Story HourPost your ongoing tales from your campaigns, and read those from others for inspiration. Lots of other RPG boards post "Story Hours", but this is where it started!
With the insane diety near saving and the demi-plane ready to expel the survivors. I'm left wondering do we see some reincarnations from the nature goddess or do we see ?
Alhear - Well, he has a dry sense of humor (very dry, almost dessicated ) so he'd likely view it as another chance to prove to nature it can be circumvented.
ah well, just the observations and opinions of a raving madman.
Interesting you think a Druid would show nature it could be circumvented,
Heh, but anyway, have a nice read .
__________________ Seemingly i am a Orange Dragon...o whell, burn baby burn "disko" inferno, ouch ouch ouch ayeeeee
"Great... swallowed by a cloud!!" Noxin grumbled as he turned in a circle, greathammer at the ready, searching the area all around for some clue as to what was happening. There was little to see apart from the clouds rolling ever closer.
"Perhaps the sword knows something?" Saelus suggested and Morier raised the sabre in his hand. It was just a sword now, he sensed; whatever spark of life it had possessed before freeing the Heart had been spent in the process leaving just unthinking metal behind.
"No," he said, his eyes never leaving the floating gemstone as he absently dropped the weapon at his side. "Its intelligence is gone."
"Well we sure started somethin' here," Noxin said, anxiously. "Let's grab the gem and start thinkin' about finding a way out before we get swallowed up!" He started for the glowing ruby, but Morier was closer and the albino stepped forward and clutched it in two hands before the half-giant could take a second step.
Time then seemed to stop for the eldritch warrior. The instant of contact with the gem stretched out impossibly, and in that dilated moment, every second that had passed since he'd entered the Grove of Renewal was played out before him in the heart of the stone. It was like he had been born that day, as if nothing he had done before then was important.
What had previously seemed a random set of encounters with a constantly chaging cast of characters suddenly became a clear picture. Every second organized, planned, and carried out with meticulous efficiency. Madness was replaced with clarity. Every soul had been sent to do his or her part, each marking a moment that allowed the next step to be taken. The roles could well have been reversed. It could just as easily have been he who had sacrificed to put someone else in this moment... at this place and this time.
Images of people from the past streamed across the stone's roseate surface now, some nameless faces, some far more familiar. Even those that seemed strangers at first were quickly connected now to names he had heard spoken; Kirnoth, Finian, Soriah... all had passed on before he joined the group, but somehow they all looked familiar and provided him a somewhat unexpected sense of comfort at this moment. Transient faces like Windstryder, Bisayo, and Grisham who had been with the group for what seemed like an instant before disappearing, now smiled and greeted him like old friends. Vade, Feln, Lela, Ixin... none of this would have happened, he knew, without their sacrifice.
Ledare now stood before him and he lowered his head in reverence. It was her devotion to this cause that had made him come along with the group in the first place. Their paths had intersected more than once in this lifetime, maybe for a reason. He lifted his head and her image was at once replaced by the figures of Shamalin, Ayremac, and Karak. They had been among the tiny handful of people he would have called friends. Then the old Ahlear that he remembered from Hillville Junction appeared... not the strange, petrified, cloth wrapped stranger that he seemed to have become in the end... and that image faded just as quickly. Huzair then turned to face him, cigar jutting from his clenched teeth. His was the only image to speak.
"I was always going to be the hero, my friend. You knew that, didn't you? Come on, it was inevitable," the wizard chuckled. "Nominate me for sainthood or something, would ya? It's the least you could do. And, hey, remember me fondly to the old man next time you see him. Tell him I did good."
And then they vanished. He felt small... physically... emotionally... spiritually.
"I am with you," a woman said and time lurched back into motion.
The gem was gone!
But at the same time, it wasn't. Morier touched his chest, feeling the shape of the gemstone beneath his chain shirt... half-embedded in his chest. Oddly, this did not bring any feeling of alarm to the albino. In fact it brought him a sense of comfort and warmth - "I am with you" - that he couldn't quite explain.
"Come on, Morier!" Noxin urged. "This place is goin' fast!"
Morier looked around and saw that the clouds were closing in on all sides. The three of them stood in the middle of a circle that was maybe fifty feet across and shrinking fast. This didn't really concern him too much.
"Don't worry," the eldritch warrior said, grinning slightly as the clouds closed in.
"Don't worry!?" Noxin yelled, brandishing his hammer as if he might smite the clouds into retreat. "I'd say this was a damned fine time to start worryin'!"
"If you're going to pull a miracle out of the air, now would be a good time to do so," the Colonel admitted, sparing a glance at Morier.
The elf just smiled as the clouds closed in.
And then they were floating in a void.
No... not quite a void, there were monumental cloud formations in the silvery distance and multi-colored lights twinkled here and there like stars. But it was quite empty nonetheless.
"What the-?" Noxin said, dumbfounded. Colonel Saelus looked around and made an assessment.
Well, it's been two weeks since my computer died and I was able to I post an update! But I've got a new hard drive with most of my old data so things should settle back into the regular once-a-week schedule.
But... for now let's drop a couple of updates to make up for the last couple f weeks, shall we?
"The bride looks beautiful," Del assured his friend and mentor as the father of the groom stole a moment from the social necessities of his son's wedding to stop at their table. They were in one of the larger banquet rooms at the Janissary Guildhall. Colorful tapestries hung from the ceiling and all of the wall sconces were lit. It was a warm and festive feeling… a reprieve from the recent troubles Barnacus had experienced.
It still seemed strange to Del that the festivities were not taking place at the castle, but with the city in the state it was of late few people got near the King. Hasding Island was completely blockaded by Elcadian naval vessels making sure that no one could bring plague to His Majesty again. It was a sound strategy, he knew, but it was causing rumors to spread. In the short time he'd been back in the capital he'd personally heard a human commoner assert that King Haermond had gone mad from his sickness and had locked himself in his own dungeon!
Cadeus Thurgood settled into the chair, fidgeting with his finery. "She does at that." Then he added in a conspiratorial whisper, "But her mother has us all fit to be tied! If that's any indication of what's in store for Geoff… the gods save him!" The men chuckled and Del excused himself to fetch a round of drinks for the group.
Cade’s gaze followed the man he had raised as a son as Del wove his way through the crowds. The compliment had been sincere enough, but Cade knew the effort it must be taking for Del to participate in the celebration. It hadn’t yet been two full moondances since word had reached the janissary guild of Ledare Eelsof’faw’s untimely death. The news had hit Del particularly hard, and was evidenced in his face even now. Cade looked away and toward a handsome, middle-aged elf seated at the table. "I see you two have reconnected?"
The elf smiled warmly and inclined his head. Long, thick, dark hair was pulled stylishly back, leaving a widow’s peak in the middle of his forehead. His clothes were exquisite, from his family's finest collection Cadeus would guess, although he was sure that Deandra would know at a glance. His wife had an eye for fabrics that Cadeus couldn't match. Still, he thought it a fair assumption to make; Maleko Maltalia always seemed to be superbly dressed with not a wrinkle in his clothes or a hair out of place.
"Yes it’s great to see Del again," the elf explained. "The janissaries of Barnacus have provided excellent service to my family, and we owe them a great deal. I owe them my life.” Cade nodded. Frequent caravan attacks had always plagued the kingdom's border. Over the past few years the Home Legion's efforts had curbed some of the violence. Since the plague, however, road bandits were once again wreaking havoc on an already fragile trade industry. And the Legion was stretched far too thin to do much more than occasionally stanch the flow of gold from the merchant guild's coffers. It was not a good situation.
It surprised Cade a little that the wedding was going as well as it was. Many of the local burghers had closed up shop and fled the city weeks ago. And those that remained in town were ill-tempered at best. The Maltalias, it seemed, were one of the few families who seemed to harbor no ill will toward the king and his janissaries these days.
Maleko continued, “When Del approached me and wanted to speak, I sensed something was troubling him. I would do anything that I could to help him. Not only am I indebted to him, but I consider him to be one of the most honorable men I have ever encountered… a credit to his training and to you. Is there trouble with his family?"
"No trouble," Del interrupted depositing several overflowing tankards of ale on the table. "Let's not distract from the proud father’s momentous occasion." He handed Cade a drink and then gave Maleko a look that the cleric immediately understood.
“Of course… to the bride and groom!” Maleko toasted. The men drank heartily, each one noticing as Del drained his tankard and reached immediately for another.
Later that night as Maleko returned home, he heard footsteps approaching swiftly behind him and a jolt of fear shot through his body. Quickly he turned, glancing over his shoulder only to be relieved to see it was only Del.
“Maleko, I wish to speak with you,” Dell boomed as he trotted to catch up to the elf. Maleko did not mind having an escort walking at night. He had reason to be nervous.
In the time since his first abduction he had grown much more cautious. After the second abduction he had learned of the cruelty of men. That time he had used his magic to “disappear” from the caravan and had hoped to escape. Only the fact that a bandit had seen him vanish allowed them to catch him. The man had threatened, yelling into the dark, “I will kill one of your merchants each minute you do not show yourself.” Unfortunately, it took one minute for Maleko to see that the brigand was not bluffing, so he had little choice. He could not bear to see another of his employees die because of his inaction. That life would forever weigh on his conscience, he feared.
“Your company is always welcome, Del. What words do you wish to share with me?” Maleko inquired.
“I heard from Cadeus that you were no longer working for your family; that Grey House had employed you,” Del spoke carefully.
“That is true. I would not want everyone to know this, but I trust you may already know Grey House is in disarray. All the senior members are missing. Abernathy, who looks after the estate, has given me this,” Maleko said and unveiled a bracelet, encrusted with eight gems. He offered it to the janissary and Del saw that one of the gems was aglow with a feint orange light. As the circlet moved in his fingers, the glow seemed to shift from gem to gem, always glowing brightest toward the southwest.
“All of the members of Grey House have disappeared," Maleko said as Del returned the bracelet to his thin hands. "Several unfortunately have met their demise, but many have an uncertain location. This is the assignment I have accepted. I am to discern what has happened to the members.” Maleko had a look of uncertainty that he quickly tried to cover with a thin smile.
Del nodded, taking it in. He knew that Ledare, too, had been working for the Grey Company. But whether or not she had still been under their service at the time of her death he did not know. The fact that the entire Grey House had uncertainty surrounding it was startling news. And Del suddenly found himself needing to find out more.
“One of my comrades who participated in your rescue worked for the Grey. She spoke very highly of them. Ledare Eelsof’faw … You may recall her.”
“Indeed I do. When you were rescuing me, she jumped a mile when I cast Web on the baddies who were escaping,” remarked Maleko. He kept the feeling that she had been more than just Del’s comrade to himself adding only, “My sympathies.”
Del looked off into the darkness. “I left Awad to become a janissary. And I’ve spent years stamping out small evils.” He paused, searching for the words. “I was good at it. Better, even, than I might have been at home working the shipyard. It was the life I thought I was meant for… making a difference.” He was quiet.
“Suddenly it all seems meaningless…” he said at last and his words trailed off, dragged down by the weight of emotion in them. Maleko waited a moment to see if he would continue, but his companion seemed lost in his own thoughts. The elf sighed.
“As you may know life for an elf is long, and we generally pursue many interests. My father has his business and his human wives to keep him busy. My life has... well, not been quite as fulfilling," Maleko said. "Being an elf... well, mostly elven at any rate... with an extended life span when compared to humans or even half-elves... our interests often change over time.” Del still seemed wrapped in his own thoughts as he looked off down the street toward the sea. Light was spilling out of the Needle and Thread Tavern some blocks away, but that was the only sign of life along the route.
"I have worked at being a merchant with my family, which made me a good fortune. It allowed me to explore my gifts as a sorcerer… until I fell in love. Her name was Alana. She worshiped Nethlar and my love for her drew me to him as well. I so admired her and the followers of Nethlar’s desire for knowledge and truth." for a moment, Maleko's own voice thickened with memory, but he'd reconciled himself with his wife's death years ago. He went on, "Well, as mixed marriages go it was great, but not meant to last forever. She passed on decades ago. I then wished to adventure after her death seeking escape. Father thought me naïve and foolish. He was right.” Maleko smiled in the darkness.
“I had a run in with unscrupulous adventurers and well…. was only saved when my father paid my ransom. I lost any trust I had for humankind there and then." His mouth twisted as if he'd bitten down on something bitter. "Well, I then moved on to the safe profession of teaching and working for father only occasionally. Teaching was rewarding for a while, but after a score of years… I find myself yearning for more out of life. With the recent closing of the school due to the plague, this latest opportunity seemed a logical and serendipitous choice."
"I do wonder myself why I was approached for this job and questioned Abernathy thoroughly on the matter. Poor man lost everything: his masters, his family, everything except that sweet, but ill mannered dog that follows him around incessantly. I-" Maleko stopped in mid-sentence, feeling suddenly that he'd given Del more of an ear-full than the janissary wished for. The half-elf was too diplomatic to say anything, of course, but Maleko sensed something in Del's demeanor nonetheless.
"Forgive me. I ramble so. It must be the wine," the elf said, stifling back a feigned yawn. "We shall continue tomorrow? Breakfast tomorrow at the Five Elements? Considerably after the rooster crows.”
“This gift from Abernathy, how will it help you locate the Grey Members?” Del asked the next morning after the serving wench, Maggie, had brought him another tankard of ale. They sat in the common room of the Five Elements Inn. The early morning crowd had cleared out, and only a handful of patrons were lingering. Maleko thought that Maggie had been especially attentive to them at first, trying, it seemed, to catch Del's eye, but had eventually given up when he gave her no notice and now she virtually ignored them. The two men had spoken lightly of other things during the breakfast meal, but Maleko sensed that it was all leading up to this.
“The glow indicates the direction of the closest coin. The strength of the glow indicates how close we are.” He demonstrated, turning the bracelet in his hands. As it had last night, the glow remained steadily pointing to the southwest no matter what direction the object was turned. The glow seemed rather weak in the light of day, however. “We are nowhere near where this coin is. I asked the Abernathy to accompany me, but he insisted he is too old and grief stricken to be of any good in the field. He takes the loss of each member of the Company very seriously and had felt a connection to some of the new members who had perished. He said they were really a good, eager bunch overall and feared that their inexperience may have led to their deaths.” Del's face darkened at that and Maleko thought perhaps that he spied wetness in the half-elf's eyes, but then they hardened again.
"I worry for Abernathy and have asked father to look in on him from time to time," Maleko added and Del took a long draught from his mug. Maleko wondered, fleetingly, if the man was drinking to bolster his nerves or if this was always his way.
“What would you say to some company on your quest?” Del asked suddenly. He didn’t give time for an answer before continuing. “I’m a fairly experienced tracker, and I’ve some skill with a sword.” He suddenly felt foolish and smiled. “The truth is, I’d be abandoning my post, which is a serious offense. That could make things… difficult down the line.”
“I would be honored Del, but what about your career, your family name? Why not just ask for a leave of absence?” Maleko asked belatedly realizing by the look on Del’s face that he needed to lower his voice. Del shook his head in response.
“Given all the recent trouble, the king has restricted any extended leaves. Cade pulled all the strings he had just to get me home for Geoffrey's wedding," the half-elf said sullenly. "No. If I'm to join you it will be outside the scope of my duties. But whatever Ledare was pursuing for the Grey Company, it was with a passion that went beyond even her janissary duty. She was involved with something really big - bigger than anyone knew, and she believed in it wholeheartedly. And if I can carry that banner now, then I have to do it. Even if it means leaving one cause to take up another." Then his voice dipped lower and he said into his mug, "I owe her that."
Maleko nodded, his mind racing ahead. “I fear traveling alone could be dangerous, but I have ways we can avoid much trouble if necessary. I think your sword and my sorcery will be a good team," the elf said eagerly. "We can endure the elements through my magic, or hide from trouble if we choose not to fight it.” Maleko secretly hoped he could avoid such conflict. “I can also heal wounds when I pray, although I fear Nethlar may have forgotten about me in the years since I left the clergy.”
“You seem to have served his cause well in other capacities. The priests of Nethlar value the truths of history which you have taught,” Del suggested and Maleko nodded.
“We can take two of my father’s horses and leave tomorrow. It is best he not know that you are accompanying me, of course. I do not wish to have my family involved in any conspiracy. No offense,” Maleko kindly inserted.
“Of course. None taken,” Del replied, his face showing the conflict he felt between choosing his personal needs over his sworn duty. This was not a decision he had come to easily. He had run away from one life long ago, in pursuit of something. And here he was about to run again. But what else could he do?
“It’s done then. I will meet you before sunup tomorrow,” he announced firmly, clunking his tankard down on the tabletop loud enough to draw curious glances from the other patrons. “I have a few things to take care of before that.”
The next morning Del arrived at Maleko's home shortly before sunrise. It was a small, but exquisite house in the wealthier section of town. Maleko opened the door even before Del could dismount. "I should have known you would bring your own steed. Father can pick up Mister Billy when he stops by to pick up my pets this morning," Maleko said, referring to the horse he had intended to bring along for Del. "Please come in."
Del followed Maleko into one of the most elegant homes he had seen. His boots echoed off the polished floors. Artifacts of obvious value were tastefully displayed. The prosperity of the Maltalia family was apparent in every aspect of the place. "Can I get you anything?" Maleko asked, reflexively. Del declined and Maleko continued with schoolboy enthusiasm, "I have trail rations, my sleeping bag, and a tent. I have connections in most of the major cities and towns in Elcaden. My family name carries weight in some circles." There was not the slightest hint of a boast in the tone; Maleko was merely stating the truth. As he spoke, he fingered a beautifully decorated long sword that hung at his waist.
"I did not want to carry this since I know I will never use it," he admitted, "but father said if people see it, they are more likely to leave you alone. Image is everything, he always says."
Del suddenly became acutely aware of his own image reflected in one of the mammoth gold-gilded mirrors that hung on the wall. He almost didn't recognize the man looking back at him - errant strands of brown hair already escaping the tie at the base of his neck, several days growth of beard shadowing his face, weather-worn travel clothes…all that was the same. However, without his janissary insignia, he seemed a stranger to himself.
As Maleko continued to point out his preparations, a gnawing concern began to grow in the back of Del's mind. It appeared his companion had no experience traveling or camping except at the finest of inns. Maleko, being perceptive, addressed that fact immediately. "I can take care of myself and even you, if needed, by other means. I'll admit that I do enjoy the finer things in life, but can 'rough' it if I must." He smiled disarmingly, "I just prefer not to."
"I'm not worried." Dell insisted, although in the back of his mind, he was.
His concerns, however, did not last long. And as Del relaxed that evening in the soft bed of the Frog Hair Tavern he began to think that for years, perhaps, he had been going about it all wrong. Certainly this was preferable to the discomfort of a hard dirt floor. A flame crackled in the firepit, the scent of seasoned meat still hung in the air from dinner, and the ale had formed a warm feeling in the pit of his stomach. It would be easy to grow accustomed to such luxury, he decided, if that was the path you found yourself upon.
As his thoughts turned to Ledare, as they often did in the last waking moments of the day, Del wondered exactly what kind of path he was now on.
Elsewhere...
"You know those texts by rote, my boy," Justiciar Galmache said from behind him. "And the answers you seek do not lie in The Writ of Umba."
"I never thought that I would hear you say those words, Justiciar," Ayremac answered without turning. "How many times did you send me to the The Writ during my training?"
"As many times as was necessary for you to understand the words of the Soul Judge well enough to act as Her agent in the world," Galmache told him and eased up to the holy warrior's side. He splayed a hand out over the text of the illuminated manuscript and continued, "But that time is years passed. Any clarity The Writ holds for you is already in your heart. Your answers are not here." Ayremac sighed.
"Then where are they, Justiciar?" Ayremac asked, turning his emerald eyes to the cleric. There was confusion in the holy warrior's face and no small measure of grief there as well. Galmache smiled at him.
"In the one place you've been avoiding these last few weeks, Ayremac," the man explained, placing a hand on the Officer's arm. "Out in the world."
The holy warrior sagged as if a great, invisible hand were pressing on his shoulders.
"I- I don't think I can," Ayremac said, his voice barely a whisper. "Everything I thought I was fighting for-"
"Is still out there," the Justiciar assured him. "You were called as an Officer of Umba. You are Her sword in the world. You are meant to bring Her justice to the people, not wither away in the dark beneath a mountain of dusty tomes."
"My allies are gone," Ayremac argued. "I am but one man." Galmache patted the holy warrior's cheek.
"Even a single candle may banish the darkness, my boy. You know that!" the cleric smiled. "And anyway, you have an ally. Ixin is eager to re-enter the fight." Ayremac looked surprised.
"Ixin?" he asked. "Surely she isn't well enough to-"
"You underestimate her resilience, I think," the priest answered. "Twice now she has returned from the Walk of 100 Days. It has made her strong in unexpected ways. She has taken to the secrets of The Writ and is anxious to return to the field. To be sure, her training is not complete, but I can think of no better teacher than the one who released her from her imprisonment." The Officer smiled weakly.
"You overstate my involvement in that. All I did was bring in the sword," he said. "And I don't know if I'm ready to take on a student. Even Ixin." The priest nodded.
"All I ask is that you think about it," Justiciar Galmache answered. "Think about it and I will pray to Umba for guidance."
My wife will be happy to hear about your enthusiasm toward Ixin. Although this time around, she's strictly an NPC.
And for those of you playing along at home - this is the third distinct version of Ixin.
Originally she was a Drakeling (from Green Ronin's Arcana: Societies of Magic) aristocrat/sorcerer.
After her death in the Grove of Renewal and her subsequent rebirth she was re-imagined as a half-dragon sorcerer (variant from Unearthed Arcana).
This last time she's straight human, straight sorcerer with a bunch of draconic feats and a couple of levels of Dragonheart Mage from Races of the Dragon.
What's not to like about ANY of the Protaganisti? Or the author of the story, for that matter? I've thoroughly enjoyed following along on the adventures of the Grey Company, Jon, and thank you for taking the time and effort to share with us!
"We're very close," Maleko said, his voice an excited whisper at Del's shoulder. He held a silencing finger to his lips, but spared a glance over at the glowing bracelet on the elf's wrist. It was shedding as much light as a torch now and the janissary was concerned that the device was becoming a liability rather than an asset at the moment.
Still, after so many weeks on the trail, it was hard not to be a little excited. Remembering that an illegal army was massing in the area helped a little in that regard, of course. They'd managed to avoid detection so far, thanks in no small part to the information that they'd been able to secure about Miller's Pond when they stopped to resupply at the Wayward Fool in Bereford. Or what was left of the Wayward Fool; the inn had sustained obvious heavy damage recently and the owner, Lodar Manford, asserted that the only reason there was anything at all left of the outpost was because of the Wyverneye Militia.
Del knew there was no Wyverneye Militia sanctioned by the Realms Council, which made them an unknown quantity. And an illegal one to boot. Del felt certain that an eyre court would agree with his assessment and bring the full weight of Pellham's legions down on this-
He stopped suddenly, extending an arm to halt Maleko's progress as well. He could hear the sounds of steel on steel. There was battle up ahead and-
Maleko jerked backward, letting out a startled shriek that Del felt certain would alert anyone nearby to their presence. The half-elf turned, sword raised defensively and nearly let out a cry of alarm himself. Maleko was held fast, suspended amidst a tangle of elongated limbs that either gripped the elf or held blades to his body. His copper-colored eyes stared fearfully from above a long-fingered hand that was clamped across his mouth. A misshapen face stared at Del from over the mage's shoulder, its eyes big and black, its teeth sharp and pointed.
Del had never seen such a horror before, but he'd heard them described enough times by Ledare that he didn't have any trouble identifying it. "Chagmat!" he hissed, setting his feet into a combat stance.
"Half-chagmat, actually," a gravely voice said behind him. He turned and saw two figures amidst the trees there. One was a large hobgoblin with brick-red skin carrying a pair of black scimitars at the ready. Her mouth was spread in a toothsome grin. The other was an unkempt human with black hair and beard. He carried a longsword in one hand and a handaxe in the other; the latter was drawn back and ready to fly. Blood oozed from a diagonal cut on his right cheek.
"And he's a friend of ours," the man said, grinning sardonically. "So why don't you drop the sword and maybe Grimbor'll think about lettin' the tree-hugger loose."
"We are not your enemy," Del said levelly, lowering but keeping a firm grip on his sword. His eyes flicked to the chagmat and he saw that it was watching him with too-human eyes. In everything that Ledare had ever told him, the chagmat had been the enemy and he imagined again the horror she must have felt as a child spirited away by monsters such as this. He could sense Maleko's panic at being held by the creature, but the elf's demeanor was outwardly calm.
"I ain't gonna ask again," the black-haired human growled, adjusting his grip on the handaxe. Instinctively, Del gauged the distance for his crossbow. But in the next instant he was forced to violently launch himself out of the path of the whirling handaxe. Having come remarkably close to his left ear, it stuck threateningly in a tree trunk not far from his head.
"Grisham, stand down," the hobgoblin barked.
"Don't get your knickers in a twist!" the man laughed. "I put it right where I aimed to."
Del straightened, eyeing Grisham. He stared back at Del defiantly, the shadow of a beard he wore doing little to hide the muscles that bunched anxiously along his jaw. There was, somehow, another axe already in his hand. Del allowed his sword to drop.
"See, now," Grisham said stepping close enough to kick Del's sword aside before darting lightly back once more out of reach. "That wasn't so hard now was it?"
"I truly hope that you are Cerreakan. If not we may be in greater trouble than I fear," Maleko told the hobgobblin with blunt honesty. His voice was even, but Del could sense the underlying strain to maintain that facade of calm. His tension ratcheted up even more when the hobgoblin glided forward, scimitar-first as if she were a kite and the curved blade were pulling her.
"How do you know my name, elf." the hobgoblin replied angrily guiding the sword ever closer to Maleko. With a sudden subtle motion of her wrist, she punctured a hole in his fine tunic.
"You fit the description Abernathy gave you to the exact detail," Maleko expressed as calmly as possible. He did a good job given the circumstances. In his best immitation of the caretaker Maleko added, "She is an impatient gal for any shenanigans and takes no guff." Grisham guffawed.
"That's one way to describe her, alright!" the man said his eyes twinkling with mischief. "But I can think of a couple others that get to the point a whole lot quicker!" Cerrakean sighed at the man but kept her eyes and swords trained on Maleko.
"Of course, elf, you could just be playing me for a fool," she hissed, baring pointed teeth. "You could have picked that description based on what you've just seen here." Maleko swallowed and forced a smile.
"If you move your sword about six inches to the left you might find something of interest," he said and the hobgoblin narrowed her yellow eyes suspiciously. Then, in one fluid motion she sheathed the scimitar in her left hand and then turned to reach that same hand inside his shirt. Her fingers curved around a familiar object and she let out a bemused snort.
"Let him down, Grimbor," she said her posture easing into calm at once. "He is not a threat."
"Are you sure, lady?" Grimbor asked, hesitantly. His voice was human and youthful, and full of adolescent uncertainty. Cerrakean removed the coin from Maleko's shirt and displayed it to her comrades.
"He's Grey Company," she said simply and let the coin drop. "Let's get them back to the manor house. I want to hear how they came to be in possession of that coin." Grimbor let Maleko drop immediately and then scuttled back up into the trees above. He disappeared almost at once among the branches.
Grisham leaned in to Cerrakean. "Demetrius is gonna want to meet these two," he whispered loudly and the hobgoblin nodded.
"He'll get his chance," she said and Grisham shrugged and stowed his throwing axe. After a brief pause she asked Maleko, "So how is our beloved Abernathy? Any news from Barnacus?"
The elf dusted and smoothed and tucked his finery back into some semblance of the style he preferred. As Grisham pulled his axe from the tree behind him, Del stooped and retrieved his sword. Sheathing it he answered, "The capital is in disarray but the crown is consolidating power to maintain the peace we have. Some ranking members of the Legion have resigned their commissions as a result."
Cerrekean paused and said. "Pah! You can tell me later. We need to get back to the manor. Follow me."
My wife will be happy to hear about your enthusiasm toward Ixin. Although this time around, she's strictly an NPC.
And for those of you playing along at home - this is the third distinct version of Ixin.
Originally she was a Drakeling (from Green Ronin's Arcana: Societies of Magic) aristocrat/sorcerer.
After her death in the Grove of Renewal and her subsequent rebirth she was re-imagined as a half-dragon sorcerer (variant from Unearthed Arcana).
This last time she's straight human, straight sorcerer with a bunch of draconic feats and a couple of levels of Dragonheart Mage from Races of the Dragon.
I am glad she got some love too. Maybe it will encourage her to come and be involved more.
Ixin looked at the face in the mirror and felt an icicle touch her heart. Her HUMAN heart. Without the fiery magic of a draconic fundamentum to warm her, everything had felt cold to her since they brought her back. But this was different, she knew.
It was very difficult to look in the mirror and see a stranger's face staring back.
She raised an unfamiliar hand to touch the unfamiliar face reflected in the silvered surface and was unsurprised to find the hand trembling. She licked her lips nervously and the woman in the mirror did the same.
"Munthrek-pothoc," she muttered under her breath and watched the woman in the mirror mouth the words.
The High Justiciars hadn't wanted to tell her the name of the girl whose body she was wearing, but she managed to coerce Ophiel into indulging her curiosity. In life, her name had been Moranea of Briofield, and she had died from exposure after getting lost in a snowstorm. She was pretty by the standards of the people hereabouts with hair as dark as a moonless night and eyes the color of damp moss. There was a peculiar dusting of freckles across her nose, and her lips were thin - too thin for Ixin's liking. But it was either this or the sword.
Not a hard decision to make, really.
She'd died once and come back, after all. Somehow, it seemed wrong not to do it again. So she'd agreed to have Ayremac's friends draw her soul out of the samsara sword and put it into this girl's body, eager to discover the purpose in her second rebirth. There had to be a reason why death couldn't hold her.
Didn't there?
"Lady Chaririejir?" a voice called from outside her chamber door. It was Ophiel, the lesser Justiciar who had been assigned to attend Ixin until she fully recovered. Time was her senses had been so acute that she would have heard Ophiel's footsteps approaching down the hall long before the woman ever reached her door. But that, like so many other things, had changed forever.
"Yes?" Ixin replied, shyly clutching her dressing gown closed across her body, which, to Ixin's way of thinking was far too squat and frail. She'd lost a full foot in height and close to a hundred pounds of muscle by taking up residence in Moranea's body. Not to mention scales, claws, wings, and every other proof of her illustrious heritage with Clan Vermillion.
Her door opened, letting in a chill draft from the hallway that sent a prickle of gooseflesh running over Ixin's body. She shuddered, hoping that Ophiel wouldn't notice; the Justiciars were sure to interpret any sign of frailty as a sign she was not fit to leave their care. Ophiel met Ixin's eyes and the look of concern on the Justiciar's face told the sorceress that the woman had noticed the tremble.
"Yes?" Ixin repeated, a note of indignation in her voice as she lifted her head and squared her shoulders.
"Are you unwell, my lady?" Ophiel asked with enough genuine concern that Ixin felt her irritation melt away. She shook her head.
"I'm fine," she said. "It's cold. That's all." She looked away and caught sight of the strange, dark-haired woman in the mirror. "I never used to get cold," she added.
"I understand," the Justiciar said and Ixin almost wanted to scream that she did not. No one could possibly understand what it was like to find yourself so alien. But she didn't. Instead she said, "Thank you."
Ophiel smiled and went to the wardrobe. She drew out some fur wraps that would help to keep winter's teeth out of Ixin's flesh. She lay them across the bed and said, "The High Justiciar is going to be reading from the Writ after lunch today. I thought you might want to join me." Ixin looked at the guileless woman and smiled.
"That would be fine," she said.
Elsewhere...
"This is a waste of time," Cerrakean grumbled, swiping casually at a thick, woody vine that hung down before her. Her glittering black scimitar neatly severed the vegetation, dropping it with a muffled fwump! to the ground. She stooped to duck through the new opening. A moment later, Maleko did likewise, although he continued to consult the Tome of Worldly Memory without looking up.
"On the contrary, Cerrakean, this is the only use of our time that makes any sense," the elf assured her. "All of the divinations indicate that the other coins - and the other Grey Companions - have gone to the Astral Plane. So unless you have some undisclosed ability to Plane Shift us there, finding the World Serpent Inn is our best chance to continue the hunt." Cerrakean snorted and spat a gobbet of phlegm into the undergrowth.
"Who builds an inn out here in the middle of nowhere?" she asked. "This is pure wilderness. There's nothing for miles!" The elf sighed.
"Not yet," he told the hobgoblin. "The Inn won't achieve cotermination with Orune at the Fairy Well portal until tonight at sundown. So you should spend more time looking for it and less time arguing with me. If we don't find it by sundown, we'll have to wait an entire moonsdance for the next cotermination." Cerrakean pressed on, her lip curling back from yellowing fangs.
"Elves..." she muttered and swiped disgustedly at some more vegetation.
The Fairy Well was all but invisible beneath its tangled shroud of vegetation. Together Del and Cerrakean were able to clear away enough of the greenery to reveal the Well's dark shaft leading into the depths beneath the forest floor. The repeating symbol of a serpent curled into a horizontal figure eight eating its own tail was worked around the lip of the Well and Maleko let out an excited laugh at its discovery.
"That's it!" he cheered. "That's the symbol of the World Serpent Inn!" Cerrakean looked first at the symbol and then around them at the press of trees.
"So where's the inn?" she demanded and Maleko raised a thin pale hand.
"The inn will arrive at sunset," he told her with the certainty of one who trusted absolutely in his books.
Sunset wasn't far off, but each of them possessed excellent night vision so it wasn't immediately apparent when Orin's Shield at last took its rest. Their first indication was the faint sound of voices coming from the Fairy Well. As they peered down into its black depths, the smell of cooking meat and pipe smoke rose up to meet them. Far below them they could make out the light-etched outline of a door set into the side of the shaft. They could also see that there was now a wooden ladder leading down from the top of the well to the door.
Maleko went for it at once, but Del put a hand on the elf's elbow. The janissary looked meaningfully at his own arms and armor and said, "Perhaps I should go first." Maleko smiled sheepishly.
"Of course," he said, motioning to the ladder. "Good idea."
The descent was easy enough and the sounds of voices and the clink of glasses and cutlery grew louder as Del drew nearer the door. At last he reached it and paused. Below him he could see the surface of the water reflecting back the starlight above. And looking upwards he saw his two companions peering at him expectantly over the side.
"Go on!" Cerrakean urged and Del nodded, pushing on the door.
It opened easily onto the central chamber of the World Serpent Inn which resembled nothing so much as any one of a dozen well-appointed taverns Del had been in during his lifetime, with plank floors underfoot and venerable wooden beams overhead. This common room was a large, rectangular chamber dominated by a pair of flagstone fireplaces, one at each end in which fires burned and spits of meat sizzled and popped. Great tables and heavy oak chairs fill the space in between, and patrons gathered around these tables in groups of twos and threes to chat, but many turned to regard him as he entered. A balcony with more tables, accessible via a spiral staircase in one corner, formed a partial second floor for the chamber and more faces looked down from this vantage point as well.
Many of the faces were human, although he saw one with dark skin and horns sitting at a table with a well-groomed half-orc. At another a massive creature which appeared to be made at least half of stone drank with a pair of dwarves with brass skin and beards that seemed to burn perpetually without being consumed. What Del at first took for an avarial was just ducking through a doorway at the rear of the chamber; but his wings were too shiny, his platinum hair too perfect for him to be anything less than a celestial. He had with him a young woman who spared Del a backward glance that seemed to burn as she left the room.
"You should go see Mitchifer, the barkeep," a buzzing voice to Del's left said. The half elf turned to see what looked like an animated suit of articulated plate armor. It bore a curious triangular mark of three circles connected by lines upon its helm and a series of raised characters were worked into its breastplate: KRK-7.
"Even I can tell that you are lost, fleshling," the armor said, its voice underscored by a tinny buzzing like a wasp's wings. It raised a three-fingered hand and pointed at a burly, bearded man standing behind the bar. "Speak with Mitchifer. He will tell you what to do."
His first inclination was to chase down the celestial. Someone of such an honorable nature might prove to be a beneficial ally in a place like this. But that door was now closed, and Del had serious concerns about what dimension he might find, should he go chasing celestials out doors of taverns that disappeared at regular intervals. Scanning behind the bar, he decided on the man he presumed to be Mitchifer and began in that direction.
He had spent plenty of time in taverns with Omar Lagasse, but leaving Maleko and Cerrakean at the top of the well behind the door gave the place a surreal feeling. Most of the patrons turned their attention away as he maneuvered across the room, but he had to endure a few lingering stares.
Mitchifer was somewhere in his middle forties, and looked as if he had tended bar all his life. He had the practiced air of a man completely within his element. As Del approached, Mitchifer gave him an appraising glance and placed a pewter mug of ale in front of him.
Del gave a slight smile and nodded his thanks. He took a long draught and began to organize his thoughts when two more mugs were slapped down next to the first. He frowned, thinking perhaps Mitchifer had misread him as a man of the drink, at which point Del paused to consider that perhaps he had been drinking too much lately. But then his shoulder was gripped roughly and he half-turned to find Cerrakean and Maleko sidling up to the bar as well.
"Going to leave us in the well while you have all the fun, were you?" Cerrakean joked, her pointed teeth bared in a grin.
Before long, Maleko and Mitchifer were engaged in a detailed discussion of beer and ale brewing techniques. It just so happened that the Maltalia family had learned of some unusual fermentation processes in the course of trading with the hill dwarves of Rockhome.
Officially, trade with the dwarves was declared illegal when the Diviners rose to power in Hule, cutting off contact between Rockhome and the rest of Orune, but Del said nothing on the matter. Maleko had been able to correctly identify the type of grain used to produce the keg beer Mitchifer was serving this day, much to the barman's amazement. And that sort of connection was just the thing to turn the man's attitude in their favor. Mentioning the questionable legality of how Maleko had obtained that knowledge would do nothing but hurt their cause.
Del and Cerrakean passed the time mingling with the more "approachable" patrons in an effort to glean information which might help in their search. Del spoke at length with the a pair of humans and Cerrakean went head to head in a game of drunken daggers with the bearded dwarves. But, in the end it was Maleko's camaraderie with Mitchifer that yielded the best results. The barkeep was confident that the person who could deliver them to the Astral Plane was Grawl, captain of an astral tradesman called the Dire Hag. And the best way to find him was through his agent, a halfling by the name of Bloj who operated in the City of Doors.
The trio resigned to their rooms for the night, Maleko promising to send along a barrel of the Maltalio's finest ale as a personal gesture of gratitude.
Ixin better be careful, the next time she comes back she's likely to be reduced to having merely a dragon bloodline, and the time after that she'll come back as a kobold as her draconic heritage keeps bleeding away each time.
Imagine the party's conundrum if some unsavory person in the WSI was looking for a group of nieve Primes to do a job for them... Like a purge the wicked balor?
"He sent for you, too?" Ixin asked as she approached Ayremac. The holy warrior was standing in front of the door leading to High Justiciar Coliam's private suite of chambers. This part of the Court was ancient and cramped and Ayremac looked wholly out of place in such surroundings - like a bit of polished mithril in a dung heap. He almost seemed to glow.
"Yes," the half-celestial sighed. "And judging by your presence here as well, I can guess the reason for his summons has to do with Justiciar Galmache." The woman looked curious.
"Oh?" she asked, stepping up to him and clutching her fur wrap more closely about herself.
"Yes. He seems to feel that you and I need to get back to the world," Ayremac told her and she looked back at him, her square jaw set proudly. She was so unlike the Ixin that he'd known before the samsara sword - short where she'd been tall, round where she'd been angular. But the look of grim determination on her face was the same as it had been in the days following her recovery in the Test of Fire. Even if the features were changed, the expression was the same.
"Sunathear-othokent," she said in draconic, her tone proud, almost haughty before she switched back to the common tongue. "He's right. I welcome the chance to test my magic against evil once more."
"You may well get your chance, Lady Chaririejir," Justiciar Galmache said as he approached the pair with a chalice atop a wooden serving tray in his hands. Ayremac looked at the man and frowned.
"What have you done, honored justiciar?" the Officer of Umba asked and Galmache shook his head and stepped up to the door.
"Not, I, my boy," the cleric replied. "The High Justiciar sent for you himself." He rapped on the door and then went inside, leaving the way open for Ayremac and Ixin to follow.
The High Justiciar's chambers were surprisingly simple. They were well appointed, but far from lavish with floor to ceiling bookshelves on nearly every wall, their shelves packed with tomes and scrolls of law. The chamber was warm (which pleased Ixin greatly) and light with the scent of recently-burned incense.
The High Justiciar sat in a wing-backed chair across the room with an ancient book spread across his lap. His eyes were red-rimmed, and he had the look of a man who had endured a sleepless night. Galmache and Ayremac and Ixin all bowed respectfully as was customary, awaiting a word from the leader of the church.
"Rise, all," Coliam said and they did. Justiciar Galmache offered the chalice and the high priest took it and drank before speaking further. "You know of the temple at Amphabese?" he asked, looking at Ayremac and Ixin.
"Yes, Lord Justiciar," the holy warrior said at once, but Ixin shook her head.
"I do not," she admitted and High Justiciar Coliam nodded sagely as if he had expected this. He gestured at Ayremac.
"Tell her, Sword Ayremac," the cleric instructed and the half-celestial nodded deferentially.
"The temple at Amphabese stands outside Ciron's Town on the River Luggh, just east of Morganth," Ayremac began. "It served as a bastion of our faith since before Ciron's Town itself was founded and has withstood invasion by orc and goblin hordes from Roybernth more times than can easily be counted."
"And what of Fedifensor?" the High Justiciar prompted.
"Fedifensor was a holy sword, a mighty relic that was instrumental in sending more than one fiend back to the lower planes," the holy warrior told Ixin. "It was lost three centuries ago during a demon attack on the temple at Amphabese." Ayremac looked to Justiciar Coliam for verification.
"Last night, I received a vision from Umba Herself," the High Justiciar said. "In it, She told me that the time had come to recover Fedifensor." He sipped from the chalice and looked levelly at Ayremac and Ixin. "And that you two are the ones who will do it."
"Quite auspicious, your being called like this," Justiciar Galmache said later as they retraced their steps through the Court of Umba. "You two get sent on a holy quest while I stay here fetching wine for the Lord Justiciar." The cleric tapped on the wooden serving tray he carried under one arm. Ayremac cast a sidelong glance at his mentor and snorted lightly.
"And you had nothing to do with the High Justiciar's choice?" the holy warrior asked, his voice dripping with skepticism. Galmache feigned indignance.
"You wound me, my boy!" he moaned. "To think that I would go behind your back to-"
"I KNOW you would go behind my back if you thought it the right thing to do, honored justiciar," Ayremac interrupted. "The question is DID you." Justiciar Galmache looked gravely at Ayremac and then laughed.
"Ah, you know me too well!" he chuckled. "But as I said before, the answer is no, I did not. Your name came down from on high."
"But-?" Ixin began, her brows knitted in confusion. "I know that I've only begun my studies of The Writ, but doesn't Umba's First Precept forbid such direct contact?" She looked from Ayremac to Galmache and back again.
"Indeed it does," the cleric said. "But you misunderstand what the Lord Justiciar told you. When he says that Umba spoke to him directly, he means the message came in a dream and most likely by one of Her heavenly attendants." The sorcerer nodded her understanding.
"So there is room... potentially... for High Justiciar Coliam to have... interpreted... the message... incorrectly?" Ixin suggested, picking her words with the utmost care. She felt at ease with the clergy of Umba, but she realized all too well that she did not fully understand the intricacies of the church and didn't want to inadvertently tread on any taboo subjects.
"The High Justiciar is very adept at interpreting such dreams," Galmache said, smiling reassuringly. "You and Ayremac will find Fedifensor... if anyone can."
"But why us?" the Officer of Umba protested. "There are Justiciars here and in Widdershin who have more experience... Officers who wield greater power..."
"You let your own insecurities hide the obvious from you, my boy" the cleric replied. "The Lord Justiciar chose you because Umba chose you. And Her wisdom is beyond measure." Ayremac said nothing, but it was clear that he was unconvinced.
"Fedifensor is a mighty weapon for Good, Ayremac. It is anathema to fiends, true, but is also bane to undead. Do you truly feel no kinship for such a blade? Can you not imagine the good you could do with it in your hands?" Galmache continued. "And it has gone beyond the walls of our realm. Into the planes beyond. Who better to seek it than you, whose blood flows with the powers of those planes, and Ixin, who actually hails from worlds beyond?" Neither holy warrior nor sorcerer said anything at that and Justiciar Galmache shook his head and waved a dismissive hand.
"To question the wisdom of choosing you to recover this symbol of hope - in this dark time - not only flirts with blasphemy, it calls your own intelligence into question," the priest said. "Now go prepare yourselves. We will cast what divinations we may to better guide you in your quest. But you will leave in the morning."
Elsewhere...
The alley was close and dark and Del took an immediate dislike to it. It was a good site for an ambush and if, as Del suspected, this purulent halfling, Bloj was leading them into a trap, then this would be a likely spot for the double cross. He caught Cerrakean's eye and saw that she had come to the same conclusion. She nodded once and mouthed the words, "Be ready."
The ex-janissary focused on Bloj's back as the hobbit led them away from the main street. Del spared a quick glance upward and found that he could no longer see the sky, which was something of a relief since there wasn't actually any sky to see. That had been the first thing that he'd noticed upon stepping through the portal to this... place. Where there should have been the blue of Merrika's Vault, he could dimly see the rooftops of distant buildings. Somehow, the entire city was built on the inside of a sphere though how this might be possible Del didn't know. It hurt his head to think too hard about it and made his stomach twist uneasily to look up at those buildings so far away and imagine another traveler looking up and peering down on him...
He collided suddenly with Maleko. They had stopped in front of a dilapidated hovel whose upper story canted dangerously over them as if it might pounce at any moment. Or just give up and collapse into rotten timber.
"Here we are," Bloj said, smiling a brown-toothed smile and gesturing daintily at the door. It was largely unremarkable apart from the door handle which was worked into the shape of a wrought iron anchor. Cerrakean snorted.
"THIS is where your SHIP is?" the hobgoblin growled and leaned down to put her face near the halfling's. "Inside a building?" Cerrakean's face was enough to make most men recoil, but Bloj merely made a kissing motion with his painted mouth and reached inside his garish longcoat. He produced a strange brass key graven with symbols and having three angular protrusions coming off an oval ring.
"You're not on the prime anymore, gorgeous," he told the hobgoblin. "Stop thinking inside the little box you call reality and open your eyes to the possibilities." He turned toward the door as Cerrakean took a threatening step toward him. Maleko held up a manicured hand to stop her and shook his head when she looked up at him. She made a fist and shook it at the halfling and the elf pointed to his eyes and then gestured at the door.
Bloj smirked as though he had eyes in the back of his head and was enjoying the drama playing out behind him in pantomime. Then he struck the brass key against a small brass plate set beside the door and it began to hum in his hand. He passed the vibrating key over the splintered surface of the door in a well-practiced and very complex pattern. Then the door itself began to fade and Bloj turned back to the companions, casually stuffing his key back inside his coat. He smiled.
"See, sweetheart?" he said. "You can't go judging things at face value out here. Doing that'll get you dead right quick! Welcome to the Dire Hag."
Maleko wasn't really listening to what the halfling was saying, he was entirely absorbed looking inside the ramshackle building. It seemed to be filled with silver mist. A gangplank stretched from the stoop of the door off into the fog and dimly he could see what looked like a three-masted schooner made of gray wood with furled, black sails. A large shadowy figure jangled toward them along the gangway and Maleko stepped back when he saw the chain-draped shape for what it was: a kyton, a chain devil.
"Ah, here's Shroud now," Bloj said, apparently unperturbed by the fiend's presence. "He'll collect your payment and take you to see Captain Grawl."
The chain devil stepped fully into view its mouth and eyes and nose cavity glowing orange as if its entire head were hollow and lit from within by a torch. Barbed and hooked chains depended from its body, a bizarre combination of jewelry and clothing and weapon all in one. It extended one thick hand and waited payment.
"So, we're on an Astral Plane... or is it THE Astral Plane?" Morier asked, surveying their surroundings such as they were. It didn't take long. "I don't mean this to be as ignorant as it probably sounds, but are there... things here?" He regarded his companions hoping for some clarification. Noxin just shrugged
"Don't look at me!" the half-giant said, letting out a bewildered chuckle. "Hey, I heard there IS an Astral Plane... but that's about it. I never took no interest in it. I don't think this place has much treasure, after all."
"Not as such, no," Saelus said and scanned around, and when he did so the other two saw that his eyes had taken on a bright, emerald green color and his complexion had changed as well. It now had a pale, greenish tint dotted with sandy freckles. His hair, it seemed, had become even darker, being the brown of freshly-turned earth. But where it had previously hung lank, it now seemed much more vibrant and healthy. His mustache, too, just seemed to stand so much stronger, nearly shrouding his mouth entirely with its lush growth. He sighed expansively and the fronds waved in the breeze. [1]
"I should have payed more attention to the planar classes when my teacher was talking," he admitted. "I was always more interested in alternative summonings, like our Sandstorm cover. Morier? Any idea which way to go now?" He looked back at his companions and smiled at their curious expressions. "What are you two staring at?" he asked, bewildered and for a moment neither man answered him.
"Nothin', Colonel," Noxin said at last. "You just look kinda... green in this weird light is all." Saelus nodded and gestured widely to take in the whole of the plane.
"Yes. Well this place will take some getting used to," he agreed before turning his attention back to Morier. "But as I was saying, does your connection tell you where to finish this tale, Morier?"
Morier carefully took inventory of himself and heard an echo of a voice - "I am with you" - coming from somewhere deep within, but the constant presence of the Pull was gone. For the first time in moonsdances he had no idea which way to go.
"No," he admitted, his eyes drifting around in their sockets looking for something... anything... to give him an indication of which way to proceed. But he saw nothing save his allies, two virtual strangers to him. Rather lamely he said, "I guess checking out our immediate surroundings would be the first order of business then..."
"I think I see a rock floating over there," Saelus said, pointing. "Let's get to that, regroup, take inventory, and see where we will go after that."
"Well, it seems as good a plan as any," Noxin said, anxious to put something solid beneath his feet.
The rock turned out to be quite little indeed, with just enough space on a single side for the three companions to sit or stand without pressing against one another. It was generally ovoid in shape, flattened on two opposing sides and jagged around the circumference, as if it were a piece punched out of a larger wall of stone. It was fairly close, though far enough away to determine that Saelus was the fastest flier amongst them. Morier did not lag far behind, but Noxin could only muster a speed half what the war-wizard could. He seemed made of lead.
Still they all made it to the drifting bit of stone, and settled onto it gratefully. They sat in silence for a time, each man taking inventory of himself and his place in the current situation. Presently, Noxin took up a position as guard, hammer at the ready in two huge hands as he stared off into the silver void, happy to have something to do. Saelus, occupied himself examining the depleted Unity sword, having scooped up the sabre before the demiplane collapsed and deposited them on the Astral. Morier sat and looked sadly at the scrap of paper on which Huzair had scrawled his last words. After a time, he picked up his dead friend's Haversack and opened the polished brass clasps.
"I would like to take possesion of the mage's spellbook," Saelus said at once and Morier glowered at him. "Not to be greedy, you understand. But I need some spells out of it, and Huzair and I did discuss giving each other access to our spell repertoires."
"Huzair's ashes haven't even hit the ground yet, Colonel," the albino spat, color rising unnaturally to his cheeks. The intensity of his glare made Saelus blink.
"I am willing to give it back to the party afterwards if that is what you all want..." he placated. Noxin huffed.
"It don't matter to me," the half-giant said over his broad shoulder. "Unless it's a book o' treasure maps I ain't all that interested."
Morier's face softened and he sighed and held up a hand. "Just... Just give me a moment to look through the bag. Okay?" Saelus nodded and gave the eldritch warrior the time and space to do so.
After a time that may have been a minute or an hour - it was difficult to judge - Morier called to the mage.
"There's two books in here," he said and produced a pair of traveling spellbooks. One was bound in black leather and adorned with silver studs. The other was green and cut in a maple leaf design favored by elves. "One of them's Huzair's original, but the other I think, belonged to a friend of Shamalin's. Huzair was working out the spells in it. I'll let you have your choice of one."
Saelus took one and Morier returned the other to the traveling bag with a surprisingly heavy heart. He laughed sardonically at that thought and pressed his hand against the gemstone half-embedded in his chest.
"What's so funny?" Noxin asked, grinning but Morier shook his head.
"Nothing," he said and got to his feet. His face was once more serious as he began, "Okay. Now that we have the heart, we need to reunite it with the body. Which, you will remember, had been 'cast into the void'."
"Remember?" Noxin snorted, his own smile gone. "Seems to me, I'd have to know it first to remember it, wouldn't I? You've been playin' things pretty close to the vest, so far, Morier."
The albino looked up at him, appraisingly and nodded. "That was not entirely by design, Noxin," he said and fished a small scroll from his belt pouch. "I am not the most trusting of men, I'll admit, but we've not had a lot of downtime since we first met either. A single evening is not enough time to grasp the whole of our quest."
"We seem to have some time now," Saelus suggested, gesturing once more to indicate the entirety of the Astral Plane.
"I agree. And here's the important information about our current path," Morier began, unfurling the scroll and reading what he'd written there. "Aphyx ripped Dridana's heart from her chest and imprisoned its essence inside a gemstone of immense size... Her body, the goddess of filth cast into the void where it drifts still... Once the heart is reunited with the body, the Fruitful One will be reborn. And great and terrible shall be her wrath."
There was silence for a time after that as Noxin and Saelus pondered this information. At last the barbarian shrugged.
"I wonder if her wrath will be towards those who put her back together?" he considered, his brow furrowed as he thought.
"I would suspect not," Morier said. Then his face darkened a bit and he added, "But nothing would really surprise me."
"So, we are looking for a great floating corpse of the Goddess Dridana?" Noxin observed, looking around as if it might be drifting by at that very moment. It wasn't.
"Yes," Morier told him. "Unfortunately, I've been relieved of the Pull that guided me this far, so we really just have to fumble our way into information. Unless anybody sees a road sign pointing the way." He smiled at that and Noxin returned the grin.
"Ah, but information is where i come into the picture," Saelus said, holding up one thin finger and tapping the side of his head. "I have a great ear for listening in on details about what we are trying to find."
"Well, I am pretty well known in my tribe as a treasure seeker, and finder of clues... and... stuff... too," Noxin frowned as his assertion lost momentum. He looked away.
"So, where Noxin has a detailed eye for oddities, I have the ear for it," Saelus said, utterly oblivious to the fact that the half-giant was exaggerating his own abilities. The wizard smiled. "We complement each other that way. It seems good to me."
"Even so, we are sorely undermanned right now, especially when you consider what the cost in lives has been in getting us this far," Morier reminded. "We've no healer among us, and while the three of us may well swing hefty swords, we are fighting some serious evil, and we're going to need help. The sad fact is that everyone I have met since I left Hillville Junction is either dead or can't seem to reconcile themselves with being here doing what we're doing. Somehow or another, we have been provided for every step of the way. Balance has been assured by replacing each departure with a new arrival, but I can't possibly presume to know how long that's going to last. And looking about the ground we're standing on right now, I don't expect a lot of help to come walking up to us prepared to join our fight."
"That does seem unlikely," Saelus observed, peering once more into the distance.
Noxin pointed at Morier's chest and bluntly asked, "That thing give you any abilities?" Morier took a step backward and nearly went over the side of their little island. His hand immediately went to the spot where the gem protruded from his sternum.
"What?" he stammered. "I don't-"
"Come on, Morier! You think we can't see it?" Noxin laughed. "All I'm sayin' is, I know your group carried those swords around for a while an' never figured to fuse 'em together... Maybe this gem gives you an ability as well." He shrugged. "Huzair talked to me about his trip to the Astral Plane. He said he tricked people into thinking he was more powerful then he was. Maybe you could do the same... That gem, in your chest, maybe it will alter other folk's perception of you. You know, if they use the Weave to try and tell things about you. That'd be somethin' at least." Morier considered the barbarian's words, his hand still pressed to his chest.
"Maybe," he admitted at last. "But Huzair was a far more powerful wizard than any of us really gave him credit for. And you can't either discount the fact that he might have been the best con artist there ever was. So his experiences here may prove to be far different from ours... In fact what he told us of his experiences here may have been far different from reality too."
"Well, you knew him better than me," Noxin said. "But we should get movin' on... to somethin'. Sittin' in this void ain't my idea of fun."
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[1] Saelus received the half-plant template found in Green Ronin's Advanced Bestiary from his experiences on the demiplane imprisoning Dridana's essence. Noxin had the same opportunity but his player declined.
"Let's rest for a while, anyway," Saelus suggested. "I could use some time to look over this book and heal up a bit." He stretched out as much as the limited space would allow. Noxin huffed and looked at some of the green vines growing from his open wounds.
"I guess," he said and wrapped the vine around his finger and then yanked it out of his body. It came free with a sucking sound and revealed about half a foot of blood-slicked roots. "Ow!" the half-giant grunted and cast the thing into the void, disgusted.
"I don't think that's such a good idea," Morier said. In fact, he KNEW it wasn't... somehow. Noxin glanced down at him and nodded.
"Yeah," he admitted and looked critically at the bleeding rent near his elbow where the plant had taken root. Morier approached with his hands open and spread wide unconsciously mimicking the way he'd seen Malcolm approach wounded animals years before.
"Let me have a look," he said, his voice throaty and distant, his eyes glittering like rubies in the strange silver light of the Astral Plane. Noxin could see that same red glow pulsing from beneath the albino's chain shirt, but as Morier laid his hands on the half-giant's arm, that glow turned to a deep green. Jade fire crackled around his hands and played across Noxin's wounded arm. The barbarian jerked the limb away so violently that he almost sent himself tumbling backward off their little piece of solid ground.
"What did you do?" he demanded, glaring down at the pale elf. He hadn't been hurt by the discharge of energy, but you couldn't be too careful when it came to magic. That was a lesson he'd learned a long time ago.
"I don't know," Morier said, nonplussed. He looked at his hands and then up at Noxin's fierce visage. "I just... sensed... that I could heal you."
"Heal me?" the half-giant barked and then looked at his arm. As he watched the wound there was closing seemingly of its own accord. He noticed too that his ribs, which had been paining him since the hit he'd taken from the elemental, were growing less and less bothersome by the second. He grinned and said, "Huh!"
"Is this the work of the gem?" Saelus asked as he watched Noxin's injuries slowly correct themselves. Morier pressed a hand to his chest again and considered.
"I think so," he said. "I mean I guess it is." Saelus nodded and turned to face the eldritch warrior.
"Then the next logical question is: can you do it again?" he asked, indicating his own injuries with a wry smile.
After Morier used his new-found ability to heal both his companions to full health he returned to Huzair's Valiant Vessel bag and Saelus buried his nose in his new spellbook. Noxin put on the pair of goggles he kept perched on his broad forehead. Then he went back to his vigil, scanning all around for any sign of anything.
Anything at all.
And for a time there was silence.
At last, Noxin could bear it no longer and sighed expansively.
"I say her body's got to be around here, and it's got to be huge," he told the others. "I say we start sniffing around, asking sly questions about dead gods, etc." Morier looked up from a piece of parchment he was perusing and angled his head at the Colonel.
"It seems as though Saelus is the 'information guy' here," he said. "We'll let him see what he can find out."
"We still have to come up with the right questions in the right circumstances," the mage said, glancing up from his book. Noxin sighed again.
"Didn't you meet some dead god doctor or something?" the barbarian asked. "Huzair mentioned him while we were resting. Couldn't we just use his research as a cover story?"
"We do want to ask it subtly, as we don't want to let our opponents find out how far we have gone, and/or have yet to go," Saelus explained, bookmarking his spellbook with a finger and turning his green eyes on the half-giant. "I have no knowledge of that doctor type you describe, so I can only guess, and I dislike guessing in such topics. In my experience, it's not healthy to do so."
"Yeah. Well sittin' here ain't exactly increasing our chances of-" Noxin began but stopped as a new voice spoke from nearby.
"Oh, hello," it said cheerfully. "Are we there?"
Morier stood, holding what looked like a stone tablet in two hands. "No," he said to the tablet. "I'm afraid we ran into a little unexpected trouble."
"Morier?" Saelus asked, cautiously and the albino turned the tablet around. A wizened stone face was worked into the other side of the plaque, with an intricately carved beard and eyes that seemed to twinkle with intelligence despite being made of stone.
"Saelus... Noxin... Let me introduce Grandfather Plaque," Morier said. "He's been languishing in the Handy Haversack for... Gods! How long has it been?"
"There's no point in asking me," Grandfather Plaque answered, a smile touching his stony lips. "Time means little to one such as me."
"Fascinating!" Saelus said. "You're a guardian construct, correct?"
"Correct," Grandfather Plaque said, swiveling his eyes around to look at the wizard. "I specialize in guarding doors."
"Well there ain't a lot of doors around here just now," Noxin grumbled, removing his Eyes of the Eagle.
"No, I don't believe there are," he said. "Umm... Where... are we, exactly?" Morier handed the talking face over to Noxin.
"Why don't you explain it to him while Saelus rests?" Morier suggested and Noxin looked from the albino to the stone face and back again. Then he shrugged and turned his broad back on the others.
"Well, let's see... I was born in a little place called Red Cave," Noxin began and his tale stretched on for some time. Grandfather Plaque listened attentively, asking questions (mostly about various doors) when he was confused and eventually Noxin reached the point where Morier pulled the construct from Huzair's Haversack. By then, Saelus had studied the spellbook to his satisfaction and Morier had finished for the time being going through the items that Huzair had left behind.
"Can we all agree that we can't sit here, doin' nothin'?" Noxin complained. "Let's just pick a direction and start floating."
"Oh, that should be interesting," Grandfather Plaque mused. "I've never floated before."
"I'm ready," Morier said, looking at Saelus. The wizard nodded back.
"Let's float that way," the Colonel suggested pointing in a more or less random direction and began floating that way. The others followed.
"Oh, what fun!" Grandfather Plaque chuckled merrily.
He was wrong, of course.
The journey wasn't fun at all.
What it was was boring.
Very boring.
Right up until they spotted the ship.
It was Noxin who saw it first, thanks to his magical goggles, and he called it a ship because it was obviously a vessel of some kind. It wasn't like any ship that any of them had ever seen before, however. It looked a bit like an insect or giant spider, with four leg-like projections at the fore of the vessel that curved forward - at the same time graceful and deadly in their aspect. Behind those bladed projections bulged a large "pod" along which were visible numerous round windows. As it glided silently toward them they could see at least three weapons that looked a bit like ballistae mounted on the ship's hull.
"Guys... Hold for a turn," the half-giant called gripping his goggles with both hands as if doing so might improve the image. "I am seeing a monstrous ship ahead." He pointed and offered the goggles to Morier and Saelus in turn.
"These glasses should give us an edge, so hopefully they have not seen us," the barbarian said hopefully. "I would say we form up, you two behind me, and let this thing pass. We could try and maintain our distance from it, and then move on."
A hatch amidst the long projections on the ship was open and lit from within. Silhouetted there were several ready shapes, so big that they dwarfed even Noxin. Saelus peered at them through the goggles and blanched.
"Umber hulks!" Grandfather Plaque squeaked, as Noxin was about to hand him off to Morier to stuff back in the haversack. "That's not good, not good at all," he began to babble. "I had a cousin once who was the door knocker for a nobleman. Mounted on solid stone and yet... yet, completely run through by an umber hulk! Whatever you do, don't look in their eyes!" He took a shuttering breath, then composed his features and suggested lightly, "Perhaps we ought to go the other way?"
"What?" Noxin scoffed, smiling at Grandfather Plaque as if the construct were growing senile. "I'd always heard that these umber hulks can actually be pretty friendly. If you look into their eyes you're supposed to catch a glimpse of your future. That's all." Saelus looked at the half-giant with his jaw resting nearly on his chest.
"Right. Noxin, here I have to correct you," the colonel said taking the glasses of his face and handing them back to the barbarian. "Those Umber hulks actually confuse the opponent who looks too much into their eyes, in order to make quick work of them. So the only future you'd see would be a short one, I am afraid to say."
Well... I guess I could be wrong," Noxin admitted, crestfallen. "Maybe it's leprechauns I was thinking of."
"Umber hulks aren't at all friendly creatures," Grandfather Plaque asserted. "Umber hulks like to eat people!" Saelus nodded thoughtfully at this revelation.
"I thought so," he said, sagely. "I was not taught of the dubious races and their feeding habits, but it does bring to mind like creatures such as trolls and similar typical creatures."
"So, we just avoid these buggers and move on I guess," Noxin said, reiterating his earlier plan.
"I don't think that's going to be possible," Morier said, pointing at the vessel, which was closing unerringly on their position.
"Well... They seem to be turning this way, boys," Noxin observed hoisting his hammer and moving to put himself between the ship and his companions. "I guess we just don't look in their eyes... right?"
"That will certainly help," Saelus suggested.
The spider-like vessel slowed and stopped still at a distance of 200 feet and the umber hulks began to spit forth from the open hatch. There were six in all and they moved directly to intercept. The first two had already broken from the pack when the ballista located on the belly of the strange ship belched smoke and what looked like a ball of goo exploded behind them, filling a ten foot area with sticky strands that rapidly hardened and collapsed in upon themselves.
"What's that they're shootin' at us?" Noxin growled. "Snot?" He set himself to meet the coming wave of attackers trying his best to look as threatening as he could against critters that outweighed him by about twice.
Morier raised a hand and the gem on his chest flared green. A Storm of Ice exploded amidst the umber hulk's ranks, catching all but the lead pair in its punishing chill. Their pain-filled cries and the accompanying crackle of hailstones on armored flesh seemed startlingly loud in the strangeness of the astral plane. But none of them took much time to reflect upon it as it became apparent that none of the hulks had been destroyed by Morier's attack.
"It appears that we are not negotiating with these beasts," Grandfather Plaque observed and pursed his lips. Four bolts of energy flashed from his puckered mouth, arcing around Noxin to strike the nearest of the umber hulks in the chest. The Magic Missiles burned four tiny holes in the creature's carapace, but it did not seem terribly inconvenienced by the damage.
Saelus was obliged to float to the side a bit in order to line up his own attack, but he presented a crystal prism at the horde of monsters and spoke the words of a spell. It went off immediately, faster than any spell he'd ever cast in his life, and it almost caused him to miss as a result, but he was a seasoned war wizard and the Quickened Rainbow Blast struck three of the hulks, including the only one that remained uninjured.
They were more agile than their bulk would suggest, however, and the nearer two managed to avoid the spell's full effect. The third, bore the brunt of the damage, shrieking again as it took the hit.
None of them fell and then they were upon them.
As they closed their aberrant nature was plain. The powerfully built creatures looked like a bizarre cross between a great ape and a beetle. Their low, rounded heads were dominated by massive pairs of mandibles and rows of triangular teeth. Above these were two big compound eyes like a beetle's, with two smaller eyes like an ape's in between. Armor plates covered virtually all of their chitinous bodies, whose scattered feelers resembled sparse hair.
The lead pair flew straight at Noxin, swiping at him with their claws and opening bloody rents in the half-giant's flesh. He took it and moved closer, swinging his hammer with all of the power his considerable frame could muster. The head of the massive weapon struck the hulk beneath the left arm, crushing its shell and spinning it around in the air. His follow-up connected beneath its head, snapping it up with a wet cracking noise that would have signaled the end of a less hardy foe. The umber hulk merely shrieked and floated backward away from the barbarian's hammer, trailing copious streams of blood as it did so.
With a thought Morier charged forward toward the weakened creature, the words of a Bull's Strength spell on his lips as he went. Ravager was in his hands, and the saw-toothed blade seemed hungry after so long unused; it sliced downward, severing at the elbow the warding limb the hulk raised. The force of the blow buried the bastard sword in the monster's cranium, ending its life with a crunch.
A trio of hulks closed on the group, two heading for Morier and Noxin while the third went for Saelus. As they came they used their maddening gaze intending to soften up their opponents. But they underestimated their foes. The supernatural effect slid off Morier's natural spell resistance without effect and Saelus' will had been fashioned into a bulwark during the years of his training. Noxin...
Well Noxin enjoyed neither immunity to spells nor any great mental fortitude. But he did bear within his heart a strong hatred of anything that attacked him, and through his haze of Confusion that desire burned like a beacon. He looked at the new arrivals and marked one as his target.
As it turned out, Grandfather Plaque had also marked that same creature as his own. The tiny construct sent a quartet of Magic Missiles careening into the umber hulk's head, peppering its smaller pair of eyes with bolts of magical force.
The last of the hulks came in hard and fast, ignoring the use of its confusing gaze in favor of simply smashing its foe into ruin. It suffered for its haste, missing Saelus entirely as the colonel drew the Unity blade. He warded himself with a Quickened Protection from Evil followed immediately by a True Strike spell that was likewise Quickened by the nature of the Astral Plane. Then he moved back, out of the umber hulk's immediate reach, forcing the creature to advance on him if it wished to attack.
Noxin was about to launch himself at the hulk he'd determined most deserved his wrath when he chanced to look into the face of the nearest of the creatures. It's weird eyes seemed to fill his vision and he decided that THIS was the foe for him. It would die and then so would anything else that stood against him.
The umber hulk, of course, had other ideas.
It slashed brutally at the half-giant with its claws and snapped at him with its scimitar-sized mandibles intending to end the barbarian's threat for once and all. Noxin was a wily opponent, however and he managed to deftly avoid all but one of the attacks. He took the slashing claw on the shoulder and the explosion of pain there brought his rage to the surface. It ripped free of its mental bonds, heralded by a primal roar of fury that gave the umber hulk pause. Which was long enough for the barbarian to slam his greathammer into its chest with a mighty underhand blow. The umber hulk doubled over and sailed backward ten feet from the impact.
Morier charged at it, channeling a first circle spell into Ravager as he went. The jagged blade slipped easily between the plates of armor protecting the hulk's flank and sent lightning coursing through its body. It was grievously wounded, but still managed to cling to life.
The umber hulks looked stupid, but they were anything but. They perceived no effect from their confusing gaze, and so they closed on their enemies. Two went at Noxin and one went for Morier. The barbarian suffered another scratch along his thick arm, but otherwise both warriors were protected by their armor.
Grandfather Plaque flew around, pelting his chosen enemy with Magic Missiles and taunting the creature in Terran.
Saelus' gambit paid off and the umber hulk he was squared off against hurled itself at him with a single claw attack rather than utilizing its full array of natural weapons. The war wizard retaliated with his sabre, landing a glancing blow to the creature's throat that seemed to do little apart from anger the thing.
"Make kills and make it count!" the Colonel roared encouragement to his companions.
Some distance away, the severely wounded umber hulk turned its gaze purposefully on Morier forcing the eldritch warrior to lock eyes with it. As had happened to its fellows, however, its Confusion power could not best the albino's spell resistance. Frustrated and rightly fearing for its life, it tried to withdraw, turning its back to Morier - which was all the more opportunity that he required. He buried a foot and a half of Ravager into the hulk's kidney eliciting a short-lived cry of pain as it violently expired.
Leaving Morier facing Noxin across the thing's fallen body.
The barbarian, in the grip of both his own battle frenzy and the umber hulks' repeated Confusion attacks, looked at the albino without recognition. Foaming spittle flying from his lips he moved forward, propelled at Morier seemingly by the force of his hammerswing. The flaming head of the thing - which, Morier noted with strange detachment was actually bigger than his own torso - struck the albino squarely, knocking him backward passed the two hulks that lurked in the air nearby. Each took an opportunistic swipe at him, but neither managed to penetrate his armor. They fell on him anyway.
With Morier out of reach, Noxin directed his follow-up attack on the nearest of the umber hulks. This time, however, the blow went wide, glancing harmlessly off the creature's carapace. It turned from Morier and almost contemptuously slashed Noxin across the face, opening his flesh to the bone. Its second claw ripped open his throat sending blood spraying in all directions. He lingered for a moment, too angry to realize that he was dead on his feet. But then its enormous mandibles scissored down onto him, ending it.
I've had a barbarian take the beserker PC before, usually he'd end up killing another party member rather than getting himself killed. Hopefully it won't result in Morier's death.
Morier's probably thinking "it's got to be me, all of the rest of the party dies around me."
) so he'd likely view it as another chance to prove to nature it can be circumvented.
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