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NOW LIVE! Into the Woods--new character species, eerie monsters, and haunting villains to populate the woodlands of your D&D games.
Piratecat's Updated Story Hour! (update 4/03 and 4/06)
- Thread starter Piratecat
- Start date
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Quartermoon
First Post
Sagiro said:
Oh, and the best Boynton ever has to be The Going to Bed Book.
"We all went up...to exercise!"
Although Barnyard Dance is quite a hoot, especually when you sing it.
RangerWickett
Legend
Last edited:
Greybar
No Trouble at All
As a dedication from a hymn this morning which made me think of the Defenders and Velendo. Gotta say I love grabbing hymns and stuff and applying them in other places. Of course the hymn version of this was only four verses, but I grabbed the full poem for your enjoyment. -John
All are architects of Fate,
Working in these walls of Time;
Some with massive deeds and great,
Some with ornaments of rhyme.
Nothing useless is, or low;
Each thing in its place is best;
And what seems but idle show
Strengthens and supports the rest.
For the structure that we raise,
Time is with materials filled;
Our to-days and yesterdays
Are the blocks with which we build.
Truly shape and fashion these;
Leave no yawning gaps between;
Think not, because no man sees,
Such things will remain unseen.
In the elder days of Art,
Builders wrought with greatest care
Each minute and unseen part;
For the Gods see everywhere.
Let us do our work as well,
Both the unseen and the seen;
Make the house, where Gods may dwell,
Beautiful, entire, and clean.
Else our lives are incomplete,
Standing in these walls of Time,
Broken stairways, where the feet
Stumble as they seek to climb.
Build to-day, then, strong and sure,
With a firm and ample base;
And ascending and secure
Shall to-morrow find its place.
Thus alone can we attain
To those turrets, where the eye
Sees the world as one vast plain,
And one boundless reach of sky.
THE BUILDERS, by Henry Wadsworth Longfellow, from The Seaside and the Fireside
All are architects of Fate,
Working in these walls of Time;
Some with massive deeds and great,
Some with ornaments of rhyme.
Nothing useless is, or low;
Each thing in its place is best;
And what seems but idle show
Strengthens and supports the rest.
For the structure that we raise,
Time is with materials filled;
Our to-days and yesterdays
Are the blocks with which we build.
Truly shape and fashion these;
Leave no yawning gaps between;
Think not, because no man sees,
Such things will remain unseen.
In the elder days of Art,
Builders wrought with greatest care
Each minute and unseen part;
For the Gods see everywhere.
Let us do our work as well,
Both the unseen and the seen;
Make the house, where Gods may dwell,
Beautiful, entire, and clean.
Else our lives are incomplete,
Standing in these walls of Time,
Broken stairways, where the feet
Stumble as they seek to climb.
Build to-day, then, strong and sure,
With a firm and ample base;
And ascending and secure
Shall to-morrow find its place.
Thus alone can we attain
To those turrets, where the eye
Sees the world as one vast plain,
And one boundless reach of sky.
THE BUILDERS, by Henry Wadsworth Longfellow, from The Seaside and the Fireside
Piratecat
Sesquipedalian
Another update tomorrow, too!
-------------------------------------------------
The monk ignores the cheering as he scans the crowd, his eyes finally locking on to the pupilless gaze of an illithid in the second row.
“You were trying to cheat.” The githzerai’s glare is bitter and implacable. “Try to invade my mind again, and I will gladly hunt you down and destroy you.”
The mental response is dry and amused, creeping like beetles across Galthia’s throbbing brain. Do not accuse me of something I did not do, meal-that-walks. It could come back to bite you.
“You’ve been warned,” replies Galthia coldly as unnoticed tokens of the crowd’s favor shower down around him. “If it wasn’t you, it was one of your kin. I know the taint of mind flayer.” Stone Bear stirs at his feet, and dry mental laughter crawls around him before dying out. Finally, the tired monk turns his head to acknowledge the crowd, and takes a moment to savor the victory.
Later, when both combatants have been healed, the entire group retires to Dambril’s Festhall to celebrate. As they walk under the webs of the Butcher’s and into the cavern, a ragged cheer begins in a table to the left. The noise is picked up by other tables, and within a minute the entire tavern is on its feet, duergar and goblins and kobolds together cheering and stomping their feet in tribute to the two gladiators. The group is somewhat taken aback, but the noise soon fades as people go back to their food and drink. The place is packed with people spending their winnings, and the mood is as merry as a room full of violent, evil underdark dwellers can get.
An ogre lumbers up. “You wanna seat?” it scowls, eyeing the entirely full tavern.
“Yes,” says Tao, “but there’s no need to…” The ogre is already lumbering away, snarling as it charges unevenly towards a table full of drunken goblins. The one semi-sober goblin sees the ogre coming, screams, and scrambles away. The ogre picks up one of the other goblins by the scruff of its neck and shakes it.
“Champion wantsa seat! You gonna givit toim?”
“Blurg?” The bleary-eyed goblin lifts its head, sees Galthia, and its face splits into a disturbingly wide grin. “You betcha! Sitim here!” He manages a happy little wave before the ogre drops him into a puddle of vomit on the floor. By the time the group makes their way across the crowded room, the rest of the drunken goblins have abandoned the table, and the ogre has wiped it down with a spit-covered rag.
“I hope you folks excuse me for a moment, please,” Nolin says as he unlimbers his instrument. “What this place needs is a little proper music. I’ll stay in the conversation via the mind link.” He makes his way to the front of the festhall and soon has the drunken crowd stomping, cheering, and singling along in undercommon. Meanwhile, the rest of the group discusses more serious matters over complementary food and drink paid for by eager admirers and hangers-on.
“I don’t like it,” Velendo says over the mind-link, not even trying to shout over Nolin’s song. “In the last four or five days we’ve had more than a half dozen incidents of vertigo, dizziness, and stabbing pains in our chests. Bad dreams, too. Not everyone in the group has been affected, but it doesn’t bode well.”
“Dreams of falling.” Tao shivers in memory. “And there’s that incident with the worms.” Stone Bear turns his face to her questioningly, and Tao elaborates. “This morning we found tiny white worms dribbling down out of the solid rock of the ceiling. No obvious source. They were just.. there.” Stone Bear nods.
“I’ve heard of similar things in the last few days. Merchants finding worms dropping atop their head, bad dreams. And the beetles are apparently running much earlier than normal, and in greater numbers.”
Agar shivers. “Can’t forget those beetles,” he says weakly. “What do you mean by running?”
“I am told that once a year, the beetles all return to their breeding places. When they do, many of those in the underdark hunt them with nets and traps and spears. They are very regular, but not this year.”
Malachite smiles. “Maybe they’re modrons.”
“So what does it mean?” Velendo spreads his hands in frustration before glaring up at the ceiling, his eyes focus past miles of stone to the endless heavens somewhere above. “What, huh? Make the damn signs clearer; we’re stupid down here!” Sighing, he takes a swig of mushroom beer while studiously ignoring all the goblins staring at him. “I might have a chat with Calphas later today. If this is happening to more people than just us, we should probably know about it.”
“Good idea.”
Malachite's mouth twists. "Weal or woe."
Velendo's head jerks up. "Huh?
"Weal. Or. Woe. No confusing riddles, no obscure prophecies. Just do that divination that says whether something is good or bad. Much easier."
Velendo stares at him. "Err... right. You are aware that.. oh, never mind."
Malachite nods confidently. "Weal or woe." He takes a drink from his mug.
Galthia leans back, still sore despite the healing magics from Velendo. “I plan to visit Mirjik later. He may have been able to find some sort of magical gloves for me.”
“That’s right!” perks up Agar. “He was going to try and find some scrolls for me, as well. I hope he’s back.”
Malachite frowns. “I don’t trust him.” Mara and Velendo nod their agreement, but Agar brushes away the objection by waving in the air with a leg of fried lizard for emphasis.
“Nah. You just don’t know him. You still upset about that angel heart comment? I’m sure he sells what the market demands. He seems like a reliable guy to me. I just hope I can afford to pay him; as part of our deal, he’s picking up a cache on my money that I left with a friend in Sigil.”
Galthia nods, considering his empty money pouch. “I know the feeling.”
Splinder sits up at that, grins mischievously, and pushes his large mug aside. “That reminds me.” He turns to Galthia and hauls out a heavy pouch, which he slaps down between the githzerai and the halfling. It jingles as the table creaks slightly. “Me an’ the boys bet our savings on ya.” He glances over to Stone Bear. “No offense.”
“None taken.”
“So we sort of spread the word as to how you weren’t especially talented, or competent, and then laid in a bet at the last minute as the odds went up. Paid off better than three to one. As parta the team, we thought we’d donate this to the fund that let’s you kick more ass.” He leans back and crosses his arms. “More’n six thousand gold in there, there is.”
Galthia looks shocked. “I thank you. But you and your troops should make sure you keep some for yourselves.” Splinder’s eyes glitter.
“Oh, we did.” Mara laughs. Behind her, Nolin finishes a raucous song and returns to the table, wiping the sweat from his brow.
“That was fun. I’m going to have to do this again, for real. What are we talking about? I stopped listening when the conversation got boring.”
To be continued…
-------------------------------------------------
The monk ignores the cheering as he scans the crowd, his eyes finally locking on to the pupilless gaze of an illithid in the second row.
“You were trying to cheat.” The githzerai’s glare is bitter and implacable. “Try to invade my mind again, and I will gladly hunt you down and destroy you.”
The mental response is dry and amused, creeping like beetles across Galthia’s throbbing brain. Do not accuse me of something I did not do, meal-that-walks. It could come back to bite you.
“You’ve been warned,” replies Galthia coldly as unnoticed tokens of the crowd’s favor shower down around him. “If it wasn’t you, it was one of your kin. I know the taint of mind flayer.” Stone Bear stirs at his feet, and dry mental laughter crawls around him before dying out. Finally, the tired monk turns his head to acknowledge the crowd, and takes a moment to savor the victory.
Later, when both combatants have been healed, the entire group retires to Dambril’s Festhall to celebrate. As they walk under the webs of the Butcher’s and into the cavern, a ragged cheer begins in a table to the left. The noise is picked up by other tables, and within a minute the entire tavern is on its feet, duergar and goblins and kobolds together cheering and stomping their feet in tribute to the two gladiators. The group is somewhat taken aback, but the noise soon fades as people go back to their food and drink. The place is packed with people spending their winnings, and the mood is as merry as a room full of violent, evil underdark dwellers can get.
An ogre lumbers up. “You wanna seat?” it scowls, eyeing the entirely full tavern.
“Yes,” says Tao, “but there’s no need to…” The ogre is already lumbering away, snarling as it charges unevenly towards a table full of drunken goblins. The one semi-sober goblin sees the ogre coming, screams, and scrambles away. The ogre picks up one of the other goblins by the scruff of its neck and shakes it.
“Champion wantsa seat! You gonna givit toim?”
“Blurg?” The bleary-eyed goblin lifts its head, sees Galthia, and its face splits into a disturbingly wide grin. “You betcha! Sitim here!” He manages a happy little wave before the ogre drops him into a puddle of vomit on the floor. By the time the group makes their way across the crowded room, the rest of the drunken goblins have abandoned the table, and the ogre has wiped it down with a spit-covered rag.
“I hope you folks excuse me for a moment, please,” Nolin says as he unlimbers his instrument. “What this place needs is a little proper music. I’ll stay in the conversation via the mind link.” He makes his way to the front of the festhall and soon has the drunken crowd stomping, cheering, and singling along in undercommon. Meanwhile, the rest of the group discusses more serious matters over complementary food and drink paid for by eager admirers and hangers-on.
“I don’t like it,” Velendo says over the mind-link, not even trying to shout over Nolin’s song. “In the last four or five days we’ve had more than a half dozen incidents of vertigo, dizziness, and stabbing pains in our chests. Bad dreams, too. Not everyone in the group has been affected, but it doesn’t bode well.”
“Dreams of falling.” Tao shivers in memory. “And there’s that incident with the worms.” Stone Bear turns his face to her questioningly, and Tao elaborates. “This morning we found tiny white worms dribbling down out of the solid rock of the ceiling. No obvious source. They were just.. there.” Stone Bear nods.
“I’ve heard of similar things in the last few days. Merchants finding worms dropping atop their head, bad dreams. And the beetles are apparently running much earlier than normal, and in greater numbers.”
Agar shivers. “Can’t forget those beetles,” he says weakly. “What do you mean by running?”
“I am told that once a year, the beetles all return to their breeding places. When they do, many of those in the underdark hunt them with nets and traps and spears. They are very regular, but not this year.”
Malachite smiles. “Maybe they’re modrons.”
“So what does it mean?” Velendo spreads his hands in frustration before glaring up at the ceiling, his eyes focus past miles of stone to the endless heavens somewhere above. “What, huh? Make the damn signs clearer; we’re stupid down here!” Sighing, he takes a swig of mushroom beer while studiously ignoring all the goblins staring at him. “I might have a chat with Calphas later today. If this is happening to more people than just us, we should probably know about it.”
“Good idea.”
Malachite's mouth twists. "Weal or woe."
Velendo's head jerks up. "Huh?
"Weal. Or. Woe. No confusing riddles, no obscure prophecies. Just do that divination that says whether something is good or bad. Much easier."
Velendo stares at him. "Err... right. You are aware that.. oh, never mind."
Malachite nods confidently. "Weal or woe." He takes a drink from his mug.
Galthia leans back, still sore despite the healing magics from Velendo. “I plan to visit Mirjik later. He may have been able to find some sort of magical gloves for me.”
“That’s right!” perks up Agar. “He was going to try and find some scrolls for me, as well. I hope he’s back.”
Malachite frowns. “I don’t trust him.” Mara and Velendo nod their agreement, but Agar brushes away the objection by waving in the air with a leg of fried lizard for emphasis.
“Nah. You just don’t know him. You still upset about that angel heart comment? I’m sure he sells what the market demands. He seems like a reliable guy to me. I just hope I can afford to pay him; as part of our deal, he’s picking up a cache on my money that I left with a friend in Sigil.”
Galthia nods, considering his empty money pouch. “I know the feeling.”
Splinder sits up at that, grins mischievously, and pushes his large mug aside. “That reminds me.” He turns to Galthia and hauls out a heavy pouch, which he slaps down between the githzerai and the halfling. It jingles as the table creaks slightly. “Me an’ the boys bet our savings on ya.” He glances over to Stone Bear. “No offense.”
“None taken.”
“So we sort of spread the word as to how you weren’t especially talented, or competent, and then laid in a bet at the last minute as the odds went up. Paid off better than three to one. As parta the team, we thought we’d donate this to the fund that let’s you kick more ass.” He leans back and crosses his arms. “More’n six thousand gold in there, there is.”
Galthia looks shocked. “I thank you. But you and your troops should make sure you keep some for yourselves.” Splinder’s eyes glitter.
“Oh, we did.” Mara laughs. Behind her, Nolin finishes a raucous song and returns to the table, wiping the sweat from his brow.
“That was fun. I’m going to have to do this again, for real. What are we talking about? I stopped listening when the conversation got boring.”
To be continued…
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Piratecat
Sesquipedalian
The group stops by Mirjik’s as they leave the festhall. The door is unlocked, and the tall mercane awaits them inside. He gestures them in with a wide smile on his inhuman face, steepling his many fingers in excitement. “Superb news! My trip met with extreme success. First, though, we are agreed?” He turns to Galthia. “You will write me a letter of introduction to Kleithos, Chancellor of the githzerai city of Helm?”
“I will. I have no special authority over him, though.” Mirjik dismisses the modest statement with a wave of his hand.
“No matter. Agar, you will sit with me to do divinations on my best course of action upon leaving here?”
“Of course!”
Mirjik turns to Nolin. “And as agreed, you will write a song for me, and about me, and then record it into one of your echostones?”
Nolin grins. “I could do it standing on my head. If it gets us a discount, no problem.” Mirjik grins back.
“Then done! There is a slight balance that we must resolve with something other than barter – there is my bill upon the table there by your elbow – but I think you’ll be happy with the results.” He pulls over a small crate and places it by Agar’s feet. “Master Wizard, I present to you the things you ordered. Scrolls a-plenty, and scribing parchments and inks to delight the surliest librarian. The quills are from Arborean peacocks, and the scrolls scribed by Oxios Bloodscribe himself. Fine quality, and I was able to procure almost all of the spells you had requested.” He winks. “I had to pull in a few favors, but in order to achieve exit from this particular venue?” He looks out the door at Akin’s Throat just as an ogre lumbers by mounted on a giant beetle, trailing a half-dozen zombies chained together behind him. He shudders delicately. “It will be worth it.”
The mercane then turns to Galthia with a somewhat odd look on his face. “For you I have.. well, you should see.” He unveils a glorious pair of long gloves. The leather is dark brown and incredibly supple, with tiny stitching and multiple pearls sewn in by the cuffs. As he turns them they shimmer in the lantern light, magical runes surfacing and glimmering slightly before disappearing back into the leather. “As far as I can tell these are unique. They are created to improve the natural weapons of those who fight with their hands and feet. Not only are they enchanted to do slightly more damage, they dramatically increase the monk’s dexterity. Now, you already have gloves that I’ll be taking in trade that do such a thing, but these,” he leans in conspiratorially, “contain magic that transforms the very way you fight. Instead of forcing you to battle with pure strength, these allow you to fight with grace and finesse, turning your agility into a weapon to strike your opponent.” He leans back. “I hope they’ll serve you well.”
Galthia looks at them silently, not yet picking them up. “Surely, even with our items in trade, I can’t afford these?” Mirjik looks slightly uncomfortable.
“Well, that’s the thing. I got a good price on them.” He frowns slightly and gestures with one long-fingered hand. “An extremely good price. Mind you, the vendor assured me that they are not stolen or cursed. I took the liberty to double-check myself, and could find no evidence of curses at all. A quick check with the Harmonium confirmed that they do not seem to be stolen. The vendor merely needed money quickly, I think, and sold them in extremis.” Even the implacable face of the mercane looks slightly suspicious of his own words, but his voice remains silky and convincing. “You should check them yourself, of course, but they seem legitimate. Use them in good health, and think of Mirjik’s Eccentricities when you do.”
Nolin and Agar exchange an eye-rolling glance, but Galthia picks up the gloves and slides them on. He feels ripples of power coruscating up and down his body as the magic ties together his speed and strength. A few seconds later, he takes a few practice jabs at the air, and seems to be well pleased at the results. “What I have desired, I have achieved,” he says. “These will do.”
“Say,” asks Nolin, “who is the best guide in Akin’s Throat? What we need now more than anything else is information.”
Mirjik frowns expressively. “Personally, I would say that you want Hangle, a goblin caver. Other people think might Molduk, a kobold explorer.” He takes a deep breath. “The absolute best is a drow female named Ma’chel. But she’s a…” He bites his tongue. “A drow. With everything that implies. Unpleasant in the extreme, and very difficult to deal with.”
Nolin smiles. “I’m on it.” Malachite glowers at the bard, who pretends not to notice, and soon the group bids Mirjik goodbye.
Still in unicorn form, Tao heads up to the north of the cavern. She pointedly discourages two entrepreneurial goblins who imprudently think that a loose unicorn could be sold for quite a bit of money, and soon finds herself near Speaker’s Rock. There’s a crowd there, and Tao soon realizes that a deep-voiced goblin is preaching the benefits of surrendering to the ghouls and joining them as allies. Suddenly, Galanna’s words to her back in the vault reverberate in her thoughts:
Speak of my gospel to those who do not believe. There is still time to save some of their souls, before the fall is over, if you do what I ask. Be strong in your faith, and you will deliver them from darkness.
Tao swallows, shivers with the memory, and raises her voice to contradict the speaker. Despite some initial heckling Tao can be a convincing speaker when she tries, and within a few minutes she has turned the mood of the crowd against the convincing goblin. When they start pelting the goblin with rotted fungus, Tao takes his place on Speaker’s Rock. Slowly at first, then gathering momentum, she tries to fulfill her Goddess’ wishes by telling others about Galanna and what her religion entails. The populace of Akin’s Throat loves a good show if nothing else, and Tao soon has a sizeable crowd listening to her as she speaks of turning away from the darkness of Imbindarla into the life-circle of Galanna. It’s unclear how many people she actually converts, but at least no one throws fungus. Flumphs drift over to float above her head, and her voice echoes out across the cavern, carrying over both the geyser and the sound of the forge’s ringing hammers.
I am doing my Goddesses’ will, she thinks. I hope I’m worthy of it. I don’t know what I’m doing. But I’ll do it anyways.
Meanwhile, some of the group strolls past giant mushrooms to examine the quality of any mercenary troops in the ‘Throat. Malachite in particular isn’t especially impressed by what he sees. Continuing past the mercenaries and the squeaking chaos of Vermin Nook, the group passes the zombie pens. A dark-robed orc looks out at them, stops, stares at Malachite, and runs forward in a state of distress.
“Il chukkut buzugtay! Neelgat! Thur’neelgat!”
Malachite stops with one hand on his sword, and raises his voice without taking his eyes off of the black-robed orc. “Nolin, what is he saying?”
Nolin wrinkles his nose. “Eel cheekrat? Toobul?” The orc nods, pale and sweating, and rushes back towards the zombie pens. Nolin turns to Malachite, confusion writ across his face. “He basically said ‘She said you’d come this way. I have something to give you.’ I asked him if he was sure he wanted you, and he nodded. Odd.”
The orc returns, a cloth-wrapped bundle in his hand. He holds it out, but Malachite doesn’t take it. Instead, he speaks in undercommon. “What is it?” Definitely evil, thinks Malachite, but not undead. Stinks of them, though.
The orc replies in orcish, and Nolin translates. “He says that he was in Dag’s Hollow last month, and she caught him cheating a customer. She said he owed her a favor. She told him that a knight with a green tabard would pass him, and when you did he should give you this bundle. He hasn’t opened it.” The orc says something else. “Apparently, she mentioned that you wouldn’t hide yourself.” Nolin shrugs.
“Where is Dag’s Hollow?” asks Mara.
“Up. Closer to the surface, I think.”
“Who was this woman?” The orc answers him while rubbing his shoulder as if remembering old pain. As it speaks its eyes dart back and forth towards the nearby shadows, as if expecting someone to suddenly appear out of them. Nolin then interprets for Malachite.
“A human woman. Gray, with cold eyes. I’d say it was almost certainly Claris.”
“Claris? Your old companion, the pilgrim of Vindus the Unyielding?” Nolin nods.
“We know she’s down here, aiding those big bugs… what are they called, formians? Hell, she left for the underdark six months before we did, saying that we were dallying.”
Malachite’s stare is stern. “We were.”
“But why you?”
“I don’t know.” The knight unwraps the bundle as the orc scampers off to safety, and finds inside a thin silver circlet with a brief note. Keep your wits about you. – Claris Malachite looks up. “Odd. It’s certainly magical. We’ll have it identified.”
“All right.” Velendo sighs. “Let’s head back to the Flickering Needle.”
“Yeah!” says Agar eagerly, desperate to get away from the beetles he sees everywhere. “We’ve got divinations aplenty to do!”
“We do indeed,” agrees Velendo. “Nolin, you’re going to go track down a guide?” The bard nods. “Mara, how about you?”
“Malachite and I are going to go gather military information.” She smiles, and the cavern seems to light up. “We’ll see if we can get people to talk about what ghouls they’ve seen nearby.” As a plan is made, other people volunteer to learn what they can about the strange omens – vertigo, a feeling of falling, worms appearing from nowhere – and the group prepares to separate once again. “All right,” says Velendo. “We’ll meet back at the tower when we have the information we need to make a proper plan. Stone Bear, you too, please. Something bad is coming… and we need to find out what it is.”
to be continued…
“I will. I have no special authority over him, though.” Mirjik dismisses the modest statement with a wave of his hand.
“No matter. Agar, you will sit with me to do divinations on my best course of action upon leaving here?”
“Of course!”
Mirjik turns to Nolin. “And as agreed, you will write a song for me, and about me, and then record it into one of your echostones?”
Nolin grins. “I could do it standing on my head. If it gets us a discount, no problem.” Mirjik grins back.
“Then done! There is a slight balance that we must resolve with something other than barter – there is my bill upon the table there by your elbow – but I think you’ll be happy with the results.” He pulls over a small crate and places it by Agar’s feet. “Master Wizard, I present to you the things you ordered. Scrolls a-plenty, and scribing parchments and inks to delight the surliest librarian. The quills are from Arborean peacocks, and the scrolls scribed by Oxios Bloodscribe himself. Fine quality, and I was able to procure almost all of the spells you had requested.” He winks. “I had to pull in a few favors, but in order to achieve exit from this particular venue?” He looks out the door at Akin’s Throat just as an ogre lumbers by mounted on a giant beetle, trailing a half-dozen zombies chained together behind him. He shudders delicately. “It will be worth it.”
The mercane then turns to Galthia with a somewhat odd look on his face. “For you I have.. well, you should see.” He unveils a glorious pair of long gloves. The leather is dark brown and incredibly supple, with tiny stitching and multiple pearls sewn in by the cuffs. As he turns them they shimmer in the lantern light, magical runes surfacing and glimmering slightly before disappearing back into the leather. “As far as I can tell these are unique. They are created to improve the natural weapons of those who fight with their hands and feet. Not only are they enchanted to do slightly more damage, they dramatically increase the monk’s dexterity. Now, you already have gloves that I’ll be taking in trade that do such a thing, but these,” he leans in conspiratorially, “contain magic that transforms the very way you fight. Instead of forcing you to battle with pure strength, these allow you to fight with grace and finesse, turning your agility into a weapon to strike your opponent.” He leans back. “I hope they’ll serve you well.”
Galthia looks at them silently, not yet picking them up. “Surely, even with our items in trade, I can’t afford these?” Mirjik looks slightly uncomfortable.
“Well, that’s the thing. I got a good price on them.” He frowns slightly and gestures with one long-fingered hand. “An extremely good price. Mind you, the vendor assured me that they are not stolen or cursed. I took the liberty to double-check myself, and could find no evidence of curses at all. A quick check with the Harmonium confirmed that they do not seem to be stolen. The vendor merely needed money quickly, I think, and sold them in extremis.” Even the implacable face of the mercane looks slightly suspicious of his own words, but his voice remains silky and convincing. “You should check them yourself, of course, but they seem legitimate. Use them in good health, and think of Mirjik’s Eccentricities when you do.”
Nolin and Agar exchange an eye-rolling glance, but Galthia picks up the gloves and slides them on. He feels ripples of power coruscating up and down his body as the magic ties together his speed and strength. A few seconds later, he takes a few practice jabs at the air, and seems to be well pleased at the results. “What I have desired, I have achieved,” he says. “These will do.”
“Say,” asks Nolin, “who is the best guide in Akin’s Throat? What we need now more than anything else is information.”
Mirjik frowns expressively. “Personally, I would say that you want Hangle, a goblin caver. Other people think might Molduk, a kobold explorer.” He takes a deep breath. “The absolute best is a drow female named Ma’chel. But she’s a…” He bites his tongue. “A drow. With everything that implies. Unpleasant in the extreme, and very difficult to deal with.”
Nolin smiles. “I’m on it.” Malachite glowers at the bard, who pretends not to notice, and soon the group bids Mirjik goodbye.
Still in unicorn form, Tao heads up to the north of the cavern. She pointedly discourages two entrepreneurial goblins who imprudently think that a loose unicorn could be sold for quite a bit of money, and soon finds herself near Speaker’s Rock. There’s a crowd there, and Tao soon realizes that a deep-voiced goblin is preaching the benefits of surrendering to the ghouls and joining them as allies. Suddenly, Galanna’s words to her back in the vault reverberate in her thoughts:
Speak of my gospel to those who do not believe. There is still time to save some of their souls, before the fall is over, if you do what I ask. Be strong in your faith, and you will deliver them from darkness.
Tao swallows, shivers with the memory, and raises her voice to contradict the speaker. Despite some initial heckling Tao can be a convincing speaker when she tries, and within a few minutes she has turned the mood of the crowd against the convincing goblin. When they start pelting the goblin with rotted fungus, Tao takes his place on Speaker’s Rock. Slowly at first, then gathering momentum, she tries to fulfill her Goddess’ wishes by telling others about Galanna and what her religion entails. The populace of Akin’s Throat loves a good show if nothing else, and Tao soon has a sizeable crowd listening to her as she speaks of turning away from the darkness of Imbindarla into the life-circle of Galanna. It’s unclear how many people she actually converts, but at least no one throws fungus. Flumphs drift over to float above her head, and her voice echoes out across the cavern, carrying over both the geyser and the sound of the forge’s ringing hammers.
I am doing my Goddesses’ will, she thinks. I hope I’m worthy of it. I don’t know what I’m doing. But I’ll do it anyways.
Meanwhile, some of the group strolls past giant mushrooms to examine the quality of any mercenary troops in the ‘Throat. Malachite in particular isn’t especially impressed by what he sees. Continuing past the mercenaries and the squeaking chaos of Vermin Nook, the group passes the zombie pens. A dark-robed orc looks out at them, stops, stares at Malachite, and runs forward in a state of distress.
“Il chukkut buzugtay! Neelgat! Thur’neelgat!”
Malachite stops with one hand on his sword, and raises his voice without taking his eyes off of the black-robed orc. “Nolin, what is he saying?”
Nolin wrinkles his nose. “Eel cheekrat? Toobul?” The orc nods, pale and sweating, and rushes back towards the zombie pens. Nolin turns to Malachite, confusion writ across his face. “He basically said ‘She said you’d come this way. I have something to give you.’ I asked him if he was sure he wanted you, and he nodded. Odd.”
The orc returns, a cloth-wrapped bundle in his hand. He holds it out, but Malachite doesn’t take it. Instead, he speaks in undercommon. “What is it?” Definitely evil, thinks Malachite, but not undead. Stinks of them, though.
The orc replies in orcish, and Nolin translates. “He says that he was in Dag’s Hollow last month, and she caught him cheating a customer. She said he owed her a favor. She told him that a knight with a green tabard would pass him, and when you did he should give you this bundle. He hasn’t opened it.” The orc says something else. “Apparently, she mentioned that you wouldn’t hide yourself.” Nolin shrugs.
“Where is Dag’s Hollow?” asks Mara.
“Up. Closer to the surface, I think.”
“Who was this woman?” The orc answers him while rubbing his shoulder as if remembering old pain. As it speaks its eyes dart back and forth towards the nearby shadows, as if expecting someone to suddenly appear out of them. Nolin then interprets for Malachite.
“A human woman. Gray, with cold eyes. I’d say it was almost certainly Claris.”
“Claris? Your old companion, the pilgrim of Vindus the Unyielding?” Nolin nods.
“We know she’s down here, aiding those big bugs… what are they called, formians? Hell, she left for the underdark six months before we did, saying that we were dallying.”
Malachite’s stare is stern. “We were.”
“But why you?”
“I don’t know.” The knight unwraps the bundle as the orc scampers off to safety, and finds inside a thin silver circlet with a brief note. Keep your wits about you. – Claris Malachite looks up. “Odd. It’s certainly magical. We’ll have it identified.”
“All right.” Velendo sighs. “Let’s head back to the Flickering Needle.”
“Yeah!” says Agar eagerly, desperate to get away from the beetles he sees everywhere. “We’ve got divinations aplenty to do!”
“We do indeed,” agrees Velendo. “Nolin, you’re going to go track down a guide?” The bard nods. “Mara, how about you?”
“Malachite and I are going to go gather military information.” She smiles, and the cavern seems to light up. “We’ll see if we can get people to talk about what ghouls they’ve seen nearby.” As a plan is made, other people volunteer to learn what they can about the strange omens – vertigo, a feeling of falling, worms appearing from nowhere – and the group prepares to separate once again. “All right,” says Velendo. “We’ll meet back at the tower when we have the information we need to make a proper plan. Stone Bear, you too, please. Something bad is coming… and we need to find out what it is.”
to be continued…
Piratecat
Sesquipedalian
Think of this as the calm before the storm. Things are about to get interesting. 
----------------
Interlude
Dlyrath sits in class, bored.
“Now, the advanced figment is usually characterized by…”
He tunes out the professor. The subject is illusion magic, usually a worthwhile subject, but today he can’t stop his mind from wandering. He is due to graduate this year with a full-fledged diploma, thus gaining both prestige and a number of rights and privileges in Oursk. Only another six months! But now he has to decide what the future will bring. Spymaster? Information Mage? Back-alley seller of odd and unusual objects? Avoider of Kestellin’s assassins? So many possibilities. So many opportunities. He just hopes things don’t get boring.
“Common flaws typically have to do with reaction time in the non-self-aware figment. For most wizards, it’s simply…”
Yeah, whatever. He wonders what the rest of the Defenders are up to right now. Probably something fun. Last three times he tried to scry for them with the Mirror, it was no-go. Annoying. Around him, students studiously scribble down notes, all except for one girl who won’t stop staring at him with big doe eyes. He’s pretty sure that she tried a love spell on him last week. No way to be sure, though. Then out of the corner of his eye, Dylrath realizes that she’s still staring at him, but on her parchment she’s sketching a heart with his initials in it and.. is that a dagger? – yes, a serrated dagger sticking out of it. Creepy.
“Hello, Dylrath. Miss me?”
Dylrath knows that voice: arrogant, self-satisfied, and dripping with sarcasm. Teliez, the half-god son of Toraz, Lord of Murder. A drop of acid drips onto Dylrath’s notebook, and he glances up. The adolescent demigod is sitting cross-legged on the ceiling, staring straight down at him.
“Teliez.” Dylrath says it out loud without even thinking about it, and the fleeting thought occurs to him that just saying his name may be a kind of worship. That’s just wrong.
“Tell us what, Master Birdhouse?” Startled, Dylrath realizes that the instructor is staring at him expectantly.
“They can’t see or hear me,” Teliez smirks. “Just you.”
“Tell you..” Dylrath’s mind races back over what the teacher had just been saying, and he exercises the skills of lying that he learned from the late Alix Loial.. “..that I thought that as standard practice, most self-aware figments aren’t even self-aware! They just mimic intelligence from their caster. They can’t really think for themselves.”
“Very good, Master Birdhouse! That is true. Most blah blah blah…”
Dylrath tunes him out again. What are you doing here? he thinks to Teliez. How’s the God business?
“I’m getting out of it.” Dylrath does a double-take as Teliez smirks, his pocked and acne-scarred face looking smug. “Well, not technically. I’m just getting out of trying to be the God of Adventurers. It was a good idea, but they keep dying on me.” Teliez shrugs. “I need organized worship. There’s a better opportunity, and I’m going to grab it while I can.” Teliez’s voice drops down to a whisper. “This is big. I handle this right, and I’ll never be under my Dad’s yoke again. I just wanted to give you the chance to be my first priest, if you wanted it.” He flips greasy hair out of his sunken eyes.
Dylrath shudders. Err.. what’s this opportunity?
Teliez’s upside-down face contorts as he winks. “Can’t tell you yet. But you’ll find out. Ohhh, yes.” His voice is excited, and cruel. He glances behind him. “Crap, they’re coming. Gotta go.” He grins again, his teeth flashing sharply. “It’ll all be a fait accompli before long. Give it some thought. Opportunities like this don’t happen too often – for either of us.” He reaches up to rub at some acne, and vanishes.
With a nervous glance at the girl behind him, Dylrath refocuses on the lesson, only to realize that the teacher is chewing out a student with unreasonable harshness, just for dropping a quill. The young rogue/wizard shivers a little.
A better opportunity? What’s that supposed to mean? Time to go talk to a cleric at the Temple of Calphas the Wallbuilder! Umm.. just so long as he can have the conversation without letting on that he has somehow turned into a career advisor for evil gods. They may not understand that so much, and rumor has a nasty habit of traveling. Yeah, Dylrath muses as he slumps in his uncomfortable chair. Some things should be kept private.
----------------
Interlude
Dlyrath sits in class, bored.
“Now, the advanced figment is usually characterized by…”
He tunes out the professor. The subject is illusion magic, usually a worthwhile subject, but today he can’t stop his mind from wandering. He is due to graduate this year with a full-fledged diploma, thus gaining both prestige and a number of rights and privileges in Oursk. Only another six months! But now he has to decide what the future will bring. Spymaster? Information Mage? Back-alley seller of odd and unusual objects? Avoider of Kestellin’s assassins? So many possibilities. So many opportunities. He just hopes things don’t get boring.
“Common flaws typically have to do with reaction time in the non-self-aware figment. For most wizards, it’s simply…”
Yeah, whatever. He wonders what the rest of the Defenders are up to right now. Probably something fun. Last three times he tried to scry for them with the Mirror, it was no-go. Annoying. Around him, students studiously scribble down notes, all except for one girl who won’t stop staring at him with big doe eyes. He’s pretty sure that she tried a love spell on him last week. No way to be sure, though. Then out of the corner of his eye, Dylrath realizes that she’s still staring at him, but on her parchment she’s sketching a heart with his initials in it and.. is that a dagger? – yes, a serrated dagger sticking out of it. Creepy.
“Hello, Dylrath. Miss me?”
Dylrath knows that voice: arrogant, self-satisfied, and dripping with sarcasm. Teliez, the half-god son of Toraz, Lord of Murder. A drop of acid drips onto Dylrath’s notebook, and he glances up. The adolescent demigod is sitting cross-legged on the ceiling, staring straight down at him.
“Teliez.” Dylrath says it out loud without even thinking about it, and the fleeting thought occurs to him that just saying his name may be a kind of worship. That’s just wrong.
“Tell us what, Master Birdhouse?” Startled, Dylrath realizes that the instructor is staring at him expectantly.
“They can’t see or hear me,” Teliez smirks. “Just you.”
“Tell you..” Dylrath’s mind races back over what the teacher had just been saying, and he exercises the skills of lying that he learned from the late Alix Loial.. “..that I thought that as standard practice, most self-aware figments aren’t even self-aware! They just mimic intelligence from their caster. They can’t really think for themselves.”
“Very good, Master Birdhouse! That is true. Most blah blah blah…”
Dylrath tunes him out again. What are you doing here? he thinks to Teliez. How’s the God business?
“I’m getting out of it.” Dylrath does a double-take as Teliez smirks, his pocked and acne-scarred face looking smug. “Well, not technically. I’m just getting out of trying to be the God of Adventurers. It was a good idea, but they keep dying on me.” Teliez shrugs. “I need organized worship. There’s a better opportunity, and I’m going to grab it while I can.” Teliez’s voice drops down to a whisper. “This is big. I handle this right, and I’ll never be under my Dad’s yoke again. I just wanted to give you the chance to be my first priest, if you wanted it.” He flips greasy hair out of his sunken eyes.
Dylrath shudders. Err.. what’s this opportunity?
Teliez’s upside-down face contorts as he winks. “Can’t tell you yet. But you’ll find out. Ohhh, yes.” His voice is excited, and cruel. He glances behind him. “Crap, they’re coming. Gotta go.” He grins again, his teeth flashing sharply. “It’ll all be a fait accompli before long. Give it some thought. Opportunities like this don’t happen too often – for either of us.” He reaches up to rub at some acne, and vanishes.
With a nervous glance at the girl behind him, Dylrath refocuses on the lesson, only to realize that the teacher is chewing out a student with unreasonable harshness, just for dropping a quill. The young rogue/wizard shivers a little.
A better opportunity? What’s that supposed to mean? Time to go talk to a cleric at the Temple of Calphas the Wallbuilder! Umm.. just so long as he can have the conversation without letting on that he has somehow turned into a career advisor for evil gods. They may not understand that so much, and rumor has a nasty habit of traveling. Yeah, Dylrath muses as he slumps in his uncomfortable chair. Some things should be kept private.
Spatzimaus
First Post
The Whiner Knight said:
Created in the Creature Catalog forum of this site, the 3E stat block:
http://www.enworld.org/cc/converted/aberration/flumph.htm
Sialia
First Post
The Whiner Knight said:
And, of course, in just four days, look for "Son of A Portable Hole Full Of Beer", (http://www.dreadgazebo.com/dnd/) which is rumored to contain at least a few magnificent, unusual and very special flumphs.
(Oh, and you can add to Carienne's playlist "All God's Critters Got a Place in the Choir" and clap your hands, paws or anything you got now.)
Last edited:
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