part 3 (of 3)
Session #59 (part iii)
Anulem, the 14th of Sek – 565 H.E.
The night was a cramped and frightening one for Martin and Anarie. The Fearless Manticore Killers laid out their wounded members so they could be as comfortable as possible, also close to one another and to the conscious members. Gunthar and his group bedded down like soldiers. They seemed to have a set watch order, because no one said anything to anyone, but they would take turns sitting up awake.
Anarie could feel Debo’s eyes on her the whole time he watched. Martin gave silent prayers to Isis and Fallon and Nephthys and Thoth and every god of good he could think of that might get him and companions through this. He and the Square had not acknowledged each other, and were busy pretending not to recognize ach other, but the watch-mage had seen the weaselly little man whisper something to Gunthar, and the blonde brute had looked him over. Martin did his best to warn Anarie and the gnomes, but could not be sure that the understood.
“Do you think it is daylight out yet?” Gunthar asked Debo what might have been days later to Martin’s mind.
Debo grunted his assent, and Aldovar spoke a prayer and soon the tiny room was filled with light. Debo got up and opened the secret door. From this side it was a simple iron bar and spring that held the door closed, from the other side it would have been indistinguishable from the mosaic if not for all the missing tiles.
“Is that safe?” Martin asked, looking at the door.
“We need to recirculate the air in here,” Gunthar replied.
Frederick crawled over to Beorth, who like Ratchis and Kazrack had still had not awakened. However, the paladin was not as hurt as the other two, and the bard decided to help him on his way to consciousness and whispered a sung prayer of Fallon in his ear. A moment later, Beorth sputtered awake.
“Uh, what happened? Did we all survive,” Beorth sat up and shook his head trying to knock the exhaustion out of his body.
Martin explained what happened and where they were. Smartly, he also added a reminder of where the party knew Gunthar and his companions from so that the paladin would not have to reveal his loss of memory, if at all possible.”
“None of us died,” Anarie added. “Thanks to Gunthar and his people.”
Gunthar winked at her. “If you really want to show your opinion we can find a private corner, unless you elves all into the freaky out in the open kind of thing.”
Anarie grimaced, but did not reply to Gunthar’s crudeness.
Gunthar came over and pushed Frederick out of the way, plopping down beside the still gravely wounded paladin.
“So, Baldy!” he greeted him jocularly. “What are you guys here for?”
“Uh, we’ve come in search of an item that will stop the spreading evil in this land,” Beorth relplied.
“Spreading evil, eh?” Gunthar said, chuckling. “I prefer spreading asscheeks myself.”
“We’re looking for a key…” Martin shot Beorth a look and the paladin stopped.
“A key to what?” Gunthar asked, perking up.
“The entrance to…” Beorth paused again, not sure how to phrase it. “A center of magic.”
“What does that mean?”
“We don’t really know.”
Gunthar’s eyes narrowed. “You wouldn’t lie to me would you?”
“I do not lie,” Beorth said, lying.
“You are really looking for a key?”
“Yes.”
“You sure?” He looked to Anarie and then Martin. The elf noticed that Aldovar stood and was listening intently to the conversation from the other side of the small room. She could hear Schlomo and Kismet passing shrill whispers in gnomish between them.
“Yes,” Martin replied.
“Good then, because as long as we are not here for the same thing then we’ll have no problems and we can help each other out, right?” Gunthar said.
“What are you hear for?” Martin asked, a little too eagerly.
“It’s not a key,” was Gunthar’s reply. “But I’ll tell you this, it, just like what we are looking for is probably below the flooded level.”
Kismet and Schlomo’s whispers stopped suddenly with the mention of ‘flooded level’, Martin noted, and then the whispered continued more heatedly. Martin had picked up some gnomish while in Garvan, but just the basic necessities and the subtly of this conversation were beyond him. He picked up just a cluster of words here or there. (1)
“Can you tell us more about what you seek?” Beorth asked. “We may have run across it on the upper levels and not have known.”
”I doubt it,” Gunthar said, shaking his head. “If you had you would either have it with you or you would have left already. I’m not dumb.”
There was an awkward silence, punctuated only by Schlomo and Kismet whispers, and then Gunthar continued.
“Let’s just say that it is the second to last piece required for our plan to slay the dragon.”
“So you think there is a dragon to slay?” Beorth asked.
“It would be stupid for all these people to come to this sh*thole backwater kingdom and not have a real dragon to slay,” Gunthar replied scornfully.
Meanwhile, Martin had heard enough from the gnomes’ conversation to determine they were talking about sneaking way in the night, and something about finding ‘the sword’.
The watch-mage had his journal on his lap and quickly scratched something down with a piece of charcoal, and leaned over to Kismet.
“How would pronounce this?” He said, pointing to what he had written and then said something in halting gnomish loud enough for Schlomo to hear as well. “Please don’t leave us.”
“Yes, that is almost right,” Kismet replied in Common. “But if you want that to work in a spell incantation you need to work on your alternating-accent inflection in cases of past-perfect tense. Let’s practice some and I’ll correct you when you say it wrong.”
She winked at the watch-mage and what was supposedly a halting discussion on magic and language was really discussing the gnomes’ plans.
Kismet explained that she and Schlomo did not trust these humans, and that she was not sure she could trust the party to let them take what they wanted when it was found.
Martin promised to help.
“You have to swear that you will give us what it is we are looking for, if it is found and not let that other group get it, if it turns out to be the same thing,” she reiterated.
“What is it?” Martin asked. “It would be easier if we understood what it was we should be keeping our eye out for.”
“It is not a map or a map-room,” Kismet replied. “That is all you need to know for now.”
Schlomo nodded.
“Can anyone join in this conversation, or are you going to whisper and conspire in another language all private like all day?’ Frederick said, walking over and kneeling between Martin and the gnomes. “You know, you aren’t the only ones that can be private. I could be private with my healing.”
While this had been happening, Aldovar had gotten involved in Gunthar’s conversation with Beorth, and things were getting a bit heated.
“I am not convinced that their goals do not conflict with our own,” the dark priest was saying. “I want assurances about the nature of this key. What sort of key is it?”
“Nay! I won’t tell you of it, for I know already the thought of what power it might bring you would have you slit our throats if you discover it,” Beorth spat back, standing.
“My god despises weakness and you are weak and frightened. I can smell it on you,” Aldovar’s face was covered in creases from his and anger, and his words become covered in an accent that was not unlike Carlos’. (2)
“I think a fight is going to start,” Martin said to Kismet in Common and Frederik looked at them both suspiciously, but then up to Aldovar and Beorth with nervousness.
“You do not follow a path that is good!” Beorth accused.
“It is good for me,” Aldovar replied, thumping his chest with a black mail gauntlet.
“That’s not the same thing,” Beorth replied. “I am not letting us be led astray by these false monks of Anubis and let otherworldly fiends come spilling into this world, and I am not going to let you do it either.”
Martin gagged.
“So, monks of Anubis are trying to pen the way for fiends to enter the world?” Aldovar’s dark eyes lit up. “Tell me more, what kind of fiends?”
“It doesn’t matter,” Beorth replied.
“Of course it matters, whether it is the demonic renouncers of the Abyss that do not obey the Masters of Hell, or whether it is the Masters of Hell themselves, this matters…”
“It does not matter,” Beorth said. “Either kind would fall to my blade or I would fall trying.”
Aldovar gave a dry chuckle. “You are weak. It is strength that makes right. It is power that justice serves. Every tool is a weapon.”
“I have no more answers for you,” Beorth said. “You will learn no more of this from me.”
“I could learn it from your corpse with a sprinkling of incense and a word to my lord,” Aldovar said.
“Come and try,” Beorth replied, reaching for his sword, but he barely had it in his grip when Debo, returning from stretching his legs in the hall brought the flat of his axe down on Beorth’s head. There was loud crunch and down went the paladin, bleeding out again, laying there unarmored from when his wounds were being tended. “Debo want elf-maid for harem!” he said, apropos of nothing.
Martin leapt to his feet, seeing Aldovar pull his mace and step towards Beorth’s bleeding form. “Lentus!
He did not have a chance to see who was affected, because he was trying to get out the door past Debo, when Anarie came hurtling over them both, leaping and diving, tucking into a ball and past the barbarian, who reached out to smash her but missed, but taking a nick from her sword as she past.
“Frederick! Get them to listen to reason!” Kismet beseeched the confused bard and with a word tow magic missiles slammed into Aldovar’s chest. She move out into the hall as well, and the bard followed her.
Martin’s eyes were drawn to the Square who suddenly decided he did not want to see the outcome of this fight and hurried up the metal ladder through the secret door above, and he was unable to warn Anarie when Gunthar snapped up to his feet like a panther striking her with his long sword twice, sent her down to bleed atop Beorth.
“I didn’t want to have to do that,” Gunthar said, turning to Martin.
“We’ll fight them better in the open,” Frederick suggested, and stepped back to let Martin through. “Run!” he whispered to the watch-mage.
“Kismet! Get out of here!” Schlomo called to his friend, as he smashed his hammer into Debo’s hip. The barbarian’s axe rang out against the warhammer, and the force of the blow sent ripples of numbness up the gnome’s arm.
“Debo hate little things!’ Debo cried. “Get away little things! Debo smash little things!”
Martin hustled out of the little room, and Frederick made an exaggerated gesture of catching him and ‘missing’.
Gunthar took off after Martin who hurried back into the chamber that was dominated by the cracked fountain.
Martin stopped and turned. “Gunthar, I know the truth about Jeremy Northrop.”
“What did you say about my brother?” Martin could recognize a resemblance in how Gunthar casually approached him, a sword in each hand, a grin on his dirty mouth. Jeremy had the sane strut when fighting, though not as world-wise a look in his eyes.
Aldovar came out through the door, and Kismet tried to trip him, but the big man merely stepped over it, lifting his great mace. Frederick stumbled forward with his sword out and gave the dark priest a shallow cut as he emerged through the door.
“Oops! I thought you were someone else!” the bard lied through a smile.
Schlomo and Debo exchanged blows. “Aaagh! Debo hate little things!”
Martin continued to back away from the blonde warrior, and spoke an arcane word, several shimmering versions of the green-robed mage appeared, hurrying hither and thithering, each likely to be momentarily doing something else, as all to be doing as the real Martin did. He shifted back and forth, trading places with his mirror images.
“You have six seconds to explain what you are talking about,” Gunthar said, suddenly becoming very serious.
Kismet cast her rolling ball of fire at Aldovar, who side-stepped and swung at her, missing, for hse used her size and speed to great advantage.
“I know! I’ll charm her!” Frederick announced and sang a little song and pointed at the gnome.
“It’s not polite to point,” Kismet replied, her will still her own. “It is better to gesture subtly and whisper.”
“I traveled with him for nearly a year,’ Martin explained. “You met him. It was Jeremy. Our Jeremy. The resemblance was obvious to everyone but him, and he refused to learn more about you for some reason. He didn’t die, at least not when your family thought he did. He ran away.”
“So where is he now?” Gunthar’s blades lowered a bit.
Kismet hurried away from Aldovar who chased her further into the hall, and she willed the flaming sphere to intercept him. The flames licked his black robes and he the priest leapt back cursing.
“We should stop fighting,” Kismet said, desperately thinking of a lie to keep her and her companions alive. “The half-orc has the information you want about what they are really here for. He is the only one who knows. Killing us won’t do anything!”
“Oh, dark lord,” Aldovar began to intone. “Let my service to you be like a shield.” A shimmering shield of dark energy seemed to encase the priest.
“We told you before,” Martin said, continuing his parley with Gunthar. He died, but the reason behind his dying…it…it was all the fault of fiends, fiends like the ones Aldovar is in league with. He can’t be trusted, think about who you want on your side. We don’t even care about the dragon or the reward.”
“I hate lil things!” Debo screamed again, returning a hard blow that Schlomo had dealt him, that knocked the gnome off his feet. “Stay down, little thing!”
Gunthar sighed and looked to see where Aldovar was still bearing down on Kismet as she continued to back away and harry him with the flaming sphere.
“Well, I was going to have to kill him eventually anyway,” Gunthar said, turning around. “You can’t trust devil-worshipers as far as you can throw them.”
And with that the blonde warrior charged at the dark priest, cleaving into the man’s heavy armor. Aldovar was knocked back, his face a mask of anger and surprise. Keeping out of reach of Gunthar’s deadly blades, he cast another spell. “Asmodeus, give me your strength!”
The priest knocked away a dagger thrown at him by Frederick and licked his teeth,
“You will all rue the day you crossed and my dark lord,” the priest said. “Your unwillingness to make the proper sacrifices will be your failing.”
“I give up,” Schlomo said, getting to his feet and then faking a stumble, smashing the barbarian in the groin. The gnome cried out as he felt his armor absorb the weight of an axe blow, but the pain was still fierce. However, Debo who was still hurt from his fight with the troll doubled over and for a moment began to bleed out again, having pulled open his wounds with the effort of the blow.
Schlomo thanked Fezzik (3) and ran out into the hall to see to Kismet, but she was now a safe distance from the dark priest now that Gunthar and Frederick were fending him off.
Kismet willed the flaming sphere to leap towards Aldovar even as she sent two more magic missiles to slam into him. The dark priest swore under his breath and fell over, unconscious, flaming beginning to ignite his clothes.
There was a sudden roar from the room and Debo came charging out. Schlomo was taken unaware and started, but Gunthar got between the.
“Debo! No! The fight is over,” Gunthar said, still clutching his weapons in a defensive posture.
“I thought he was dead!” said Schlomo in shock.
“Nyah! It’d take a lot more than a gnome with a hammer to him him,” Frederick said. “No offense.”
“Debo hates little things!” Debo said.
“I tried to tell him to leave me alone. I have no problem. Kismet, you have a problem?” He looked to his companion nervously.
“My only problem was with him,” Kismet replied, pointing to Aldovar.
“He’s no one’s problem anymore,” Frederick said, and then lifting his long sword whacked Aldovar right in his neck, nearly cleaving the priest head off.
“Oh my!” Kismet cover her mouth.
“You didn’t… I mean, was it necessary?” Martin said, covering his own mouth as he approached.
“He had it coming for a long time,” Frederick replied. “If you had seen him do some of the things I have seen him do, and knew of some of the things he hinted at you’d have wanted to kill him yourself.”
“He was more evil than a limp-d*cked pimp that makes his legless whore of a daughter drag her diseased ass through Saltbottoms to find some customers,” Gunthar added. (4)
Martin suddenly remembered Anarie and ran into the room, but she had stabilized on her own. HE tended to her wounds.
“Sorry ‘bout that,” Gunthar said, laughing. “But it could have gone either way. Certainly wasn’t how I planned to thrust at her, if I had my way. So anyway, we helped you, and now you owe us.”
“Wha… What do you want?” Martin asked nervously. He checked on Beorth and stabilized him and then did a double check on Kazrack and Ratchis.
“Free exchange of information,” Gunthar replied. “You tell us why you’re really here and we’ll tell you why we’re here and we’ll help each other accomplish those goals and then go our separate ways.”
“Debo hate little things!”
“Debo, shut your damn pie-hole!” Gunthar snapped. “Aldovar’s dead, and I’m the leader now, just like it always was.”
He turned to Martin and whispered with a wink, “Little things remind him of what he’s got between them bowed legs of his.”
“Is that all you want by way of payment?” Martin asked, hopeful that that would be the case.
“No.”
“No?”
“No, I also want to know everything you can tell m about my brother Jeremy,” Gunthar said. “That stupid elf-f*cker had a chance to meet me and he didn’t and I want to know why. I mean, I know that he never knew I existed until recently, but I always knew he existed. Our dad, that rotten bastard, would tell me all about what Jeremy was up to the few times he came to visit my mum – that is when he wasn’t not sending my mum money for a year forcing her to whore herself some more.”
There was a long silence, and suddenly Gunthar looked around the little room.
“Square!” He called up to the trap door. “You can come out. The fighting is over.”
There was no response.
“You know he’s a thief, right?” Martin asked. “We have run into him before.”
“Are we going to have trouble?” Gunthar asked the watch-mage looking very serious again.
“Uh, no… not if he doesn’t start any,” Martin replied, worrying what Kazrack and Ratchis would say about the turn of events during their unconsciousness.
“Good. So, what are you guys here for?”
“Beorth was telling the truth. We are looking for the key to a great nexus of magic, of planes,” Martin said. “There is a map or a map room of some kind that is supposed to show us where it is. Have you seen anything like that?”
“No, but I bet it’s below the flooded level,” Gunthar replied. Martin noted that once again Kismet and Schlomo looked at each other when the ‘flooded level’ was mentioned.
“And you?” The watch-mage asked to mask the gnomes’ reactions. “What are you looking for?”
“A sword. Some magical blade or other,” Gunthar said, grabbing some salt pork from his pack. “Freddie Firepants can tell you al about it.”
“Don’t call me that again, Gunthar or we’re going to have a little talk,” Frederick said from out in the hall where he was stripping Aldovar’s body anything valuable with Debo.
“Whatever, hotpants!” Gunthar guffawed and then snorted. “Anyway, it is supposed to be some dragonbane or something. We plan to give it to Debo and let him have at it. Too big for me, and anyway I have another role in the plan.”
“What’s the plan?” Martin asked.
“That’s a secret!” Gunthar snapped his mouth shut in piece of pork and smiled. “In that regard I am going to keep my mouth as tight as your momma shoulda made her crack if she wanted to keep from having anymore kids as ugly as you, doughboy.”
Martin was taken aback by the insult.
“But he’s not doughy…” Kismet said, entering the room.
“Ah, but he used to be. He was when I last met him. Looks like the pig-f*cker’s been starving you or you been in prison. That’s why it’s funny, it’s called ‘irony’. Iron as my pecker is gonna be all night if I have to look at that flower-sniffing piece of ass all night just lying there all defenseless,” He pointed at Anarie as if she had just come to his attention. “I’m going to sleep. In fact, we should all bunk down and get some rest. The sooner these losers wake up the sooner we can go find our sword and your map and get the hell out of the sh*thole. This place is blacker than the cankor on the end of Old Pete’s c*ck.”
Gunthar laughed out loud, and it reverberated out into the hall, even as Frederick was closing the secret door again.
“Martin, we fought for you, you watch,” Frederick said, grabbing The Square’s bedroll and rolling it up into a pillow for himself.
Debo squat in the corner and grunted softly into the night, and Martin turned down the lantern so there was only the slightest glow.
Martin waited a long time until he heard the regular breathing of the others grow long and then he waited even longer. Finally, he whispered over to Kismet. “You awake?”
“Yes,” she whispered back.
“I got one eye open,” Schlomo added.
“You need to tell me what is going on,” Martin whispered. “If I am going to help you and we are going to figure out a way to survive this you need to tell me. Why don’t you trust me?”
“Can’t trust anyone,” Schlomo hissed.
“Hush, Schlomy,” Kismet said. “I think we should tell him.”
“She might know,” Schlomo said in the gnomish tongue.
“We’ll have to risk it.”
“Is ‘she’ the dragon?” Martin asked.
“Hush!” Kismet chastised. “Quieter and we’ll do it in gnomish. I’ll go slow and use small words so you’ll understand.”
Martin rolled his eyes in the dark.
“Okay, why are you working for her, or are afraid she’ll see or hear you?” Martin asked.
“I don’t think you should tell him,” Schlomo whispered angrily. “People lives are depending on us doing what she said.”
“And people’s lives depend on us getting that sword,” Kismet whispered back.
“You want the sword, too?” Martin was astounded. “Why does a dragon want a dragon-slaying sword and why send you?”
“So, it can’t be used against her, dummy!” Schlomo said.
“Because we were there in her lair and available to her to use,” Kismet replied.
“Huh? How did you come to stumble upon her lair?”
“There is a way there through the Honeycombe,” Kismet replied.
“You were in the Honeycombe?” Martin was astounded. (5)
“Yes…”
Schlomo interrupted, “That’s no way to tell a story.”
Kismet nodded in the dark.
“Okay, stop asking questions and listen,” the female gnome said, bringing her high squeaky voice down to a shrill whisper as she crawled over to talk right in Martin’s ear. Schlomo waited a moment and squirmed over, too in order to hear.
“There were nineteen of us that left Garvan with the Chieftain and Creedadal the master illusionist to seek out the aid and advice of the elves about what to do about the human encroaching on our forest and to reinforce the old treaties from the Mountain Wars. However, we took an old underground route, hoping to come upon the elven enclave from beneath, and we did not expect to run into the white bear-men.”
“You mean the quaggoths.”
“Hush!” Schlomo flicked the watch-mage’s ear. “Just listen!”
“In the chaos of the caves, we became separated,” Kismet continued. “We had been warned of ogres we might have to sneak past, but fighting so many of those bear-creatures was too much for us. We fled and became separated, more than once, but two groups of us found each other very far from there, days and days away, and we were not sure in which direction, to areas of the caves that we did not have maps for.”
“I think we ended up northwest,” Schlomo added.
“Now, I say ‘hush’” Kismet reprimanded him a little too loudly, so they all remained quiet for a long time before Martin finally asked her to continue.
“It was way out there that we came upon a tunnel we thought was to the surface, but brought us to the dragon’s lair, and she captured us,” Kismet’s voice was filled with fear from the very memory of the beast. I’ve never been so scared in all my life, but she spoke to us soothingly, almost lovingly. The chieftain said that she was of the forest kind of like how we gnomes are, or elves are said to be, but of a darker side and you could feel it when she looked at you with her amber-colored snake’s eyes.”
Martin shuddered.
“She informed us that she was going to use us to run some errands for her. She said if we got her the sword from here that she would let us all go. She sent out six at first, but they never came back. So a few months later, she sent out another five of us, including Creedadal himself to get the sword, and that is what we are doing here. She told us that she had been sleeping a long time and was hungry and we had better hurry, and that she would know if we were not actively trying to get the sword. She also told us that it was ‘below water’ and gave us those potions along with some other ones that are supposed to let us breathe underwater.”
Kismet paused.
“Do you really think the dragon will let anyone who knows where her lair is live? Dragons are tricksy,” Martin said. “It may not be wise to bring her the sword.”
“What choice do we have?” Schlomo asked.
“And those men, they cannot kill the dragon with or without the sword,” Kismet said. “Being in her lair is like being in the presence of ancient storm that thinks…or something.”
Martin shuddered again.
“We will help you how we can with your quest if you help us with ours,” Kismet said, and Schlomo nodded. “This place you seek, does it have to do with the dimensional bleed?”
“The what?” Martin was surprised again.
“Creedadal mentioned it,” Kismet replied. “I could only just barely grasp what he meant, but he said that something was going screwy with the planes of existence and things were bleeding back and forth between them. He said that was where the fiendish wyvern came from.”
She paused.
“It was the fiendish wyvern that killed him,” she added, even more softly.
“Yes, we have found evidence of that as well,” Martin replied. “And I think the place we seek is the key to reversing it and making sure that others do not accelerate it.”
“I think you have a story to tell us,” Schlomo said, and Kismet agreed. Martin took a deep breath and went into a length explanation of the party’s adventures, trying his best emulate gnomish-style story-telling.
It was hours before he brought them to the point in the story when Jeremy died, and around then Ratchis began to stir.
Not enough time had passed for this to be another morning, but then again they had long ago lost all sense of time having been underground for days.
As Ratchis prayed, and once again Frederick sang a little hymn in Beorth’s ear, Martin asked Gunthar, “So, do you really think you can defeat the dragon?”
“Of course! We have a plan, and when it is implanted I am going to split her open like a 13 year old begging for some of the ole Northrop loving.”
“Enough!” Ratchis barked, ending his prayers. “You are going to watch your mouth.”
“And you are going to stick to the deal dough-boy agreed to in order to save all your sorry-asses, pig-f*cker!”
Ratchis looked at Martin and scowled.
“We killed our only source of healing for you and your crew, you damn do sure owe us!” Gunthar Northrop insisted. “We help you find this map or map-room or whatever it is and you help us find the dragon-killing sword. Clean and simple.”
There was a long silence, during which Ratchis never turned his eyes from Martin the Green.
“It’s a deal?” Gunthar asked.
“It is a deal as long as you do not anything that would ask me to compromise my ethics,” Ratchis replied. He still rested his stare heavily on the watch-mage.
“Oh! All this stipulations and guidelines! What am I? In my father’s house? A deal is a deal between men and between men and half-men-pig-f*cker things.”
“Do not call me pig-f*cker,” Ratchis replied.
“That’s what you are, or your blood is, dirty buggers that they are, not that I wouldn’t pop the ole Johnson in an orc lass if I was really hard up or something and didn’t have to look at her face, not that I am ever really hard up or anything, normally all the wenches are biting like fish at my manly bait, if ya know what I mean…”
“Shut up!” Ratchis barked. “It is a deal.”
“Hell, this whole agreement works out I can go on to help you with the plane-nexus thing of whatever. Then crazy places always have lots of magic and wishes and stuff in the stories about the Age of Adventurers (6), maybe I can even find a way to bring Jeremy back to life.”
Ratchis sighed. “He was already brought back once.”
“What!? That’s crazy talk!”
“But true…”
Gunthar looked to Martin who nodded.
“Jeremy Twice-Lived! I’ll write a song about him,” said Frederick.
“Well, if he was brought back once he can be brought back again, right?” Gunthar insisted.
“Anything is possible,” Ratchis replied rolling his eyes.
The others would not awake until the next day, even with Ratchis’ healing, but the days had long since begun to meld into each other.
Kazrack awoke with a start and had to be told right away everything that had happened.
Martin sighed as he felt Lacan’s Demise kick into effect.
End of Session #59
Notes
(1) DM’s Note: Martin picked up a single rank in the gnomish language, allowing him to understand and undertake simple everyday conversations one might need to get around in day to day life. He was allowed Speak Language checks to grasp more complicated portions of the conversation with varying DCs depending on the difficulty and specificity as determined by the DM.
(2) Both Carlos and Aldovar are from the El Reino Unido de Familias Superiores (UKSF).
(3) Fezzik is a gnomish god.
(4) ‘Saltbottoms’ is a neighborhood of Earthsea City in the Kingdom of Neergaard.
(5) The Honeycombe is the network of caves beneath Ogre’s Bluff where the Fearless Manticore Killers encountered the quaggoths (See Session #23).
(6) ‘The Age of Adventurers’ is a large portion of the Third Age of great heroes in various parts of Aquerra.
