Piratecat
Sesquipedalian
“You!” Galthia’s voice is cold and bitter, aching for a fight. In front of him, the mind flayer slowly pivots, its fish-white eyes somehow amused.
Me? it responds telepathically. Its mental voice is snide. There are easier ways for you to commit suicide. Its tentacle writhe slightly as it studies the githzerai monk. A tiny strand of drool – or is it mucous? – dribbles from its mouth.
“Oh, yes. You or one of your kind hampered my fight the other day. We are leaving Akin’s Throat. Let your kin in the underdark know: interfere with us, and die.”
You don’t expect that your threat will truly… The illithid’s calm, insulting mental voice is choked off and replaced with something far more disturbing. It bubbles into Galthia’s mind and those of his nearby friends, echoing with a hundred repeated voices. You dare threaten Us! Your kin came to destroy Us, but could not succeed. Now We live eternally, and some of your kin are here with Us, serving the Undying. Approach Us, and We will sample your brain and animate your corpse as an example to others of your race. We are stronger than We were, and We hatehateHATE… The mind flayer twitches and spasms, and gets itself under control. You are warned, it manages to say, and visibly shaking it withdraws back into the steam from the nearby geyser.
Nolin looks shocked. “What the hell was that?” Galthia rubs his temples.
“That,” he says, “was a direct intervention by an illithid elder brain, the entity that controls illithid cities. An undead illithid elder brain, I think. My brethren must not have fully slain it when they attacked three years ago. The ghouls finished the job, though, once the illithids were weakened. Now it seems to be able to telepathically dominate illithids that are still living. I imagine that most of these mind flayers are close to insane.”
“Ah.” Nolin has the good graces to look embarrassed. “Years ago, we had access to a cubic gate that opened directly into that mindflayer city. I sold access to it directly to a hunting party, a rrakma of githzerai that I contacted from Sigil.” He shrugs. “Not only did it make us some money, I figured that anything that destroyed mind flayers would be a good thing. We didn’t know they were holding back the ghouls.”
Galthia looks at him steadily. “Well, we will deal with it when we get closer.” He smiles slightly as he considers what that will mean.
Velendo rolls his eyes. “Joy.” Malachite slaps him on the shoulder, and the group walks through the steam out of Akin’s Throat.
- - -
“So now a couple of dozen of them have sworn allegiance to me. I’ve sent them out gathering information throughout the underdark, reporting back to one particular kobold, who we can contact with a sending.” Nolin’s musical voice echoes through the narrow tunnel that the group climbs through.
“You have goblins and kobolds worshipping you?” Mara’s voice sounds doubtful, still a little unsteady from a recent bout of vertigo. “Are they evil?”
“Not worshipping, per se,” Nolin hedges. “Just following my instructions. Loyal! Like troops, or something.” He gestures. “And not evil, really. After I sung a couple of old kobold and goblin anthems last night, they wanted to. Heck, they insisted! And who was I to say no?” Tao snorts. “There was this one song that…”
“No, they weren’t worshipping you. Not like those gnomes up in…”
“We don’t need to bring up…” Nolin interrupts, but Tao persists as she explains to the others.
“There is a clan of gnomes up north who think Nolin is their Chosen One. Their True Prophet, or something. They worship him.” She grins evilly, and the bard looks embarrassed. “They have legends about him.”
“You told them that you weren’t, right?” Mara’s voice sounds concerned.
“Of course.” Nolin’s voice is amused, and maybe a little bit mocking. “Didn’t you know? I’m not suited to lead anyone.” Malachite says nothing, but Agar catches Nolin’s eye and smiles reassuringly.
“Actually, it sounds like a good idea,” says Velendo as he trudges along. He shifts his huge stone shield on his arm. “We could use more friends down here. What we’re trying to do is overwhelming.”
Malachite turns his head. “Only if you expect to survive.”
The group walks along, silently, considering the paladin’s words.
- - -
Clambering over a worn chunk of stone, the company of dwarves and adventurers descend into a largish cavern with several exits. Scuttling beetles crunch under their boots as they slowly make their way down the steep tunnel.
“Okay,” says Tao as she consults the map she got from Mirjik. “We have to decide. Left towards the Deeping Rift and whatever the ghouls are hiding there, or right down towards the gogglers. Gogglers are kuo-toa, right?” Stone Bear nods. “Then right towards where the sister of that earth oracle is trapped. Towards the White Kingdom, too, I think.”
Malachite looks at Velendo. “Weal or woe?” he suggests.
Velendo sets down his massive shield and stretches. “A fine idea, I think, although I’ll use a slightly more powerful divination.” He kneels with difficulty and prays. “Will going towards the Deeping Rift bring us success?” As he listens for a response, an extremely odd look crosses his face.
“What’s wrong?” asks Splinder.
“Probably got bad news,” says Priggle. But Velendo is staring up at the ceiling with a confused look on his face.
“Are you sure on this?” he asks the ceiling. “Hey! You messed up! I don’t think this one is mine!” His voice echoes in the darkness.
“What?” Nolin asks.
Velendo sighs heavily. “My response was ‘Ready oil and open flame light your way to wealth.’” Tao frowns.
“I’ve heard that somewhere before.”
“Of course you have!” explodes the old cleric. “It’s in all the prayer books they give novices, when they explain how to petition God for guidance. It’s the same damn wording. What the hell is that supposed to mean?” He looks annoyed.
“We should carry torches?” suggests Mara.
“I guess.” He looks back up at the ceiling. “I hope you know what you’re doing!” he calls up in a raised voice. “I’m trusting you down here!”
“I told you,” says Malachite, shaking his head. “Weal or woe. That’s the only one that’s safe to cast. Weal. Or. Woe.” The group turns left, and one by one they leap a dark sinkhole as they make their way towards the Deeping Rift.
Hours later, Galthia and Priggle are out in front scouting when they hear grunting and snuffling from in front of them. Silently, Galthia uses his mind link to alert the rest of the group. While the others stop and fall silent, Galthia and Priggle creep forward.
As they turn a corner, they catch sight of an odd scene. A huge creature lies upside down, clearly dead, its armor-like shell snapped and broken in several places.
“Bulette,” says Priggle over the mental link. “A land shark. Huge, and deadly. They regularly eat deep gnomes. It’s their favorite food.”
“This one is dead,” notes Galthia.
“Probably undead,” predicts Priggle. “And probably hungry.”
“Maybe not.” As they watch, the bulette corpse is dragged seven or eight feet away from them. “Stay hidden. Something on the other side of it is dragging it somewhere.”
Priggle’s mental voice is incredulous. “What in the world could drag something that heavy?” And as if in answer to his question, a form comes around to the other side of the bulette. It grunts and snuffles, braces itself, and pushes. The dead monster shifts another ten feet away from the hidden scouts before the creature pushing it pauses.
“A GOBLIN?”
It is, in fact, a goblin. The orange-skinned creature doesn’t look particularly unusual, but its wiry muscles bunch as it tries to drag away the dead land shark. Suddenly it stops dead in its tracks, spins, and crouches.
“Don’t move!”
It clearly can’t see Galthia or Priggle, but it shuffles towards them. Its wide nostrils snuff the air, questing for a scent. A bit farther forward it comes, angling towards the githzerai, and Galthia sees something horribly disturbing bulge under its skin as it squints into the shadows.
“I may need support. It may have scented me. And I’m pretty sure it isn’t a normal goblin.”
“We’re on our way!”
But apparently unable to see or smell Galthia, the creature turns back towards the corpse.. just as the clatter of approaching iron-shod dwarven boots echoes through the chamber. “Ergullth?” it asks, and a fierce smile of razor-sharp teeth appears on its goblin face. “Thraaag!” A three-foot long tentacle snaps out of its mouth, tasting the air, and it crouches as it gleefully prepares for a fight.
From where he’s hiding by the cavern wall, Galthia blinks at the unexpected sight of the tentacle. “Definitely not a normal goblin.” And he leaps out of hiding, charging the goblin-thing.
To be continued…
Me? it responds telepathically. Its mental voice is snide. There are easier ways for you to commit suicide. Its tentacle writhe slightly as it studies the githzerai monk. A tiny strand of drool – or is it mucous? – dribbles from its mouth.
“Oh, yes. You or one of your kind hampered my fight the other day. We are leaving Akin’s Throat. Let your kin in the underdark know: interfere with us, and die.”
You don’t expect that your threat will truly… The illithid’s calm, insulting mental voice is choked off and replaced with something far more disturbing. It bubbles into Galthia’s mind and those of his nearby friends, echoing with a hundred repeated voices. You dare threaten Us! Your kin came to destroy Us, but could not succeed. Now We live eternally, and some of your kin are here with Us, serving the Undying. Approach Us, and We will sample your brain and animate your corpse as an example to others of your race. We are stronger than We were, and We hatehateHATE… The mind flayer twitches and spasms, and gets itself under control. You are warned, it manages to say, and visibly shaking it withdraws back into the steam from the nearby geyser.
Nolin looks shocked. “What the hell was that?” Galthia rubs his temples.
“That,” he says, “was a direct intervention by an illithid elder brain, the entity that controls illithid cities. An undead illithid elder brain, I think. My brethren must not have fully slain it when they attacked three years ago. The ghouls finished the job, though, once the illithids were weakened. Now it seems to be able to telepathically dominate illithids that are still living. I imagine that most of these mind flayers are close to insane.”
“Ah.” Nolin has the good graces to look embarrassed. “Years ago, we had access to a cubic gate that opened directly into that mindflayer city. I sold access to it directly to a hunting party, a rrakma of githzerai that I contacted from Sigil.” He shrugs. “Not only did it make us some money, I figured that anything that destroyed mind flayers would be a good thing. We didn’t know they were holding back the ghouls.”
Galthia looks at him steadily. “Well, we will deal with it when we get closer.” He smiles slightly as he considers what that will mean.
Velendo rolls his eyes. “Joy.” Malachite slaps him on the shoulder, and the group walks through the steam out of Akin’s Throat.
- - -
“So now a couple of dozen of them have sworn allegiance to me. I’ve sent them out gathering information throughout the underdark, reporting back to one particular kobold, who we can contact with a sending.” Nolin’s musical voice echoes through the narrow tunnel that the group climbs through.
“You have goblins and kobolds worshipping you?” Mara’s voice sounds doubtful, still a little unsteady from a recent bout of vertigo. “Are they evil?”
“Not worshipping, per se,” Nolin hedges. “Just following my instructions. Loyal! Like troops, or something.” He gestures. “And not evil, really. After I sung a couple of old kobold and goblin anthems last night, they wanted to. Heck, they insisted! And who was I to say no?” Tao snorts. “There was this one song that…”
“No, they weren’t worshipping you. Not like those gnomes up in…”
“We don’t need to bring up…” Nolin interrupts, but Tao persists as she explains to the others.
“There is a clan of gnomes up north who think Nolin is their Chosen One. Their True Prophet, or something. They worship him.” She grins evilly, and the bard looks embarrassed. “They have legends about him.”
“You told them that you weren’t, right?” Mara’s voice sounds concerned.
“Of course.” Nolin’s voice is amused, and maybe a little bit mocking. “Didn’t you know? I’m not suited to lead anyone.” Malachite says nothing, but Agar catches Nolin’s eye and smiles reassuringly.
“Actually, it sounds like a good idea,” says Velendo as he trudges along. He shifts his huge stone shield on his arm. “We could use more friends down here. What we’re trying to do is overwhelming.”
Malachite turns his head. “Only if you expect to survive.”
The group walks along, silently, considering the paladin’s words.
- - -
Clambering over a worn chunk of stone, the company of dwarves and adventurers descend into a largish cavern with several exits. Scuttling beetles crunch under their boots as they slowly make their way down the steep tunnel.
“Okay,” says Tao as she consults the map she got from Mirjik. “We have to decide. Left towards the Deeping Rift and whatever the ghouls are hiding there, or right down towards the gogglers. Gogglers are kuo-toa, right?” Stone Bear nods. “Then right towards where the sister of that earth oracle is trapped. Towards the White Kingdom, too, I think.”
Malachite looks at Velendo. “Weal or woe?” he suggests.
Velendo sets down his massive shield and stretches. “A fine idea, I think, although I’ll use a slightly more powerful divination.” He kneels with difficulty and prays. “Will going towards the Deeping Rift bring us success?” As he listens for a response, an extremely odd look crosses his face.
“What’s wrong?” asks Splinder.
“Probably got bad news,” says Priggle. But Velendo is staring up at the ceiling with a confused look on his face.
“Are you sure on this?” he asks the ceiling. “Hey! You messed up! I don’t think this one is mine!” His voice echoes in the darkness.
“What?” Nolin asks.
Velendo sighs heavily. “My response was ‘Ready oil and open flame light your way to wealth.’” Tao frowns.
“I’ve heard that somewhere before.”
“Of course you have!” explodes the old cleric. “It’s in all the prayer books they give novices, when they explain how to petition God for guidance. It’s the same damn wording. What the hell is that supposed to mean?” He looks annoyed.
“We should carry torches?” suggests Mara.
“I guess.” He looks back up at the ceiling. “I hope you know what you’re doing!” he calls up in a raised voice. “I’m trusting you down here!”
“I told you,” says Malachite, shaking his head. “Weal or woe. That’s the only one that’s safe to cast. Weal. Or. Woe.” The group turns left, and one by one they leap a dark sinkhole as they make their way towards the Deeping Rift.
Hours later, Galthia and Priggle are out in front scouting when they hear grunting and snuffling from in front of them. Silently, Galthia uses his mind link to alert the rest of the group. While the others stop and fall silent, Galthia and Priggle creep forward.
As they turn a corner, they catch sight of an odd scene. A huge creature lies upside down, clearly dead, its armor-like shell snapped and broken in several places.
“Bulette,” says Priggle over the mental link. “A land shark. Huge, and deadly. They regularly eat deep gnomes. It’s their favorite food.”
“This one is dead,” notes Galthia.
“Probably undead,” predicts Priggle. “And probably hungry.”
“Maybe not.” As they watch, the bulette corpse is dragged seven or eight feet away from them. “Stay hidden. Something on the other side of it is dragging it somewhere.”
Priggle’s mental voice is incredulous. “What in the world could drag something that heavy?” And as if in answer to his question, a form comes around to the other side of the bulette. It grunts and snuffles, braces itself, and pushes. The dead monster shifts another ten feet away from the hidden scouts before the creature pushing it pauses.
“A GOBLIN?”
It is, in fact, a goblin. The orange-skinned creature doesn’t look particularly unusual, but its wiry muscles bunch as it tries to drag away the dead land shark. Suddenly it stops dead in its tracks, spins, and crouches.
“Don’t move!”
It clearly can’t see Galthia or Priggle, but it shuffles towards them. Its wide nostrils snuff the air, questing for a scent. A bit farther forward it comes, angling towards the githzerai, and Galthia sees something horribly disturbing bulge under its skin as it squints into the shadows.
“I may need support. It may have scented me. And I’m pretty sure it isn’t a normal goblin.”
“We’re on our way!”
But apparently unable to see or smell Galthia, the creature turns back towards the corpse.. just as the clatter of approaching iron-shod dwarven boots echoes through the chamber. “Ergullth?” it asks, and a fierce smile of razor-sharp teeth appears on its goblin face. “Thraaag!” A three-foot long tentacle snaps out of its mouth, tasting the air, and it crouches as it gleefully prepares for a fight.
From where he’s hiding by the cavern wall, Galthia blinks at the unexpected sight of the tentacle. “Definitely not a normal goblin.” And he leaps out of hiding, charging the goblin-thing.
To be continued…
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