MavrickWeirdo
First Post
Everett said:
However there is a tradition that allies are nasty to players, but villians are "polite"
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Sagiro's Story Hour Returns (new thread started on 5/18/08)
- Thread starter Sagiro
- Start date
However there is a tradition that allies are nasty to players, but villians are "polite"
Sagiro
Rodent of Uncertain Parentage
Sagiro’s Story Hour, Part 248
The Final Step
Morningstar is snapped back to her body, and finds that she is shivering. Porridge is curled into a little ball; Ernie has thrown a blanket around him.
“Are you... are you all right?” Morningstar asks, trembling.
“No,” whispers Porridge. He follows this answer with some small whimpering noises, as he rocks back and forth.
“You’re safe,” says Ernie. “Nothing can harm you here.”
Porridge is obviously traumatized, but does slowly recover over the course of the next few minutes. Morningstar spends that time describing what she saw to the others, and no one enjoys hearing it.
“I’m guessing that’s all being done by the other Eye,” says Dranko.
“Or something that’s between the Way and the Eye, like a defense mechanism,” says Aravis. “I suspect that’s why Peralta’s prophecy refers to the Eyes we have now. Only they will be able to navigate through the darkness.”
“Or Step will help us with that,” says Kibi, looking uncomfortably at the paladin. Step merely nods.
Dranko prepares two remove fear spells and casts them on Porridge and Morningstar. It helps.
“See that?” says Dranko, addressing no one in particular. “I am a cleric. How about that.”
“I think you should get some rest,” says Morningstar to Porridge. “Do you want someone to stay with you?”
“Could you send for Prinn?” whispers Porridge. “She takes good care of me.”
Morningstar nods. “Thank you,” she says. “That was very brave.”
* *
Outside Porridge’s house, a dour-looking elf in brown and green clothes stands in the street. Snow is gathering in her long brown hair, which she ignores. The Company had seen her briefly in the Warthog the night before, but she hadn’t stayed long or talked to anyone. They recall that her name is Spindra.
“I understand you are trying to heal that man,” she says, frowning.
“We just did,” says Dranko. “Does that bother you?”
“He was suffering his deserved punishment,” says Spindra. “You should not have interfered.”
Yoba sighs, like she’s heard this before.
“What are you babbling about?” asks Dranko.
“Don’t you understand where you are?” asks Spindra, raising her voice. “We’re being punished. All of us.”
“Noooooo,” says Morningstar. “We’re pretty sure this is an experiment being run by a bunch of evil fanatics.”
“What are we being punished for?” asks Dranko
“That’s my personal business, as your sins are yours. But we’re all sinners, or we wouldn’t be here.”
There’s general disagreement among the assembled Company.
“What makes you think we’re all being punished?” asks Dranko.
“We’re trapped in a strange prison,” says Spindra, gesturing to the sky. “Removed from our homes and families, and doomed to be here for eternity, or else to die in any of various horrible ways.”
“Think for a minute,” says Dranko. “When you’re in your home, and there’s a fly bumping into a window, is the fly being punished, or did it just happen to fly in through the door, and hasn’t found its way out yet?”
Spindra thinks only for a second before answering simply: “I find your analogy uncompelling.”
“And yet, it’s accurate,” says Dranko. “We’re the flies.”
“Have you seen what happens to the flies against the window?” asks Spindra. “They’re dead on the sill. You should hope that’s all that happens to you.”
And with that, she turns and walks away.
“I don’t understand that attitude,” says Ernie with a sigh.
“No one knows how long she’s been in the Slices,” says Yoba. “She won’t tell anyone. But she’s absolutely convinced this is hell. It’s very sad. I’ve tried to talk some sense into her, to make her see that there was hope, and good works to be done regardless, but it was pointless.”
* *
The Company spends the next few weeks training in Bakersfield. It doesn’t take Kibi long to find the local brewer and offer his services, though Dranko discovers that the town currently doesn’t have a tanner or leatherworker, and ends up assuming that mantle. Spells are researched, skills are honed, and many of the locals are sounded out for combat worthiness.
One afternoon the Company wakes to the sound of battle out in the street, but it’s just Jack (whose nickname has turned out to be “Cashbox Jack”) sparring with a short human woman. They’re both pretty good, but Jack is clearly more skilled, about as good as Snokas and Step. When they finish, Dranko approaches them.
“Hey Jack, want to see a trick?”
“Sure.”
Dranko loosens his whip and lashes at Jack, coiling the weapon around his leg. Before Jack can recover Dranko yanks hard and sends his target tumbling to the ground. He follows up with a nearly-instant attempt to divest Jack of his rapier, but somehow Jack uncurls the whip from his weapon and manages to hold on.
“Neat trick,” says Jack, springing lithely to his feet.
“Actually I was pretty sure I’d be able to disarm you, too,” says Dranko, impressed. “You’re pretty good.”
“And you’re pretty fast,” says Jack. “Looking at you, I’ll bet you can dodge pretty much anything.”
Dranko puffs up a bit at the praise, then deflates again when he hears Morningstar speak in his ear.
“Dranko, now I’m going to show you a trick. You’ll want to try dodging this.”
“What am I dodging?” he asks, worriedly. He’s thinking about ironstorms and chain lightning, and the memories are not pleasant.
Morningstar says nothing, but takes Dranko’s hand and leads him to an empty side street. Jack and some of the rest of the Company follow, curious.
“What am I dodging?” asks Dranko again, with panic creeping into his voice.
Morningstar smiles grimly. “Stand there,” she says, leaving Dranko in the middle of the street. “The rest of you... I’d back up.”
She starts to cast.
“What are you casting?” says Dranko in alarm, though now he’s tensed to dodge whatever it is. “What am I...?”
WHOOOOOOMPH!
Morningstar casts firestorm, filling much of the street with cold black flames. She leaves gaps for the bystanders, but Dranko is right in the middle of the conflagration. With reflexes honed by dozens of similar moments, he flips, leaps, bends, and somehow finds the gaps in the spell’s energy. When the flames recede, Dranko is miraculously unharmed.
Dranko stares at Morningstar, eyes wide, heart pounding.
“That’s a crappy wedding gift!” he cries.
“Are you going to be where that spell is, when I use it in combat?” asks Morningstar.
“No!” exclaims Dranko.
Yoba blinks. “Wow,” she says. “That was... that was an amazing illusion.”
“That was no illusion,” says Morningstar, still watching Dranko.
“You actually cast a firestorm on your fiancée?” asks Jack, incredulous.
“I was making a point,” says Morningstar. “You see, we’ll be in combat, and Dranko will have a choice of leaping into an area where he suspects I’m going to be casting that spell. He’ll be confident that he can get out of the way. I wanted to show him exactly what he’d be dealing with. The direct lessons are the only ones that work.”
Jack goggles. “You cast a firestorm on your fiancée for practice? That’s the most impressive thing I’ve ever seen in my life! You’ve got yourself a fine woman there, Dranko. Don’t ever let her go.”
Dranko just puts his head in his hands and tries not to cry. At dinner that night, there’s a rumor going around that Dranko and Morningstar had one hell of a lover’s quarrel.
* *
It’s not long after healing Porridge that the Company realizes their lives will be easier with Translator Discs of their own. The source of them is a crafty gnome named Crieger, who rents a room at the Warthog but mostly stays to himself. At a corner table, Crieger spends a few minutes examining some Charagan coins, before offering to sell nine of the discs to the Company for 20 gold pieces each.
“So,” says the gnome. “Nine translators. That’s 180 gold.”
“Well, it would normally be 180, but you’re going to give us a discount,” says Dranko with a disarming smile.
“Oh, I already factored in the discount,” says Crieger, smiling back at him. “For people who look like you, I usually charge thirty. I mean, look at you. You guys are festooned with magic items! Don’t tell me you can’t afford it.”
“I don’t have any magic on me at all,” lies Dranko. “Can you detect magic?” He asks this with the confidence of a practiced charlatan who’s also wearing a ring that prevents detect magic from working on his person and possessions.
“Maybe I can, maybe I can’t,” says Crieger.
“Then check me,” says Dranko smugly.
“Oh, come on,” says Crieger, waving. “Half the stuff on you is masterwork. You think I don’t know? And what about your friends?” He points at Aravis. “Heck, look, his whole head’s a magic item!”
“That would make one think we’re relatively powerful,” says Dranko, switching tactics. “And it would make one think that you, being a gnome with a lot of sense, would want to be friends with people like us.”
“Eh,” says Crieger. He takes a drink of ale. “Yes and no. You’ll all be off soon, and I’ll probably never see you again.”
“Oh, I wouldn’t count on that,” says Aravis.
Crieger gives Aravis a hard look. “Are you threatening me, star-field?”
“No,” says Aravis, holding up his hands. “I just wouldn’t count on never seeing us again. We turn up in strange places.”
“That could be,” concedes Crieger. Then, to Dranko: “Hey, this is a bargain. You heard of the spell tongues? You know how much a magic item would cost that gives you tongues full time?”
“Nope.”
“A whole more than twenty of your gold pieces!” says Crieger. “Probably hundreds or thousands!”
“Than why are you charging only twenty?” asks Dranko.
“‘Cause I’m a nice guy,” says Crieger. “You seem like nice people.” In a low whisper he adds, “Maybe I want to be friends with people like you.”
“Tell you what,” says Dranko. “I’ll give you a flat hundred, right now.” He plunks down the coins in a sack, right on the table.
Crieger looks at the bag, then at Dranko. “Er, ok,” he says. “That’ll get you five translator discs.”
“Nope,” says Dranko. “That’s my offer for all nine. Take it or leave it.”
“That’ll be ‘leave it’, then,” says Crieger. “There’ll be other people along who’ll pay my price. I don’t have an infinite supply of these things, so it’s no skin off my nose if I have to wait.”
As the gnome rises to leave, Dranko asks, “Where’d you steal ‘em from, anyway?”
Crieger stops and considers for a few seconds before answering. “Duergar.”
“They gonna come lookin’ for em?” asks Dranko.
“Nah,” says Crieger.
“You steal ‘em yourself?”
“Yep.”
“Wanna tell me the story?”
“Nope.”
“Well, if you stole ‘em yourself, I guess you deserve the twenty gold per,” says Dranko. “You have yourself a deal.”
Crieger smiles and sits back down, as Dranko starts to pull out more stacks of gold. Then he hands over the money in such a confusing manner, ‘helpfully’ counting and restacking coins, that he manages to short Crieger by twenty gold after all. He pulls this bit of sleight-of-hand trickery with such skill that the gnome doesn’t even notice.
“Good doing business with you,” says Dranko, as Crieger hands over nine metal discs. All seems well, but that evening during dinner Crieger comes downstairs and walks directly to Dranko’s table.
“Excuse me,” he says politely. “I’m afraid that in our earlier transaction, you were twenty gold short.”
“Couldn’t have,” says Dranko. “You counted it.”
“I counted again once I got to my room,” says Crieger. “I’m sure you were twenty gold short.”
“I wasn’t,” insists Dranko. “You counted the money, I saw you. Could you have dropped it someplace?”
“I don’t think so,” says Crieger. "I would have heard the clinks. You don’t just drop money and not notice. I assure you, every gold piece you gave me went into this bag. And it all came out of the bag onto my desk, where I counted it three times to be sure.”
“But I have the signed receipt right here!” says Dranko.
Crieger sighs. He’s played this game before. “You know,” he says evenly. “I’d hate to see you get a reputation around here. That would be a terrible thing. No one wants to be known as a thief and cheapskate.”
Dranko stonewalls, but is foiled when Kibi hands over the remaining gold pieces.
“Hey, thanks,” says Crieger. “At least one of you has integrity. Thanks a lot.”
The gnome departs quickly and heads toward the stairs.
Dranko turns on Kibi, angry. “You just gave up 20 gold we didn’t have to.”
“He’s right, though,” says Kibi. “We don’t want a reputation for stinginess or cheating, if we’re going to be convincing people to fight with us on the other side of the Black Door.”
Dranko glowers, but then shouts to Crieger, “Hey! You dropped your purse!”
He holds up Crieger’s money pouch, which he had deftly picked before the gnome left the table.
Crieger comes back scowling. He grabs the pouch out of Dranko’s hands and reties it to his belt. “I’m going to count that, you know,” he says crossly.
“Of course,” smiles Dranko. Crieger turns to leave, and has only taken two steps before he hears Dranko calling, “Hey Crieger, you really should be more careful. You dropped it again.”
Once again he’s holding up the pouch.
Crieger walks slowly back to Dranko, his hand out. But instead of being angry, he looks impressed.
“You should make a living doing that,” he says. “I’m not the easiest gnome to rob, but I would have bet you twenty gold pieces you couldn’t pick my pocket twice in a row.”
When he leaves the third time, he’s still got the pouch clutched in both hands.
* *
Two weeks before they intend to brave the Black Door, the Company starts to spread the word. This is ostensibly to give folks time to return to their own Slices, on the assumption that if they succeed, people will find the Slices ‘reattached.’ It also will give some of the adventuring types hanging around Bakersfield the opportunity to mull things over.
Not many people choose to leave the town. Many are skeptical, in the absence of proof that Scree is truly the savior predicted by Mystic Peralta’s prophecy. Some others plan to go with the Company, or at least figure they could still be convinced.
The Wily Warthog does lose one of its least-pleasant patrons. A rude and demanding Tiefling named Grivian packs up the day after the Company’s announcement and departs into the Way to the slime tunnels. Some think he could be a spy for someone (maybe even the Black Circle), but it doesn’t seem worth going after him.
Jack corners them that evening in the Warthog.
“It’s true? You’re going in? Do you have proof you’re the ones? Other people thought they were the ones, and they weren’t, you know.”
“We didn’t get caught in a Slice, Jack,” says Dranko. “This collection of Slices is linked by a permanent portal to our own world. It’s where the people who started all this are from.”
“What about all the gems?” asks Jack. “What about Peralta’s prophecy?”
“We know we fulfill that prophecy,” says Dranko.
“I want to believe you,” says Jack, “But I’ve lived a long time being a skeptic. Can I see these gems?”
“The gems are intelligent,” explains Dranko. “They’re incredibly powerful chaos magic, and they only choose to show themselves when they want to.”
“You mean they’re invisible?” asks Jack.
“No,” says Dranko, “But they don’t look like Peralta’s gems. They look like diamonds. Kibi, can Scree show him?”
Kibi frees Scree from his familiar pocket.
“Hey, an earth elemental!” says Jack. “You‘ve got an earth elemental as a familiar! That’s pretty cool! What’s his name?”
“His name is Scree,” says Kibi, pleased to find someone so polite.
“Nice to meet you, Scree,” says Jack with a bow.
“Can we keep him?” Scree asks Kibi.
Scree’s sapphire eyes are visible, along with the three diamonds. But as Jack watches, there’s the tiniest of flare-ups. A streak of rubies ripples through Scree’s body, followed quickly by a surge of emeralds and amethysts. Jack jumps back, but the whole thing is over in less than three seconds.
“We have various prophecies involved in all this, including one about that Black Door,” says Kibi, but Jack needs no further convincing.
“It beats sitting around here for the rest of my life,” he says. “If you want me, I’ll go with you.”
“We do,” says Dranko.
* *
In the end, here’s how it shakes out:
Garg the Great, legendary orcish wizard and all-powerful savant, refuses to get involved. He outwardly refuses to believe that the Company are the ones prophesied, and inwardly (everyone suspects) is scared out of his ever-loving orcish mind.
An elderly half-elven bard named Mavis offers to sing inspiring songs as they leave, but doesn’t think she’d be much good in a fight. If they come back alive, she promises to sing a ballad about their experience.
Cashbox Jack is the first to sign up. He tries to sway others to the cause, claiming that he saw the gems for himself, but it turns out he doesn’t have the most sparkling reputation in the honesty department.
The gnome Crieger is noncommittal, but no one thinks he’s the sort to risk his own neck.
Terrence, Priest of Noofr, God of Cleanliness and Punctuality, decides not to risk it.
“I think I’ll be of more use here,” he says.
“But it’s destiny!” says Dranko.
“Well, if destiny beats you up, come back here and I’ll heal you.”
The fighter who sparred with Jack, named Gussie, waffles for days but decides not to go. She was Sliced away along with a dozen members of her fighters’ guild, and all of them made their way to the strange “living plane” described by Yoba, but she was the only one deposited near Bakersfield. She hopes still to be reunited with her fellows.
Kiro the Dwarven priest and the sorcerer Ox both choose to take the plunge. And Yoba insists that Ernie not be allowed to face further danger without her by his side.
And then there’s Sagiro Emberleaf. Sagiro has been silent and withdrawn throughout their stay in Bakersfield, mostly staying in his room. But he nods when asked if he intends to come with them through the Black Door, and as it seems he can still wield his rapier with his old expertise, they don’t deny him the chance.
That makes fourteen heroes in all, to face whatever lies beyond the dark portal: Morningstar, Ernie, Dranko, Grey Wolf, Kibi, Aravis, One Certain Step, Snokas, Flicker, Sagiro, Yoba, Ox, Kiro and Cashbox Jack.
The night before their departure, they gather in the Wily Warthog for a final meeting. Almost everyone in the town is packed into the place. Dranko stands on a table and the common room goes silent.
“Here’s the deal,” he says to the assembled throng. “We know we’re the ones in the prophecy. And we know at least a little about what’s on the other side of that door.”
Morningstar climbs up on the table with him, and recounts her experience from Porridge’s horrible memory. When she’s done, the dwarf Kiro speaks up. “I guess I’ll ask the obvious question. We show up. We can’t see. We can’t hear. We can’t feel anything. We don’t know which way we’re going. And something in there kills people in seconds. You, uh, see where I’m going with this, right?”
“Well, two things,” says Dranko. “One, Morningstar here will bless us with a miracle that will protect us from the horrible crushing fear.”
“That’s a good start,” says Kiro. “What’s the second thing?”
Dranko motions to One Certain Step.
“A long time ago,” says the paladin of Kemma, “my Goddess directed me through a holy writing that I would ‘be the one in the lightless room.’ I now understand what that means. You see, when a paladin of my order dies, it creates light in proportion to the health of his soul, which in my case I have tried to cultivate as best I can.” (Here he smiles at Ernie and Morningstar.) “It is my intention to be killed, and in the aftermath there will be light for you to see. I expect that you will make use of that light in the best possible way.”
If this plan bothers Step in even the slightest way, he betrays no sign of it.
“You’re sure this is it?” asks Kiro. “That this here Black Door is the 'lightless room' from your own prophecy?"
Step nods. “There are other details. They all point to this moment. This is my destiny.”
“You’re sure there’s not a way around this?” asks Jack. “Prophecies are prophecies, and I’ve heard my share in my time. Sometimes they come true, and sometimes they don’t.”
Step smiles. “If something occurs to me before tomorrow, I’ll be sure to let you know. But I have given this a great deal of thought, and I have a plan. Consider this: if we all go in at once, and you try various sources of light that don’t work, then what? What if whatever is in there chooses to kill others of you, before killing me?”
“We’ll play it by ear, as usual,” says Aravis.
“I was thinking that I would go in first,” says Step.
“I don’t like that plan,” says Morningstar.
“I don’t like it either!” says Step. “But I have to do what I feel is right. And to do anything else would be to put all of you in danger, in the face of Kemma’s prophecy.”
“We love you, Step,” says Dranko, “and we don’t want you to die.”
“Remember Grey Wolf’s prophecy,” adds Morningstar.
“Oh, I do,” says Step. “But even if there’s some way to avoid it, I must go in, expecting to do this thing.”
The rest of the night is spent planning their spell complements for the morrow, and then talking about what might be waiting for them beyond the Black Door. Maybe it’s the Rotunda, or some infernal machine of the Black Circle. Maybe it’s the Eye of Moirel, protecting itself from all who would steal it. Grey Wolf speculates glumly that it’s probably more Cleaners.
* *
The next morning Morningstar treats the Gang of Fourteen to a heroes’ feast. The excitement and tension is tempered by the stoic presence of One Certain Step, who looks utterly at peace.
“I had a dream last night,” he says during the meal, and everyone quiets to listen. “It doesn’t concern our task directly, but it makes me even more sure of my path. I dreamt of my warhorse, Thunder, whom I have not seen in a long, long time. She was running through the fields of heaven, under a sun that never sets, and the sight of her filled my heart with joy.”
For a long moment no one speaks. Then Morningstar says quietly, “There’s no better way to go out, right?”
“When you get out of here,” says Step, “and you put things to right, it will truly have been worth it.”
“It’s been an honor,” says Morningstar, and there are tears in her eyes.
Step stands and bows to her. “The honor has been mine.”
“We’ll never forget what you’re doing for us,” says Kibi in a small voice.
Ernie simply gives the paladin a hug.
When the meal is finished, a throng of people accompanies the heroes to the Black Door. Not everyone in town is convinced that the Prophecy is about to fulfilled; they’ve witnessed this kind of scene before. And the ropes and graves still serve as a grim reminder of past failures.
There is a flurry of last-minute spellcasting, and while the bard Mavis sings a song of hope and encouragement, Step gives his final command. “Don’t follow too closely. When I arrive in there, I want to be the focus of attention.”
He faces the Company.
“The honor,” he shouts, drawing his Greatsword and holding it high to the sun, “has been mine!”
He turns to the Black Door, and through it he takes one certain step.
...to be continued...
The Final Step
Morningstar is snapped back to her body, and finds that she is shivering. Porridge is curled into a little ball; Ernie has thrown a blanket around him.
“Are you... are you all right?” Morningstar asks, trembling.
“No,” whispers Porridge. He follows this answer with some small whimpering noises, as he rocks back and forth.
“You’re safe,” says Ernie. “Nothing can harm you here.”
Porridge is obviously traumatized, but does slowly recover over the course of the next few minutes. Morningstar spends that time describing what she saw to the others, and no one enjoys hearing it.
“I’m guessing that’s all being done by the other Eye,” says Dranko.
“Or something that’s between the Way and the Eye, like a defense mechanism,” says Aravis. “I suspect that’s why Peralta’s prophecy refers to the Eyes we have now. Only they will be able to navigate through the darkness.”
“Or Step will help us with that,” says Kibi, looking uncomfortably at the paladin. Step merely nods.
Dranko prepares two remove fear spells and casts them on Porridge and Morningstar. It helps.
“See that?” says Dranko, addressing no one in particular. “I am a cleric. How about that.”
“I think you should get some rest,” says Morningstar to Porridge. “Do you want someone to stay with you?”
“Could you send for Prinn?” whispers Porridge. “She takes good care of me.”
Morningstar nods. “Thank you,” she says. “That was very brave.”
* *
Outside Porridge’s house, a dour-looking elf in brown and green clothes stands in the street. Snow is gathering in her long brown hair, which she ignores. The Company had seen her briefly in the Warthog the night before, but she hadn’t stayed long or talked to anyone. They recall that her name is Spindra.
“I understand you are trying to heal that man,” she says, frowning.
“We just did,” says Dranko. “Does that bother you?”
“He was suffering his deserved punishment,” says Spindra. “You should not have interfered.”
Yoba sighs, like she’s heard this before.
“What are you babbling about?” asks Dranko.
“Don’t you understand where you are?” asks Spindra, raising her voice. “We’re being punished. All of us.”
“Noooooo,” says Morningstar. “We’re pretty sure this is an experiment being run by a bunch of evil fanatics.”
“What are we being punished for?” asks Dranko
“That’s my personal business, as your sins are yours. But we’re all sinners, or we wouldn’t be here.”
There’s general disagreement among the assembled Company.
“What makes you think we’re all being punished?” asks Dranko.
“We’re trapped in a strange prison,” says Spindra, gesturing to the sky. “Removed from our homes and families, and doomed to be here for eternity, or else to die in any of various horrible ways.”
“Think for a minute,” says Dranko. “When you’re in your home, and there’s a fly bumping into a window, is the fly being punished, or did it just happen to fly in through the door, and hasn’t found its way out yet?”
Spindra thinks only for a second before answering simply: “I find your analogy uncompelling.”
“And yet, it’s accurate,” says Dranko. “We’re the flies.”
“Have you seen what happens to the flies against the window?” asks Spindra. “They’re dead on the sill. You should hope that’s all that happens to you.”
And with that, she turns and walks away.
“I don’t understand that attitude,” says Ernie with a sigh.
“No one knows how long she’s been in the Slices,” says Yoba. “She won’t tell anyone. But she’s absolutely convinced this is hell. It’s very sad. I’ve tried to talk some sense into her, to make her see that there was hope, and good works to be done regardless, but it was pointless.”
* *
The Company spends the next few weeks training in Bakersfield. It doesn’t take Kibi long to find the local brewer and offer his services, though Dranko discovers that the town currently doesn’t have a tanner or leatherworker, and ends up assuming that mantle. Spells are researched, skills are honed, and many of the locals are sounded out for combat worthiness.
One afternoon the Company wakes to the sound of battle out in the street, but it’s just Jack (whose nickname has turned out to be “Cashbox Jack”) sparring with a short human woman. They’re both pretty good, but Jack is clearly more skilled, about as good as Snokas and Step. When they finish, Dranko approaches them.
“Hey Jack, want to see a trick?”
“Sure.”
Dranko loosens his whip and lashes at Jack, coiling the weapon around his leg. Before Jack can recover Dranko yanks hard and sends his target tumbling to the ground. He follows up with a nearly-instant attempt to divest Jack of his rapier, but somehow Jack uncurls the whip from his weapon and manages to hold on.
“Neat trick,” says Jack, springing lithely to his feet.
“Actually I was pretty sure I’d be able to disarm you, too,” says Dranko, impressed. “You’re pretty good.”
“And you’re pretty fast,” says Jack. “Looking at you, I’ll bet you can dodge pretty much anything.”
Dranko puffs up a bit at the praise, then deflates again when he hears Morningstar speak in his ear.
“Dranko, now I’m going to show you a trick. You’ll want to try dodging this.”
“What am I dodging?” he asks, worriedly. He’s thinking about ironstorms and chain lightning, and the memories are not pleasant.
Morningstar says nothing, but takes Dranko’s hand and leads him to an empty side street. Jack and some of the rest of the Company follow, curious.
“What am I dodging?” asks Dranko again, with panic creeping into his voice.
Morningstar smiles grimly. “Stand there,” she says, leaving Dranko in the middle of the street. “The rest of you... I’d back up.”
She starts to cast.
“What are you casting?” says Dranko in alarm, though now he’s tensed to dodge whatever it is. “What am I...?”
WHOOOOOOMPH!
Morningstar casts firestorm, filling much of the street with cold black flames. She leaves gaps for the bystanders, but Dranko is right in the middle of the conflagration. With reflexes honed by dozens of similar moments, he flips, leaps, bends, and somehow finds the gaps in the spell’s energy. When the flames recede, Dranko is miraculously unharmed.
Dranko stares at Morningstar, eyes wide, heart pounding.
“That’s a crappy wedding gift!” he cries.
“Are you going to be where that spell is, when I use it in combat?” asks Morningstar.
“No!” exclaims Dranko.
Yoba blinks. “Wow,” she says. “That was... that was an amazing illusion.”
“That was no illusion,” says Morningstar, still watching Dranko.
“You actually cast a firestorm on your fiancée?” asks Jack, incredulous.
“I was making a point,” says Morningstar. “You see, we’ll be in combat, and Dranko will have a choice of leaping into an area where he suspects I’m going to be casting that spell. He’ll be confident that he can get out of the way. I wanted to show him exactly what he’d be dealing with. The direct lessons are the only ones that work.”
Jack goggles. “You cast a firestorm on your fiancée for practice? That’s the most impressive thing I’ve ever seen in my life! You’ve got yourself a fine woman there, Dranko. Don’t ever let her go.”
Dranko just puts his head in his hands and tries not to cry. At dinner that night, there’s a rumor going around that Dranko and Morningstar had one hell of a lover’s quarrel.
* *
It’s not long after healing Porridge that the Company realizes their lives will be easier with Translator Discs of their own. The source of them is a crafty gnome named Crieger, who rents a room at the Warthog but mostly stays to himself. At a corner table, Crieger spends a few minutes examining some Charagan coins, before offering to sell nine of the discs to the Company for 20 gold pieces each.
“So,” says the gnome. “Nine translators. That’s 180 gold.”
“Well, it would normally be 180, but you’re going to give us a discount,” says Dranko with a disarming smile.
“Oh, I already factored in the discount,” says Crieger, smiling back at him. “For people who look like you, I usually charge thirty. I mean, look at you. You guys are festooned with magic items! Don’t tell me you can’t afford it.”
“I don’t have any magic on me at all,” lies Dranko. “Can you detect magic?” He asks this with the confidence of a practiced charlatan who’s also wearing a ring that prevents detect magic from working on his person and possessions.
“Maybe I can, maybe I can’t,” says Crieger.
“Then check me,” says Dranko smugly.
“Oh, come on,” says Crieger, waving. “Half the stuff on you is masterwork. You think I don’t know? And what about your friends?” He points at Aravis. “Heck, look, his whole head’s a magic item!”
“That would make one think we’re relatively powerful,” says Dranko, switching tactics. “And it would make one think that you, being a gnome with a lot of sense, would want to be friends with people like us.”
“Eh,” says Crieger. He takes a drink of ale. “Yes and no. You’ll all be off soon, and I’ll probably never see you again.”
“Oh, I wouldn’t count on that,” says Aravis.
Crieger gives Aravis a hard look. “Are you threatening me, star-field?”
“No,” says Aravis, holding up his hands. “I just wouldn’t count on never seeing us again. We turn up in strange places.”
“That could be,” concedes Crieger. Then, to Dranko: “Hey, this is a bargain. You heard of the spell tongues? You know how much a magic item would cost that gives you tongues full time?”
“Nope.”
“A whole more than twenty of your gold pieces!” says Crieger. “Probably hundreds or thousands!”
“Than why are you charging only twenty?” asks Dranko.
“‘Cause I’m a nice guy,” says Crieger. “You seem like nice people.” In a low whisper he adds, “Maybe I want to be friends with people like you.”
“Tell you what,” says Dranko. “I’ll give you a flat hundred, right now.” He plunks down the coins in a sack, right on the table.
Crieger looks at the bag, then at Dranko. “Er, ok,” he says. “That’ll get you five translator discs.”
“Nope,” says Dranko. “That’s my offer for all nine. Take it or leave it.”
“That’ll be ‘leave it’, then,” says Crieger. “There’ll be other people along who’ll pay my price. I don’t have an infinite supply of these things, so it’s no skin off my nose if I have to wait.”
As the gnome rises to leave, Dranko asks, “Where’d you steal ‘em from, anyway?”
Crieger stops and considers for a few seconds before answering. “Duergar.”
“They gonna come lookin’ for em?” asks Dranko.
“Nah,” says Crieger.
“You steal ‘em yourself?”
“Yep.”
“Wanna tell me the story?”
“Nope.”
“Well, if you stole ‘em yourself, I guess you deserve the twenty gold per,” says Dranko. “You have yourself a deal.”
Crieger smiles and sits back down, as Dranko starts to pull out more stacks of gold. Then he hands over the money in such a confusing manner, ‘helpfully’ counting and restacking coins, that he manages to short Crieger by twenty gold after all. He pulls this bit of sleight-of-hand trickery with such skill that the gnome doesn’t even notice.
“Good doing business with you,” says Dranko, as Crieger hands over nine metal discs. All seems well, but that evening during dinner Crieger comes downstairs and walks directly to Dranko’s table.
“Excuse me,” he says politely. “I’m afraid that in our earlier transaction, you were twenty gold short.”
“Couldn’t have,” says Dranko. “You counted it.”
“I counted again once I got to my room,” says Crieger. “I’m sure you were twenty gold short.”
“I wasn’t,” insists Dranko. “You counted the money, I saw you. Could you have dropped it someplace?”
“I don’t think so,” says Crieger. "I would have heard the clinks. You don’t just drop money and not notice. I assure you, every gold piece you gave me went into this bag. And it all came out of the bag onto my desk, where I counted it three times to be sure.”
“But I have the signed receipt right here!” says Dranko.
Crieger sighs. He’s played this game before. “You know,” he says evenly. “I’d hate to see you get a reputation around here. That would be a terrible thing. No one wants to be known as a thief and cheapskate.”
Dranko stonewalls, but is foiled when Kibi hands over the remaining gold pieces.
“Hey, thanks,” says Crieger. “At least one of you has integrity. Thanks a lot.”
The gnome departs quickly and heads toward the stairs.
Dranko turns on Kibi, angry. “You just gave up 20 gold we didn’t have to.”
“He’s right, though,” says Kibi. “We don’t want a reputation for stinginess or cheating, if we’re going to be convincing people to fight with us on the other side of the Black Door.”
Dranko glowers, but then shouts to Crieger, “Hey! You dropped your purse!”
He holds up Crieger’s money pouch, which he had deftly picked before the gnome left the table.
Crieger comes back scowling. He grabs the pouch out of Dranko’s hands and reties it to his belt. “I’m going to count that, you know,” he says crossly.
“Of course,” smiles Dranko. Crieger turns to leave, and has only taken two steps before he hears Dranko calling, “Hey Crieger, you really should be more careful. You dropped it again.”
Once again he’s holding up the pouch.
Crieger walks slowly back to Dranko, his hand out. But instead of being angry, he looks impressed.
“You should make a living doing that,” he says. “I’m not the easiest gnome to rob, but I would have bet you twenty gold pieces you couldn’t pick my pocket twice in a row.”
When he leaves the third time, he’s still got the pouch clutched in both hands.
* *
Two weeks before they intend to brave the Black Door, the Company starts to spread the word. This is ostensibly to give folks time to return to their own Slices, on the assumption that if they succeed, people will find the Slices ‘reattached.’ It also will give some of the adventuring types hanging around Bakersfield the opportunity to mull things over.
Not many people choose to leave the town. Many are skeptical, in the absence of proof that Scree is truly the savior predicted by Mystic Peralta’s prophecy. Some others plan to go with the Company, or at least figure they could still be convinced.
The Wily Warthog does lose one of its least-pleasant patrons. A rude and demanding Tiefling named Grivian packs up the day after the Company’s announcement and departs into the Way to the slime tunnels. Some think he could be a spy for someone (maybe even the Black Circle), but it doesn’t seem worth going after him.
Jack corners them that evening in the Warthog.
“It’s true? You’re going in? Do you have proof you’re the ones? Other people thought they were the ones, and they weren’t, you know.”
“We didn’t get caught in a Slice, Jack,” says Dranko. “This collection of Slices is linked by a permanent portal to our own world. It’s where the people who started all this are from.”
“What about all the gems?” asks Jack. “What about Peralta’s prophecy?”
“We know we fulfill that prophecy,” says Dranko.
“I want to believe you,” says Jack, “But I’ve lived a long time being a skeptic. Can I see these gems?”
“The gems are intelligent,” explains Dranko. “They’re incredibly powerful chaos magic, and they only choose to show themselves when they want to.”
“You mean they’re invisible?” asks Jack.
“No,” says Dranko, “But they don’t look like Peralta’s gems. They look like diamonds. Kibi, can Scree show him?”
Kibi frees Scree from his familiar pocket.
“Hey, an earth elemental!” says Jack. “You‘ve got an earth elemental as a familiar! That’s pretty cool! What’s his name?”
“His name is Scree,” says Kibi, pleased to find someone so polite.
“Nice to meet you, Scree,” says Jack with a bow.
“Can we keep him?” Scree asks Kibi.
Scree’s sapphire eyes are visible, along with the three diamonds. But as Jack watches, there’s the tiniest of flare-ups. A streak of rubies ripples through Scree’s body, followed quickly by a surge of emeralds and amethysts. Jack jumps back, but the whole thing is over in less than three seconds.
“We have various prophecies involved in all this, including one about that Black Door,” says Kibi, but Jack needs no further convincing.
“It beats sitting around here for the rest of my life,” he says. “If you want me, I’ll go with you.”
“We do,” says Dranko.
* *
In the end, here’s how it shakes out:
Garg the Great, legendary orcish wizard and all-powerful savant, refuses to get involved. He outwardly refuses to believe that the Company are the ones prophesied, and inwardly (everyone suspects) is scared out of his ever-loving orcish mind.
An elderly half-elven bard named Mavis offers to sing inspiring songs as they leave, but doesn’t think she’d be much good in a fight. If they come back alive, she promises to sing a ballad about their experience.
Cashbox Jack is the first to sign up. He tries to sway others to the cause, claiming that he saw the gems for himself, but it turns out he doesn’t have the most sparkling reputation in the honesty department.
The gnome Crieger is noncommittal, but no one thinks he’s the sort to risk his own neck.
Terrence, Priest of Noofr, God of Cleanliness and Punctuality, decides not to risk it.
“I think I’ll be of more use here,” he says.
“But it’s destiny!” says Dranko.
“Well, if destiny beats you up, come back here and I’ll heal you.”
The fighter who sparred with Jack, named Gussie, waffles for days but decides not to go. She was Sliced away along with a dozen members of her fighters’ guild, and all of them made their way to the strange “living plane” described by Yoba, but she was the only one deposited near Bakersfield. She hopes still to be reunited with her fellows.
Kiro the Dwarven priest and the sorcerer Ox both choose to take the plunge. And Yoba insists that Ernie not be allowed to face further danger without her by his side.
And then there’s Sagiro Emberleaf. Sagiro has been silent and withdrawn throughout their stay in Bakersfield, mostly staying in his room. But he nods when asked if he intends to come with them through the Black Door, and as it seems he can still wield his rapier with his old expertise, they don’t deny him the chance.
That makes fourteen heroes in all, to face whatever lies beyond the dark portal: Morningstar, Ernie, Dranko, Grey Wolf, Kibi, Aravis, One Certain Step, Snokas, Flicker, Sagiro, Yoba, Ox, Kiro and Cashbox Jack.
The night before their departure, they gather in the Wily Warthog for a final meeting. Almost everyone in the town is packed into the place. Dranko stands on a table and the common room goes silent.
“Here’s the deal,” he says to the assembled throng. “We know we’re the ones in the prophecy. And we know at least a little about what’s on the other side of that door.”
Morningstar climbs up on the table with him, and recounts her experience from Porridge’s horrible memory. When she’s done, the dwarf Kiro speaks up. “I guess I’ll ask the obvious question. We show up. We can’t see. We can’t hear. We can’t feel anything. We don’t know which way we’re going. And something in there kills people in seconds. You, uh, see where I’m going with this, right?”
“Well, two things,” says Dranko. “One, Morningstar here will bless us with a miracle that will protect us from the horrible crushing fear.”
“That’s a good start,” says Kiro. “What’s the second thing?”
Dranko motions to One Certain Step.
“A long time ago,” says the paladin of Kemma, “my Goddess directed me through a holy writing that I would ‘be the one in the lightless room.’ I now understand what that means. You see, when a paladin of my order dies, it creates light in proportion to the health of his soul, which in my case I have tried to cultivate as best I can.” (Here he smiles at Ernie and Morningstar.) “It is my intention to be killed, and in the aftermath there will be light for you to see. I expect that you will make use of that light in the best possible way.”
If this plan bothers Step in even the slightest way, he betrays no sign of it.
“You’re sure this is it?” asks Kiro. “That this here Black Door is the 'lightless room' from your own prophecy?"
Step nods. “There are other details. They all point to this moment. This is my destiny.”
“You’re sure there’s not a way around this?” asks Jack. “Prophecies are prophecies, and I’ve heard my share in my time. Sometimes they come true, and sometimes they don’t.”
Step smiles. “If something occurs to me before tomorrow, I’ll be sure to let you know. But I have given this a great deal of thought, and I have a plan. Consider this: if we all go in at once, and you try various sources of light that don’t work, then what? What if whatever is in there chooses to kill others of you, before killing me?”
“We’ll play it by ear, as usual,” says Aravis.
“I was thinking that I would go in first,” says Step.
“I don’t like that plan,” says Morningstar.
“I don’t like it either!” says Step. “But I have to do what I feel is right. And to do anything else would be to put all of you in danger, in the face of Kemma’s prophecy.”
“We love you, Step,” says Dranko, “and we don’t want you to die.”
“Remember Grey Wolf’s prophecy,” adds Morningstar.
“Oh, I do,” says Step. “But even if there’s some way to avoid it, I must go in, expecting to do this thing.”
The rest of the night is spent planning their spell complements for the morrow, and then talking about what might be waiting for them beyond the Black Door. Maybe it’s the Rotunda, or some infernal machine of the Black Circle. Maybe it’s the Eye of Moirel, protecting itself from all who would steal it. Grey Wolf speculates glumly that it’s probably more Cleaners.
* *
The next morning Morningstar treats the Gang of Fourteen to a heroes’ feast. The excitement and tension is tempered by the stoic presence of One Certain Step, who looks utterly at peace.
“I had a dream last night,” he says during the meal, and everyone quiets to listen. “It doesn’t concern our task directly, but it makes me even more sure of my path. I dreamt of my warhorse, Thunder, whom I have not seen in a long, long time. She was running through the fields of heaven, under a sun that never sets, and the sight of her filled my heart with joy.”
For a long moment no one speaks. Then Morningstar says quietly, “There’s no better way to go out, right?”
“When you get out of here,” says Step, “and you put things to right, it will truly have been worth it.”
“It’s been an honor,” says Morningstar, and there are tears in her eyes.
Step stands and bows to her. “The honor has been mine.”
“We’ll never forget what you’re doing for us,” says Kibi in a small voice.
Ernie simply gives the paladin a hug.
When the meal is finished, a throng of people accompanies the heroes to the Black Door. Not everyone in town is convinced that the Prophecy is about to fulfilled; they’ve witnessed this kind of scene before. And the ropes and graves still serve as a grim reminder of past failures.
There is a flurry of last-minute spellcasting, and while the bard Mavis sings a song of hope and encouragement, Step gives his final command. “Don’t follow too closely. When I arrive in there, I want to be the focus of attention.”
He faces the Company.
“The honor,” he shouts, drawing his Greatsword and holding it high to the sun, “has been mine!”
He turns to the Black Door, and through it he takes one certain step.
...to be continued...
Last edited:
the Jester
Legend
Oh, bravo, Step!
Whether his time has truly come or not, he is facing it like a paladin should.
Whether his time has truly come or not, he is facing it like a paladin should.
KidCthulhu
First Post
Step is a paladin's paladin. Which is why it's such a shame that the Eye waiting on the other side of the door grabbed him and siezed his mind...
Only kidding.
To respond to those that think Yoba is evil, remember that for betrayal to be dramatic, you have to have trust. If every NPC we meet is an evil bastich, then we simply won't trust anyone. There have to be good people too, or the occasional sneaky ones have less weight.
Only kidding.
To respond to those that think Yoba is evil, remember that for betrayal to be dramatic, you have to have trust. If every NPC we meet is an evil bastich, then we simply won't trust anyone. There have to be good people too, or the occasional sneaky ones have less weight.
Kid Charlemagne
I am the Very Model of a Modern Moderator
KidCthulhu said:
This is so true. I've played in games in the past where all the NPCs were untrustworthy or incompetent, and the DM would woonder why we never trusted any of them, or helped them, or relied on them. It's a lesson that I learned years and years ago...
Spatzimaus
First Post
Sagiro said:
Ah, young love. It's the classic story. Boy meets girl, boy goes into battle alongside girl, girl turns out to be horribly evil but they win the battle anyway, boy and girl settle down and raise a bunch of halfling-ish babies...
el-remmen
Moderator Emeritus
Spatzimaus said:
It much more likely that a villian will throw Yoba off a bridge and through Ernie shoots a web from his wrist in time to catch her, he pulls her up just to find out that the jerk of the stop snapped her neck. Holding Yoba in his arms he cries out with an anguish and horror he has not felt since the death of his Uncle Ben that he always blamed himself for. . .
. . oh wait, no it isn't. . .
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