KidCthulhu
First Post
The terrible thing is that I was THERE for the resolution of this prophecy, and I can only remember a few of these now.
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Sagiro's Story Hour: The FINAL Adventures of Abernathy's Company (FINISHED 7/3/14)
- Thread starter Sagiro
- Start date
Then you can find out along with the rest of us?
Just for the sake of some activity on the thread -- I was re-reading just now the massive battle with the Cleaners, where Step fulfilled his prophecy and sacrificed himself. One thing that seems like an oversight -- they spent the night in the cavern after the battle, but I don't see that anything replaced the light of Step's soul after it finally went out. How did they see anything, loot the place, not fall down into more pockets of insanity, etc?
KidCthulhu
First Post
As I recall, once the big bad guy was dead, the magically impenetrable darkness lifted and we used the usual enchantments against regular darkness. It became just a dark cave.
Sagiro
Rodent of Uncertain Parentage
Sagiro’s Story Hour, Part 369
Angry Dreamers
The geyser of Earth Magic recedes into the ground, leaving the Croaking Oracle blinking rapidly in confusion. It clearly doesn’t understand why it spoke, and none in the Company, Kibi included, has any idea how or why a blast of Earth Magic goosed the toad into spouting extra prophecy.
“Thank you,” says Kibi.
They spend a few minutes pondering the prophetic words of the amphibian. The “three” are obviously their antagonists: Meledien, Tarsos and Seven Dark Words. But the rest is largely a mystery. They decide that “One for what is in his head,” is likely Dranko, and that all four lines of the penultimate verse refer to the same person, but beyond that the telling is opaque. They consider staying and summoning another insect tomorrow, but the Oracle speaks, annoyed.
“You are done. Leave.”
There’s also the matter of the feathered monster and its attendant elementals which only attacked Dranko. The party forms a working theory that Meledien and Co. left them behind specifically to target the half-orc, because they have learned of, and greatly fear, the Far Realms whatever-it-is that lurks in his brain.
“I would more than happy,” says Dranko, “when it comes down to it, for Meledien to fight me. I hate that bitch.”
“Hey, did you hear that?” Aravis looks around in alarm, but no one else has heard (or seen) anything unusual. Pewter didn’t notice anything either, and they chalk it up to nerves or echoes.
“Before we leave,” says Morningstar, “I want to check out what Ava Dormo is like down here.”
The others guard her body while she drops into a trance.
She’s in a city. The dream-version of the Croaking Oracle’s cave, and as far as she can tell the entirety of Pressing Lake, is packed with buildings. The low ceiling has been excavated upward to allow for taller structures, and there's no sign of the lake itself. All the ground she can see is solid. She is fortunate to find herself on a narrow street that threads its way through these buildings, which affords her a sense of both the immensity and density of this dream-metropolis.
There are also humanoid creatures here, many of them, heavily armed. They are short – between four and five feet tall – and look vaguely like kobolds. Most carry two-pronged spears and march in tight well-disciplined groups. The ones nearest stop, stare, point their weapons at her and begin a furious chittering.
She hastily drops out of the Dreamscape and reports. Morningstar has never seen such a densely populated section of Ava Dormo, and is keen to learn more. This time she casts dream anchor on Kibi and takes him with her, in case there are any Earth Magic-related phenomenon for him to observe.
The little militant kobolds surround them in seconds, brandishing their spears and chittering madly.
“We mean you no harm!” Kibi exclaims.
One of the creatures pokes him lightly with its spear. Kibi activates tongues just in time to hear one of them shouting “Disarm! Disarm!”
Every object on Kibi and Morningstar, save for their clothes, vanishes, which includes the Ioun Stone Kibi was using for tongues. The closest creature jabs his spear into Kibi’s beard, curious as to why it too hasn’t been unmade.
“The beard stays!” he says crossly.
By now upward of fifty of these little humanoids – all of them wearing plate armor over their blue, knobbly skin – have surrounded them, and prod them down the street with their spears. Their high-pitched and agitated voices fill the air. After a few blocks Kibi and Morningstar are herded into a building, down a flight of stairs, and into a small prison cell.
Morningstar creates her holy symbol and manifests true seeing. There are a few magical wards on the cell, though she cannot tell their precise function. She wakes, drawing herself and Kibi back to the waking world.
“Interesting!” she says. “They were using an entire army to manipulate reality.”
Kibi strokes his beard, relieved to find it undamaged. “Maybe they’re a race that lives only in dreams.”
“Quiet!” says Aravis. “There it is again. Did you all really not hear that?”
The Company hushes up, straining their ears, but not even Grey Wolf, with enhanced senses cast, hears anything unusual.
“I’m sure I…” Aravis begins, and then his eyes go wide. Lines of glowing tracery sprout from his forehead and race across his face, then down his neck – the visual effect that used to manifest when Aravis was in possession of the Crosser’s Maze! Before he can speak another word, Aravis disappears. Pewter, who had been perched on his shoulder, drops to the ground.
Dranko looks down at the cat. “Are you panicking?” he asks. “One meow for yes, two for no.”
“Meow, meow.”
“Is Aravis in the Maze?” asks Morningstar.
“Meow meow meow.”
“What does that mean?” asks Dranko.
“Probably ‘I don’t know,’” says Ernie.
“Meow.”
In all the time Aravis possessed the Crosser’s Maze, he had never gone bodily into it. Just like dreamers in Ava Dormo, people in the Maze left their bodies behind in the real world while they minds went voyaging. Aravis had given the Crosser’s Maze to Belshikun, the Avatar of the Drosh, God of Death, with the expectation that Drosh was going to use it to flee or hide from the Adversary.
Flicker looks thoughtful. “You know how everyone kept telling us there was no way out of the Underdark? Well, Aravis just went somewhere!”
"Will Aravis come back?" asks Ernie.
"Meow."
“Do we know where he’ll be when he comes back?” asks Grey Wolf.
Pewter meows and points to himself with a fore-paw.
“He’ll come back wherever you are?
“Meow.” Pewter nods.
Morningstar convinces the others to go back one last time, hoping she can forestall their aggressive behavior long enough to have a bit of dialogue. She dons the cloak of diplomacy, and everyone in the party has either tongues or comprehend languages cast upon them. She brings the entire Company into the dreamscape, at the same location as before.
They are surrounded by a wide ring of fifty spear-wielding dream-kobolds, all staring at them, as if they had simply been waiting there for the party to appear.
“Throw!”
Thought-quick, Morningstar draws everyone back to the waking world, a split-second before the spears converge.
Dranko chuckles. “They’re all about to learn what happens when you throw projectiles while standing in a circle. Maybe we should go back with a mass heal?”
Morningstar brings them all back five seconds later, but the creatures had enough sense not to throw with enough force to impale their fellows on the far side of the circle. The party hears the tail end of the noise made by the spears’ clattering to the stone. With astonishing precision, the fifty throwers are stepping back, and a new ring of creatures steps forward to take their place, readying a second volley.
Morningstar shouts before they can throw. “I could do this all day, but all I’m here to do is communicate and see who you are. If you’d like to talk, great. If not, we’ll go away.”
“Hold fire!” shouts one of the creatures.
“We mean you no harm,” Morningstar assures them.
One of the dream-kobolds steps forward and shakes his spear at her. “Who are you?
“My name is Morningstar.”
“Not what I mean,” says the creature angrily. “Who are you?”
Morningstar isn’t sure how to answer. “Morningstar, defender of the church of Ell? Humans?”
“I am not yet hearing something that will keep the hold on our fire,” says the kobold.
“We’re saving the world!” shouts Kibi.
“And we’re not with the red-armored guys!” adds Ernie, in case they find this relevant.
The cloak of diplomacy speaks into Morningstar’s mind. “The person to whom you speak is under extreme pressure to execute anyone who might be a spy for the Tegenti. He is convinced that is what you are.”
“We are from very far away,” says Morningstar, hoping this will allay their paranoia. “If we were here to attack, or be malicious to you in some way, would we be here to talk?”
“Yes!” shouts the kobold. “Treachery! That is exactly what you would say if you were attempting subterfuge or infiltration! Three! Two! One…!”
Morningstar hastily returns everyone to the waking world.
“Do you think they know they’re in a dream?” asks Dranko.
Morningstar sighs in frustration. “I’d love to talk to them to find out.”
“Stupid pokey dream people,” Ernie mutters.
But Morningstar is still not willing to give up, and proposes one more avenue to pursue. They ride their phantom steeds across Pressing Lake to the mouth of the tunnel they used to get there from Kessedth. Once there, she takes them all into Ava Dormo again, and finds this part of it uninhabited. In the Dreamscape, the tunnel has been widened and well-maintained; thick planks of hardened fungus reinforce the walls and ceiling. The party zips along the dream-tunnel until they see a guard post ahead, where six dream-kobolds stand guard at a pair of portcullises, but rather than stop to talk, Morningstar blinks the group far past the outpost. They pass three more similar posts before nearing the end of the tunnel, where it empties out into Kessedth. Kibi casts veil to make the entire Company look like dream-kobolds.
They guess that dream-Kessedth is as overdeveloped as dream-Pressing Lake, and are not disappointed. Morningstar blinks them past the gate and into the cavern beyond, and once again the Company finds itself in a teeming city, packed with buildings and marching dream-kobolds. Morningstar quickly scans their surroundings and blinks the party up to a rooftop, where they all drop flat to avoid detection. Morningstar peeks over the edge of the roof and casts brain spider, a high-level spell designed to learn detailed information from its targets. She chooses eight dream-kobolds and gains access to the minds of seven.
The eighth begins to scream. “Attack! My mind has been attacked! It’s the Tegenti! To arms! To arms! Spread out and search!”
“I officially hate this place,” Ernie grumbles.
The creatures act with swift purpose, organizing into search groups which fan out to comb the town. It seems inevitable that they will be discovered before too long, but Morningstar doesn’t need much time. She chooses one of the minds caught in the web of her spell and chooses “the history and culture of these creatures” to learn.
The dream-kobolds are a race called the Keffet, and for years out of memory they have fought a war in the Dreaming against another race called the Tegenti. The Tegenti are intelligent bull-like quadrupeds who specialize in illusions and other mind-trickery; where the Keffet embrace physical military might, the Tegenti have refined their mentalist abilities. (Though the Keffet do have a basic form of group-mind coordination, finely honed to assist their physical warmongering.) This region – the dream reflections of Pressing Lake, Kessedth, and the surrounding areas – are all very close to the current front lines of the ongoing conflict. The war has not been going well for the Keffet; in recent months the Tegenti have pushed the border back quite far. But this Keffet is not terribly worried, as the war has ebbed and flowed for a century or more, and it’s only a matter of time before the Keffet rally and turn the tide. She has seen it get more dire than this.
On less militaristic topics, Morningstar learns that as far as the Keffet are concerned, their world is the real one. The one whose mind she is picking does not think she is in a dream. As for the prophecy and possible end of the world, the Keffet do have a variant of that. Many think that the world is, in fact, fated to end. Before that happens, though, one side will win the war, and whichever side that is will transition to some heaven-like state, while the losing race will be damned for all eternity in a freezing hell. There are spiritual leaders who claim that the end times are approaching, though there are no Keffet gods as such. Every Keffet population center has something not quite a temple or place of worship, but thought of as “spiritual commons.” Some Keffet go there to pray – not to anything in particular – that the outcome of the war go in their favor.
That is all Morningstar is able to glean, before a searching party of Keffet can be heard climbing up to the rooftops near their hiding place. Morningstar drops them out of dream for a final time and shares all that she has learned. She is astounded to learn of a race of beings native to Ava Dormo.
“Two races, if you count the hyper-intelligent cows,” says Dranko.
But now the time has come for the Company to move forward in their pursuit of the Evil Trio. It takes them a day and a half to return physically to Kessedth, where they find that Toq has departed, but not before leaving them a note tacked to the door of the tunnel entrance.
“I have gone ahead to Ementh, to see what I can learn about the evil ones who came before you. If you choose to go instead to Keshem or the Crystal Wood, heed the warnings signs on the Peshovar lairs. Do not go into them, or try to fight them. If I do not see you again, go swiftly by the Hand of Yavin.”
Ementh, they recall, is a large city of Toq’s people, the Zeraphin. And the Crystal Wood was where the red-skinned and curve-horned woman had headed two months earlier, the one whom Toq had described as arrogant and unpleasant.
But the Company decides to go to Keshem, city of the insect-like Stribe, on account that there is a Leaping Circle there. They all agree that is the most likely way that Meledien, Tarsos and Seven Dark Words would have gone. Dranko leaves a reply note for Toq.
“Thank you. Headed to Keshem and onward from there. May Yavin bless you and keep you safe.”
…to be continued…
Angry Dreamers
The geyser of Earth Magic recedes into the ground, leaving the Croaking Oracle blinking rapidly in confusion. It clearly doesn’t understand why it spoke, and none in the Company, Kibi included, has any idea how or why a blast of Earth Magic goosed the toad into spouting extra prophecy.
“Thank you,” says Kibi.
They spend a few minutes pondering the prophetic words of the amphibian. The “three” are obviously their antagonists: Meledien, Tarsos and Seven Dark Words. But the rest is largely a mystery. They decide that “One for what is in his head,” is likely Dranko, and that all four lines of the penultimate verse refer to the same person, but beyond that the telling is opaque. They consider staying and summoning another insect tomorrow, but the Oracle speaks, annoyed.
“You are done. Leave.”
There’s also the matter of the feathered monster and its attendant elementals which only attacked Dranko. The party forms a working theory that Meledien and Co. left them behind specifically to target the half-orc, because they have learned of, and greatly fear, the Far Realms whatever-it-is that lurks in his brain.
“I would more than happy,” says Dranko, “when it comes down to it, for Meledien to fight me. I hate that bitch.”
“Hey, did you hear that?” Aravis looks around in alarm, but no one else has heard (or seen) anything unusual. Pewter didn’t notice anything either, and they chalk it up to nerves or echoes.
“Before we leave,” says Morningstar, “I want to check out what Ava Dormo is like down here.”
The others guard her body while she drops into a trance.
She’s in a city. The dream-version of the Croaking Oracle’s cave, and as far as she can tell the entirety of Pressing Lake, is packed with buildings. The low ceiling has been excavated upward to allow for taller structures, and there's no sign of the lake itself. All the ground she can see is solid. She is fortunate to find herself on a narrow street that threads its way through these buildings, which affords her a sense of both the immensity and density of this dream-metropolis.
There are also humanoid creatures here, many of them, heavily armed. They are short – between four and five feet tall – and look vaguely like kobolds. Most carry two-pronged spears and march in tight well-disciplined groups. The ones nearest stop, stare, point their weapons at her and begin a furious chittering.
She hastily drops out of the Dreamscape and reports. Morningstar has never seen such a densely populated section of Ava Dormo, and is keen to learn more. This time she casts dream anchor on Kibi and takes him with her, in case there are any Earth Magic-related phenomenon for him to observe.
The little militant kobolds surround them in seconds, brandishing their spears and chittering madly.
“We mean you no harm!” Kibi exclaims.
One of the creatures pokes him lightly with its spear. Kibi activates tongues just in time to hear one of them shouting “Disarm! Disarm!”
Every object on Kibi and Morningstar, save for their clothes, vanishes, which includes the Ioun Stone Kibi was using for tongues. The closest creature jabs his spear into Kibi’s beard, curious as to why it too hasn’t been unmade.
“The beard stays!” he says crossly.
By now upward of fifty of these little humanoids – all of them wearing plate armor over their blue, knobbly skin – have surrounded them, and prod them down the street with their spears. Their high-pitched and agitated voices fill the air. After a few blocks Kibi and Morningstar are herded into a building, down a flight of stairs, and into a small prison cell.
Morningstar creates her holy symbol and manifests true seeing. There are a few magical wards on the cell, though she cannot tell their precise function. She wakes, drawing herself and Kibi back to the waking world.
“Interesting!” she says. “They were using an entire army to manipulate reality.”
Kibi strokes his beard, relieved to find it undamaged. “Maybe they’re a race that lives only in dreams.”
“Quiet!” says Aravis. “There it is again. Did you all really not hear that?”
The Company hushes up, straining their ears, but not even Grey Wolf, with enhanced senses cast, hears anything unusual.
“I’m sure I…” Aravis begins, and then his eyes go wide. Lines of glowing tracery sprout from his forehead and race across his face, then down his neck – the visual effect that used to manifest when Aravis was in possession of the Crosser’s Maze! Before he can speak another word, Aravis disappears. Pewter, who had been perched on his shoulder, drops to the ground.
Dranko looks down at the cat. “Are you panicking?” he asks. “One meow for yes, two for no.”
“Meow, meow.”
“Is Aravis in the Maze?” asks Morningstar.
“Meow meow meow.”
“What does that mean?” asks Dranko.
“Probably ‘I don’t know,’” says Ernie.
“Meow.”
In all the time Aravis possessed the Crosser’s Maze, he had never gone bodily into it. Just like dreamers in Ava Dormo, people in the Maze left their bodies behind in the real world while they minds went voyaging. Aravis had given the Crosser’s Maze to Belshikun, the Avatar of the Drosh, God of Death, with the expectation that Drosh was going to use it to flee or hide from the Adversary.
Flicker looks thoughtful. “You know how everyone kept telling us there was no way out of the Underdark? Well, Aravis just went somewhere!”
"Will Aravis come back?" asks Ernie.
"Meow."
“Do we know where he’ll be when he comes back?” asks Grey Wolf.
Pewter meows and points to himself with a fore-paw.
“He’ll come back wherever you are?
“Meow.” Pewter nods.
Morningstar convinces the others to go back one last time, hoping she can forestall their aggressive behavior long enough to have a bit of dialogue. She dons the cloak of diplomacy, and everyone in the party has either tongues or comprehend languages cast upon them. She brings the entire Company into the dreamscape, at the same location as before.
They are surrounded by a wide ring of fifty spear-wielding dream-kobolds, all staring at them, as if they had simply been waiting there for the party to appear.
“Throw!”
Thought-quick, Morningstar draws everyone back to the waking world, a split-second before the spears converge.
Dranko chuckles. “They’re all about to learn what happens when you throw projectiles while standing in a circle. Maybe we should go back with a mass heal?”
Morningstar brings them all back five seconds later, but the creatures had enough sense not to throw with enough force to impale their fellows on the far side of the circle. The party hears the tail end of the noise made by the spears’ clattering to the stone. With astonishing precision, the fifty throwers are stepping back, and a new ring of creatures steps forward to take their place, readying a second volley.
Morningstar shouts before they can throw. “I could do this all day, but all I’m here to do is communicate and see who you are. If you’d like to talk, great. If not, we’ll go away.”
“Hold fire!” shouts one of the creatures.
“We mean you no harm,” Morningstar assures them.
One of the dream-kobolds steps forward and shakes his spear at her. “Who are you?
“My name is Morningstar.”
“Not what I mean,” says the creature angrily. “Who are you?”
Morningstar isn’t sure how to answer. “Morningstar, defender of the church of Ell? Humans?”
“I am not yet hearing something that will keep the hold on our fire,” says the kobold.
“We’re saving the world!” shouts Kibi.
“And we’re not with the red-armored guys!” adds Ernie, in case they find this relevant.
The cloak of diplomacy speaks into Morningstar’s mind. “The person to whom you speak is under extreme pressure to execute anyone who might be a spy for the Tegenti. He is convinced that is what you are.”
“We are from very far away,” says Morningstar, hoping this will allay their paranoia. “If we were here to attack, or be malicious to you in some way, would we be here to talk?”
“Yes!” shouts the kobold. “Treachery! That is exactly what you would say if you were attempting subterfuge or infiltration! Three! Two! One…!”
Morningstar hastily returns everyone to the waking world.
“Do you think they know they’re in a dream?” asks Dranko.
Morningstar sighs in frustration. “I’d love to talk to them to find out.”
“Stupid pokey dream people,” Ernie mutters.
But Morningstar is still not willing to give up, and proposes one more avenue to pursue. They ride their phantom steeds across Pressing Lake to the mouth of the tunnel they used to get there from Kessedth. Once there, she takes them all into Ava Dormo again, and finds this part of it uninhabited. In the Dreamscape, the tunnel has been widened and well-maintained; thick planks of hardened fungus reinforce the walls and ceiling. The party zips along the dream-tunnel until they see a guard post ahead, where six dream-kobolds stand guard at a pair of portcullises, but rather than stop to talk, Morningstar blinks the group far past the outpost. They pass three more similar posts before nearing the end of the tunnel, where it empties out into Kessedth. Kibi casts veil to make the entire Company look like dream-kobolds.
They guess that dream-Kessedth is as overdeveloped as dream-Pressing Lake, and are not disappointed. Morningstar blinks them past the gate and into the cavern beyond, and once again the Company finds itself in a teeming city, packed with buildings and marching dream-kobolds. Morningstar quickly scans their surroundings and blinks the party up to a rooftop, where they all drop flat to avoid detection. Morningstar peeks over the edge of the roof and casts brain spider, a high-level spell designed to learn detailed information from its targets. She chooses eight dream-kobolds and gains access to the minds of seven.
The eighth begins to scream. “Attack! My mind has been attacked! It’s the Tegenti! To arms! To arms! Spread out and search!”
“I officially hate this place,” Ernie grumbles.
The creatures act with swift purpose, organizing into search groups which fan out to comb the town. It seems inevitable that they will be discovered before too long, but Morningstar doesn’t need much time. She chooses one of the minds caught in the web of her spell and chooses “the history and culture of these creatures” to learn.
The dream-kobolds are a race called the Keffet, and for years out of memory they have fought a war in the Dreaming against another race called the Tegenti. The Tegenti are intelligent bull-like quadrupeds who specialize in illusions and other mind-trickery; where the Keffet embrace physical military might, the Tegenti have refined their mentalist abilities. (Though the Keffet do have a basic form of group-mind coordination, finely honed to assist their physical warmongering.) This region – the dream reflections of Pressing Lake, Kessedth, and the surrounding areas – are all very close to the current front lines of the ongoing conflict. The war has not been going well for the Keffet; in recent months the Tegenti have pushed the border back quite far. But this Keffet is not terribly worried, as the war has ebbed and flowed for a century or more, and it’s only a matter of time before the Keffet rally and turn the tide. She has seen it get more dire than this.
On less militaristic topics, Morningstar learns that as far as the Keffet are concerned, their world is the real one. The one whose mind she is picking does not think she is in a dream. As for the prophecy and possible end of the world, the Keffet do have a variant of that. Many think that the world is, in fact, fated to end. Before that happens, though, one side will win the war, and whichever side that is will transition to some heaven-like state, while the losing race will be damned for all eternity in a freezing hell. There are spiritual leaders who claim that the end times are approaching, though there are no Keffet gods as such. Every Keffet population center has something not quite a temple or place of worship, but thought of as “spiritual commons.” Some Keffet go there to pray – not to anything in particular – that the outcome of the war go in their favor.
That is all Morningstar is able to glean, before a searching party of Keffet can be heard climbing up to the rooftops near their hiding place. Morningstar drops them out of dream for a final time and shares all that she has learned. She is astounded to learn of a race of beings native to Ava Dormo.
“Two races, if you count the hyper-intelligent cows,” says Dranko.
But now the time has come for the Company to move forward in their pursuit of the Evil Trio. It takes them a day and a half to return physically to Kessedth, where they find that Toq has departed, but not before leaving them a note tacked to the door of the tunnel entrance.
“I have gone ahead to Ementh, to see what I can learn about the evil ones who came before you. If you choose to go instead to Keshem or the Crystal Wood, heed the warnings signs on the Peshovar lairs. Do not go into them, or try to fight them. If I do not see you again, go swiftly by the Hand of Yavin.”
Ementh, they recall, is a large city of Toq’s people, the Zeraphin. And the Crystal Wood was where the red-skinned and curve-horned woman had headed two months earlier, the one whom Toq had described as arrogant and unpleasant.
But the Company decides to go to Keshem, city of the insect-like Stribe, on account that there is a Leaping Circle there. They all agree that is the most likely way that Meledien, Tarsos and Seven Dark Words would have gone. Dranko leaves a reply note for Toq.
“Thank you. Headed to Keshem and onward from there. May Yavin bless you and keep you safe.”
…to be continued…
. Thanks for sharing your story with us!
Piratecat
Sesquipedalian
Sagiro's Story Hour: The FINAL Adventures of Abernathy's Company (updated 1/2...
Hey Sagiro, did we ever find out what the deal was with that tiefling? I've been wondering about her for years!
EDIT: Sagiro reminded me offline. Ohhhhhh, I remember her. Oh yes. Good lord, yes. Yikes.
Hey Sagiro, did we ever find out what the deal was with that tiefling? I've been wondering about her for years!
EDIT: Sagiro reminded me offline. Ohhhhhh, I remember her. Oh yes. Good lord, yes. Yikes.
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Sagiro
Rodent of Uncertain Parentage
Yes to both! A big Aravis-related plot point was coming, and Aravis's player had to miss that session, which (as you'll see in a later update), worked out quite well from a storytelling perspective.
And here, have another update.
Sagiro’s Story Hour, Part 370
The Stribe
The tunnel from Kessedth to the Stribe city of Keshem is far more twisty and vertical that the one to Pressing Lake. There are so many vertical shafts and sharp oddly-vectored turns that the phantom steeds don’t much improve their speed, particularly as there are thoughtfully-placed ladders and knotted ropes wherever the going is particularly tricky. Over the course of the day, as they steadily lose altitude, the party hears more frequently the sound of rushing water. One or more subterranean rivers thunder through this section of the Underdark, sometimes distant, and sometimes so close to the tunnel that they catch glimpses of its glimmering torrents through crevices and gaps in the rock, their relentless thunder so loud they cannot hear one another speak.
Near “sundown” (when the light motes grow dim) they find that the tunnel has a clear branch, large and round, with a glyph for “danger” clearly visible. Next to that is a second glyph that looks like a crudely-drawn lizard. There’s no sense of scale, but the tunnel itself is large enough that if this is indeed a peshovar lair, the creature or creatures could be quite large. A nasty smell comes from that tunnel, sharp and slightly acidic.
Dranko peers into the dim receding light of the tunnel branch. He cannot see or hear anything unusual from that direction. “Should we go in and kill it?”
The others vote unanimously against the idea, agreeing that they should heed the warnings about the peshovar. They put some extra distance between themselves and the peshovar tunnel, marching until the light motes have gone almost completely dark before making camp.
The next day begins with a hundred foot vertical shaft, its descent made easy by a half-dozen well-anchored ropes hanging down from its lip. At its bottom is a new tunnel, of a different style than those above. Its stone is pockmarked, almost like stucco, and rather than planks or ropes at the difficult places, handholds have been carved directly into the stone. The new tunnels are flatter, winding and dipping less crazily; the party guesses they have passed some unmarked border into the territory of the mysterious Stribe.
An hour later, as they round a mild bend in a wide stretch of tunnel, Dranko spots something coming toward them, perhaps fifty yards ahead. Five seconds later he revises his report; a swarm of somethings is approaching, slowly, like a school of fish swimming lazily through the air. The party quickly discusses defensive measures they could take, including such overkill methods as firestorm or prismatic sphere.
Closer, closer comes the swarm, and now they can see it comprises several dozen creatures that resemble large manta rays, each with a four-foot wingspan, slowly flapping their “wings.” Most oddly, they are leaving streaks of darkness behind them as they fly. They must be moving magically, since the gentle undulations of their bodies could not be producing a real physical lift.
The creatures show no signs of hostility, so the Company withholds their defensive measures and simply presses against the tunnel walls to let them pass. Closer they come, closer… and then the party is among them. They don’t change their trajectories, or evince any sign of noticing the humanoids in their midst. Their bodies are a deep luminous purple, and their small mouths stretch wide to gulp down the light motes as they pass. These creatures are photovores, snapping up the floating bits of light as bats would eat insects out of the air.
Morningstar casts detect thoughts, but detects only an animal-level intelligence. One wing brushes against Morningstar’s arm, feeling like silk, but the creatures simply glides on, unconcerned. And soon enough the swarm has drifted past them, leaving streaks of darkness in their wake that are already refilling as the light motes seek their natural diffusion.
After two more hours have passed, the party finds another branch in the tunnel, though this one bores straight up into the ceiling. Next to the hole, scratched into the ceiling, is the Danger glyph next to the dinosaur-figure that they all assume indicates peshovar. The same acrid smell as before wafts downward. But while Dranko takes the opportunity to yell up “Hey, monster! This is your chance to come down and get killed!” the party doesn't explore, or wait around for a peshovar to emerge.
By this time the main tunnel is quite wide – almost thirty feet across – and growing wider by the mile. Eventually they find that the tunnel has expanded into something more akin to a cavern, with its walls beautifully carved with intricate abstract designs. Large stone spheres the size of sheep lay scattered here and there on the smooth floor. On the far side of the cavern, some two hundred feet distance, there is movement, and an enormous round door set in the wall. Slowly they approach.
“Who?” A voice sounds from ahead. “Goes who? Who is go? Who goes?”
It’s a voice that’s almost entirely telepathic; its verbal component is nearly undetectable.
“We are travelers!” Dranko returns.
“Repeat please,” says the voice. “Say one time over. One time other please, repeat!”
“Travelers,” says Ernie.
After ten more seconds they can clearly see the speaker. It’s a huge arachnid, bearing much similarity to the Vree encountered in Het Branoi. But unlike the Vree they have three-segmented insect bodies, only two bulbous fly-eyes, and eight normal-looking spider legs. There are several of these arachnids standing near the huge circular door.
“Are you the stribe?” asks Morningstar.
“Stribe yes we. Stribe we.”
“Your stonework is incredible!” says Kibi. “I’m really very impressed.”
“You are perspicacity excellent. Good taste, you are very tasty.” The stribe doing the talking clacks its mandibles as it talks, its soft click and hiss the only truly audible part of its speech.
Dranko talks very slowly, as if to a child. “We come from very far away. And wish to travel into your city, if we may.”
“Speak more clearly!” says the stribe. “Be clear! Clear speak!”
“We come from far away travel,” Ernie ventures. “We to city go.”
“I am not child,” says the stribe, sounding put out.
“Dammit!” Ernie grumbles.
“We come from the Temple of Arrival,” says Dranko, hoping this carries some cachet.
“Yes. Bipedal. Arrivalness.” It raises one of its forelegs and counts them, stopping when it gets to six. Aravis has still not returned from the Maze, or wherever it is he has gone.
“One of our number is… away,” says Morningstar.
“Which number?”
“Seven.”
“We are the seven who were prophesied to come,” says Dranko.
“Yes. We know seven. You are Spected. Specexted. Expected.”
Parthol’s translator disks are struggling to work on the strange stribe language.
“Oh, for goodness’ sake,” says Morningstar. She casts tongues. But this doesn't make things any easier. The stribe language is alien enough to defy, at least in part, all magical attempts at clear translations. Even telepathic bond fails to elucidate the stribe tongue; she hears only hisses and chittering clicks mixed with garbled speech. Just as happened when she tried detect thoughts on the Vree, she recalls.
“Did bipedals wearing red armor pass this way?” asks Dranko.
“We have seen bipedal reds,” says the stribe. “One, two, three. Not nice.”
“Did they hurt you?” asks Morningstar.
“Threats, many threats. Not nice. Seven. One two three four five six missing. Bipedal threats.”
“Did they tell you to attack us when we arrived?” asks Dranko.
“That instruction yes. A’aatra. A’aatra.”
“An archer?”
“A’aatra you speak. Yes. Come.”
When the creature says this name, it emphasizes and draws out the second syllable for a good half-second. Ah-AAAAAAAAH-tra.
“We would really appreciate it if you wouldn’t attack us,” says Kibi.
“Peaceful. Peaceful we. And you not. You are not peaceful.” It gestures with a leg to the multitudinous weapons carried by the Company.
“Yes we are,” says Dranko.
“No. Be good. Good little bipeds. Good little bipeds. Warning not try. Warning not try.”
Four of the nearby stone spheres rise up as the stribe effect a casual telekinesis. “Good little biped. No harm.” The implication is clear, as each of the spheres must way about three tons.
A second stribe scuttles to stand in front of Kibi, reaches out a hook-ended arachnid leg, and tugs on Kibi’s beard. “Fungus! Cassew cassew yum yum.”
“Not fungus!” cries Kibi in alarm. “Hair! It’s a beard!”
“Bipedal chitin,” explains Dranko.
“Beard plates,” says the stribe. “Hair plates. Soft chitin. Purpose?”
“Some bipeds use beards to attract mates,” says Morningstar.
The stribe bobs its head. To Morningstar it asks, “Queen? One you queen? You have queen?”
Everyone can’t help but look at Morningstar. The stribe clacks in mandibles. “Bipedal queen! All you will speak with A’aatra, who speaks for queen. Who your A’aatra?”
Kibi suggests Ernie, who’s happy to accept the role of party spokesman if it means Dranko doesn’t get the job. “I am,” he says.
The several assembled Stribe now turn to the huge stone disc behind them in the wall. The stone around its left edge ripples, and the entire thing rumbles and rolls leftward, sliding into a slot in the wall. The weight these creatures are able to move (in whatever non-physical manner that is) is truly staggering. On the far side is what could best be described as a settlement, a huge cavern filled with buildings and scurrying stribe. It is not so densely packed as the Keffet dream-cities, but there is motion everywhere. The buildings sit upon the floor, but also jut from the walls and some protrude downward from the ceiling high above.
Most of the stribe are tending vertical fungus gardens, much like Toq was doing in Kessedth. Many of these feature a type of fungus that resembles coarse hair, quite similar to Kibi’s beard. Stribe are massaging this fungus with their forelegs. Other stribe are adding to the intricate carvings that are everywhere on the stone of the walls, floor and ceiling. They do this by some combination of mentalism and stone shape, which brings to mind the effortless way in which Cranchus could mold stone at his whim.
“Follow follow, good little bipeds.”
The farmers and sculptors among the stribe pay little attention to the Company as they make their way through Keshem. Many large caverns are connected by short lengths of tunnels, and the architecture has a kind of drip-sandcastle look, with stribe scuttling in and out of large holes. It’s like being in a huge termite mound.
After three hours of travel through the caves and tunnels of Keshem, the party comes to the edge of a huge pit, whose walls are riddled with holes, its shadows and echoes hinting at a complex underground warren below them.
“This way. Bipeds into holes. A’aatra.”
“Say,” says Dranko. “Have you heard of a people called the Vree?”
“Vree? No Vree. No.”
“We encountered them very far from here,” explains Ernie.
“And you from where?” asks the stribe.
“Charagan”
“Coreward? Anticoreward up down?”
“Up,” says Morningstar. “Up, up, up. Beyond the… roof?”
“That is a place that is not,” says the stribe. “Where are you from?”
“We come from a place with no roof,” answers Morningstar. “I can show you with magic what it looks like.”
“You will show us. Lights and magic to see. Dangerous?”
“No, but very different, and maybe disturbing,” warns Morningstar.
“Show please.”
Morningstar creates her illusion of the night sky filled with stars. The stribe crouch down and look up in wonder.
“Imaginary,” says the lead stribe. “You are from imaginary.”
“Yes.”
“Good little imaginary bipeds. Now… A’aatra.”
Down they descend, into the damp, murky pit of the stribe Queen. As they pass through yet more spiraling tunnels, one of the stribe turns to Ernie. “You are hot dancers against the red? Against red chitin?”
Ernie thinks for a second. Hot dancers? “Yes,” he decides. “We are enemies of red chitin.”
At last they are led into a large, moist cave. They can hear a steady patter of drips in the darkness, plunking out their rhythm on the stony ground. A dozen stribe scuttle out from the darkness, surrounded by ten large stone spheres floating beside them. The leading stribe is different from the rest; it has four body segments instead of three, and its chitin is brown, not black. It stands before the Company and counts them.
“Missing,” it says. “Sorry. Dead? Alive?”
“Alive,” says Ernie. “Just not here.”
“Names?”
One by one the group names themselves.
“I am A’aatra, Speaker of the Queen.”
“We’re honored to meet you,” says Dranko.
“Thank you,” says A’aatra. Her speech is a bit more intelligible than that of the other stribe. “You are all travelers from undersky, yes? Above roof?”
“Yes,” says Dranko. “And enemies of those of the red chitin.”
“And they are enemies of you,” says A’aatra. “And us. Threaten Queen, threaten eggs. We are set trap for you. They threaten us if we not set trap, so we set trap for you. Their description of you, very good.”
There follows an awkward moment of silence. Are the stribe, blackmailed by Seven Dark Words, about to strike, to crush them with their massive stone spheres?
A’aatra clicks her mandibles. “We tell you about trap now!” she says, which brings a sigh of relief to the Company.
“Do you know where the red chitin people went?” asks Kibi.
“Used circle. Leaping, leaping.”
“May we use the circle?” asks Dranko.
“And is that the trap?” adds Kibi.
“No! No ritual, leaping leaping, red chitin. Just used circle, disappeared. Very strange, no rituals. You leap after them?”
“If we can,” says Dranko.
A’aatra’s phrase “leaping, leaping,” brings to mind the first words of the Croaking Oracle. Morningstar steps forward. “Do you know the meaning of the phrase “five nine two?”
A’aatra considers. “Ah!” she says. “No, Circle Eight. Circle Eight.”
“The Croaking Oracle said five, nine, two,” says Kibi. “We’ll need to find some of the other Leaping Circles, eventually.”
At the mention of the Croaking Oracle, A’aatra clatters backward several paces and hisses through her mandibles. “Toad! Consuming Toad! Did you kill Consuming Toad?”
“We did not,” Kibi admits. “But we didn’t give it any of your people, we promise.”
A’aatra bobs her head. “Filthy speaker! Turns life to truth. Filthy!”
Morningstar nods gravely. “We had enemies above the sky who also turned life to truth. Those in the red chitin.”
“They cause great blackness,” says A’aatra. “Great blackness coming, unless we let them through.”
“We seek to stop that,” says Morningstar.
“Then you must spring trap,” says A’aatra.
“And what is the trap?” asks Ernie.
“Monsters in temple. You kill them please. Temple of Sisters, we cannot fight. Contaminated.”
“Did they burn anyone’s heart out?” asks Ernie.
“Heart? Internal parts? No internal parts burned. What waits in temple are peshovar. Unfightable. Red chitin say, when you come, we tell you, ‘Go to Temple of Sisters and pray.’ Unfightable peshovar will kill you. But we offer leaping leaping you kill unfightable, yes?”
Kibi frowns at that. “Why are they unkillable?”
“Cannot move weapons.” A’aatra gestures and several nearby stone spheres rise and whirl through the air. “Usually we kill peshovar but these we cannot. Three of us dead.”
“I’m sorry,” says Ernie.
“So these are special peshovar?” asks Morningstar.
“They have been enchantabled.”
“How many are there?” asks Dranko.
“Not sure. At least two.”
“All right,” says Dranko. “We’ll spring your trap.”
A’aatra agitatedly waves her forelegs. “Should warn you. Trap may include me telling you this.”
It’s a possibility the Company cannot discount. The Evil Trio may have counted on A’aatra warning the party about the trap, and taken that into consideration somehow.
At Morningstar’s request, A’aatra shows them a blueprint of the Temple of Sisters. The stribe queen-speaker does this by magically rearranging the stone of the nearest wall, using some high-level variant of stone shape that molds the rock into a three-dimensional relief. The Temple is mostly a single chamber, tall and conical, with tunnels branching from it like spokes at a variety of heights. Next to the Temple she “draws” two figures, both Stribe, one a chalky white and the other a jet black. (Kibi marvels that her ability lets her alter the color of the stone.) The two are clearly Yavin and Wlaqua, the Sister Gods, depicted as belonging to the local race.
Next to them she draws a peshovar, and it looks like a detailed version of the one the party has seen next to the danger glyphs. It’s a large lizard with a long tail, thick legs, sharp teeth and claws, and a belly that drags on the ground.
“How do they fight?” asks Ernie.
“Bite. Smash. Gravity. Great strength updown.”
Morningstar considers scouting the Temple in dream. “When you sleep,” she asks A’aatra, “do you dream? And do you go places when you do?”
“Yes. Pictures in sleeping, but not go places.”
“There is a whole populated world in the dreams here,” says Morningstar.
“You are crazy people,” says A’aatra. “Crazy people dreaming pictures of people in great war. We take care of crazy people, sleeping pictures of wars.”
“They are traveling,” says Morningstar. “They’re not crazy.”
A’aatra waves her forelegs, but it’s understandably difficult to read her body language.
“Sleep now then?” says the stribe. “Tomorrow spring trap? We defend you very well in sleep.”
“Thank y…” begins Ernie, but something odd happens then. A small patch of fire appears in the air between him and A’aatra. It’s the size of an orange, and for five seconds it blazes away in midair, crackling softly and emanating heat. Then it vanishes.
A’aatra steps back. “Do not bring fire!”
“We thought it was you!” says Ernie.
“Truth! Truth of fire!”
Ernie swears up and down that they had nothing to do with the flame, and A’aatra is convinced.
“Maybe our red armored friends are scrying on us,” says Grey Wolf.
“They did loot something from a fire god’s tomb, didn’t they?” asks Flicker. “Maybe that’s one of its powers.”
“I bet that fire was something they left behind,” says Dranko. “Something that would trigger to let them know we’ve arrived.”
Morningstar cannot help but think of the Croaking Oracle’s prophecy. “One brings many, flame’s design…” But what does that mean?
It’s just one more mystery, piled with all the rest.
…to be continued…
