]Well, I’d better at least get a good look at it, even if I have to do it without that useless oaf.[/i] He quickly mounted the stairs, climbed onto the railing, and looped his new cloak around the top of the statue. Then he carefully shimmied down it, deftly holding both ends of the cloak in one hand and inspecting the statue with the other until he reached the gem. [i]This thing… gods below, the power just rolling out of it… I should… I should take this thing with me.[/i]

That, of course, wasn’t happening. His bare hands were not enough to dislodge the gem, nor did a telekinesis spell have any more luck. In his frustration, he began simply yelling at the statue and trying to shake it over. “God damned stubborn insufferable idiotic ugly hunk of stone! No one even likes you, you should have fallen over of the damned sculptor who made you!” 

And then his arms had had enough, his strength failed, and the sorcerer fell. At least he wasn’t high up; he flailed a bit and twisted in the air and landed, mostly catching himself with his hands. “Oof! God dammit. Where’s that oaf of a warrior when I need something to land on? Bah! He’d have just stepped aside and let me fall on my face again!”

Another minute of screaming and pounding his fists against the unyielding, unconcerned statue left him tired and frustrated. “Alright, there’s gotta be… there’s gotta be…” he looked around for a loose rock to throw at it. He looked some more. And more. And after a couple of minutes concluded that there were, in fact, no loose rocks of appropriate size for him to launch at this damnable statue. 

“Fine! Fine fine fine! Who needs rocks? I have FIRE!” Dacheus focused inwardly, summoning the fire which burned within his veins, creating a devastatingly powerful bolt of arcane flame, and launching it straight at the statue. It roared across the room, hit the waist of the statue, and vanished without leaving so much as a scorch mark. 

“Oh for pity’s sake! That’s fucking cheating!” he shouted at the statue, stomping his feet. Then something caught his attention. The elf, still lying by the base of the statue. Had the stone not simply absorbed his spell, the blast likely would have been the end of her. The sorcerer felt the slightest hint of remorse and knelt down next to her to see if she was alive. 

She was, still breathing in fact. Her pulse seemed to quicken as he touch her, and yet she could not be roused. “Well, maybe this statue will keep watching over you,” he muttered. “But for those of us still trying to survive… I think I’m gonna need this.” He took her pack from around her shoulders and rifled through it; some rope, some animal hides, some silver. Better than nothing. There were scraps of cloth on the edge of a doorway; his companions must have left that way. He put the fur cloak about his shoulders again, slung the elf’s pack over that, and set off.

At first, the cold hit him, and he laughed. “Bring it!” he declared, pushing on into the frigid wind, sheer force of will and the fire in his veins easily holding off the freezing chill. A half out late, he’d changed his tune; it was cold, the frosty chill starting to seep into his bones; the fur cloak helped but it wasn’t enough. He found a couple corpses, a pair of goblins and a peasant girl, and continued trudging on indifferently. He could see a town in the valley below and pushed on even as he started to lose feeling in his fingers and toes. If he had to summon some fire to hold off frostbite, he would, but he didn’t think it’d be necessary; the town gates weren’t far now.

He eventually made it, approaching the wooden wall of the town, when a gruff voice called out: “Oi! Halt and state yer business here, or I'll have the chuckers make  you into a pincussion!” 

Dacheus looked up at the wall and sighed. "I am cold and I am hungry!" he yelled back. "And I wish to remedy both of those things! I am also looking for my companions who left me up in the mountains, but those little shits probably got eaten by goblins!" 

He was rewarded with laughter from behind the wall, and soon a head popped out from between the wooden chunks. The grizzled old man gave the sorcerer a sneering look: ”Alright, ye can come in. Don't be causin trouble now, or we'll chuck ye right out with a few extra holes!”
The large wooden gates swung open to reveal visage of the village at dusk. There was a long street ahead with various clay houses on either side and a large field at the end of the road. As Dacheus walked inside, he saw a man walk down towards him from the small parapets along the wall. It was the same grizzled man from a moment before.
“I'm the mayor here, so if I see you doing anything that's bad for us, we'll have you hanged by dawn! The inn's down the street if you have gold to spend! Off with ye!”

Dacheus nodded and set off. He had no desire to remain outdoors any longer than needed. The inn was little more than a large hovel, but very homely inside. The barkeep, a huge woman, towered over him. “Oh, another customer? Are you one of those BREAD fanatics too or do you like some proper goblin stew?”

"Gimme the goblin stew," he answered. It didn't sound great, but he didn't want to argue.

Overjoyed at not having to deal with another picky customer, she slapped his back. He sat down at a nearby table and and she handed him a bowl of murky green-ish liquid with some bits floating in it, then handed him a wooden spoon. 'That'll be five silvers!'

He had hardly that much to begin with, but after the hike down from the mountains he lacked the strength to argue. "Any chance that comes with a stiff drink?" he asked, clearly joking as he fished the coins from his pocket. "This is delicious, but I think it'd go well with something stout."

“Aye, we have some distilled Goblin ale! Only ten silvers!”

He sighed and shook his head. "I'd love to try it, but I don't have that kind of coin on me, gorgeous. Maybe after I rob the silly bread-eaters." The stew was....horrendous, but Dacheus was a bit too hungry to care. Properly treated it would probably make a fine poison.

“Aye, ye should! They've been nothing but trouble!”

A few minutes later, he finished eating and stood. 'How was the stew?' The tall barkeep was incredibly curious as to his reaction, as were the other patrons of the inn.

[i]It would go better with some bread[/i], the sorcerer thought but didn’t say. “Excellent!” he answered. “I’ve never had anything like it!” At least the last part wasn’t a lie.

“Great!” the barkeep replied. “You’re alright, not like those damn bread fanatics. If you’re here to exorcise them, they’re in room 4. Here, grab some ale and teach them how to properly enjoy drinks!” She handed him two mugs of what appeared to be ale with a strange greenish color.

Dacheus thanked her and made his way up the stairs, a mug of ale in each hand. He found door number four and knocked firmly. “I hear there’s a pair of bread-eating saps in here! Best open the door, ya hear?” he yell, grinning like an idiot.