Down Time
In the close confines of the portable cottage Ashimar’s presence was palpable in the air. The memory of him was so strong that his three friends would frequently begin a sentence with “Hey, Ashimar, how about…” They would turn to face their friend as they spoke and instead see Jared. “Sorry, Jared, how about….”
Jared understood and would pass it off without comment or, at most an understanding noise. Ashimar had died only eight days ago and his friends had not stopped to attend the funeral; instead commending his body to the church with his armor and weapons and dividing the rest of his gear up amongst themselves as needed.
Briefly Jared wondered how Kestral felt about inheriting Ashimar’s magical gloves. Kestral had reminded the others that Ashimar had agreed to give them to her if he died; but she had asked for them almost diffidently, as if embarrassed that the untimely death had actually occurred.
Jared dispelled the thought as unworthy. Kestral was a loyal companion, if a bit too undisciplined, and had done nothing to warrant his musings. It was having to constantly measure up to his dead predecessor that was wearing. If it was just a measure of warrior skill or faith, Jared knew that he was the equal or superior of Ashimar. Friendship had to be earned though, and it was never matter of skill.
Jared took a deep breath and exhaled. His thoughts were too dark for their surroundings. It was the ever present darkness that brought them on. The magical lights of the hut provided a brief respite; but it was only temporary until it was time to break camp and move on. The nearest church was days away…
Jared stopped and pondered. “Kellron.” Spoke the priest. “I had a thought.”
The paladin, sitting across the table from the priest, looked up from his work of cleaning his armor. “What thought?”
Kestral and Tore were playing a game of cards on one of the bunk beds while Jallarzi was sitting on her own bunk with her spellbook in her lap, surrounded by the magical trinkets they had recovered over the last few days. All three looked towards the priest, interested in what he had to say. The corpse of Aerseleth, bundled up on the far bunk, was completely uninterested.
“Why don’t we build a shrine to Sarath? Right here in this cave. If I remember the map right we’re about half-way to this City of the Glass Pool. If we end up having to make a run back with freed prisoners it could be a safe spot.”
Kellron considered it. “Can you do that?”
Jared nodded. “I can perform the consecration and the hallowing. We just need to shape an altar, which I can also do, Sarath willing.” He looked over to Jallarzi. I’ll just need some supplies.”
Jallarzi considered, but only briefly. “A shopping trip would be nice, I just had another breakthrough and I need a few items myself.”* She conceded. “I’ll just need a list.”
Kestral spoke up. “Who all’s going?”
Kellron looked around. “I’m not ready to leave this place yet.” He looked over to Tore. “Why don’t you go? The rest of us can hold down the fort.” He didn’t say it out loud, but Tore’s recent near-death at the hands of the quaggoth had left him uncertain and perhaps a little guilty. There was nothing he could have done, but her blade-skill didn’t measure up to his or Jared’s skill; yet Tore unflinchingly followed his lead into every fight.
Kestral shrugged, just as glad not to be tagged with the trip. Usually she was the one who had to do the legwork to find buyers for their stuff. Of course getting to handle all the money was nice. She at least knew the value of every copper they spent or earned.
It didn’t take them long to come up with the basics of the shopping trip. Jared needed diamonds for his spells of restoration; they were running low after the encounter with Aerseleth’s restless spirit as well as the spirt of a young elven woman killed by the quaggoth. Additionally he was asking for what any normal person would quantify as an insane quantity of rare oils and incense. It was to tie a blade barrier to the shrine that would activate anytime a non-imperial citizen got too close.
When asked if they had the estimated seven thousand gold-lions to cover the cost, Kestral looked into her magic bag, snorted and started pulling out a small pile of gems.
“It’s covered.” She said. “That doesn’t include the coins or the jewelry, or that stuff over by Jallarzi.” Being rich was nice.
--
By Jared’s estimate it was the late hours of the evening when he heard the gentle, almost hesitant, knock at the door. The priest’s head swiveled to the door, a little stunned at the abnormally normal sound.
They kept a watch up because they all understood the dangers of this underground world, but the expectation was that any attack would be preceeded by a banging and tearing at the doors and windows. The polite knock was out of place.
Jared stood up and reached for his sword (about half the magical lights were still going for the benefit of whoever was on watch). A quick glance showed that his companions were still sleeping, though Kestral had shifted at the sound. Jared strode to the door, hesitated only a moment and opened it up. The light from the hut spilled out into the small cave beyond.
At first he didn’t see anyone; but Jared is a tall man, and so far the majority of the dangers they had faced had all been taller than him. He can be forgiven for not noticing their visitor right away.
“Ahem.” The voice was breathy and almost squeaky.
It was enough to draw Jared’s attention though and he looked down and started.
It…he was about halfling high and twice as skinny. The diffident little man was completely bald and his pallid gray skin that was smudged with grime and dirt as well as something that glistened unhealthily in the flickering magical lights of the hut. He was gaunt and what wasn’t covered by the handful of tattered rags seemed to be little more than skin-covered bones.
The creepiest feature of the little visitor was the almost bulbous looking features and the wide, staring, bright blue eyes. The worst feature was the smell. A faint breeze gave Jared enough evidence that the grime on the man wasn’t all dirt. Additionally there was a heavy, acid-like odor on the air.
Jared wrinkled his nose. “May I…” He paused, almost unwilling to say it. “May I help you?” He finally asked.
The little man blinked, perhaps for the first time since Jared opened the door. He stared at the priest for a moment and then seemed to remember himself. He held up a small, rusty cup that was clenched in his hand and thrusted it towards Jared. “Do you have any roper juice?” He asked. “I’m hungry.”
Jared pursed his lips. He then held up a finger. “Wait here just a moment.” He said as he stepped back and closed the door. Ravening beast men, ropers, ogres, and oozes were all easy to deal with. How to deal with a little, half-starved, crazy something-or-other was a little harder.
He walked over to the bunks. “Kellron. Jallarzi. Kestral. Tore. Wake up.” He shook them in turn and they all sat up, looking at him with bleary eyes. “Sorry.” He apologized. “We have a visitor. He’s asking for roper juice.”
That woke them up. “Do we have any?” Asked Kellron. He was pretty sure the answer was no, but sometimes people did strange things.
Jared shook head. “I don’t think so.”
Kestral swung her legs out of her bed and stood up in her shirt. Around her arms were the delicate leather and silver bracers they had recovered from the remains of the elven woman they had found near the quaggoth. “Lets go talk to him then.”
Kestral strode over to the door with Jared and Kellron in tow; the paladin grabbing his sword and shield on the way. Jallarzi refused to get too far out of bed yet and reached for one of her wands while Tore sat up and observed the proceedings with interest.
Kestral opened the door and started down at the curious little-man. There was something familiar about him, but hunger and grime so obviously deformed his features it was impossible to tell what he was.
“Hello there.” Said the courier, bending down to one knee. “Can we help you?”
The visitor thurst his pitted metal cup towards her. “Do you have any roper juice? It’s sweet and goes good on the white fungus.”
Kestral shook her head kindly. “I’m afraid not. Can we offer you some food instead.”
The little man nodded. “Anything but the orange, fuzzy fungus; it’s not ripe yet.” He looked to his left, though there was nothing there. “No roper juice today. Poor me. Poor us.” Kestral glanced back a Kellron who seemed pretty disgusted by their visitor.
Kellron shook his head but moved over to their pantry and started digging out some of their dried rations. He made a mental note to have Jallarzi get some fresh food on her trip tomorrow. He handed the little food bundles to Kestral who then handed them to their visitor.
“I’m Kestral.” She introduced herself.
The little, ragged beggar took the bundles and sniffed at them curiously, apparently not recognizing them as food. “I know.” He said. “It told me so.” The little man held out a grime crusted hand. “You can call me Vog.” His gaze started to drift. “Vog, vog, vog.” He sang. “My name is Vog. I remember, but my pet doesn’t.” He giggled and then reached out to pet the air to his left.
Paladin, priest, and courier froze at the door.
Jared recovered first. “Who told you her name?” He asked carefully, trying not to startle the little madman.
The bright blue eyes turned to look at him. “The song did. It’s always singing.” Vog spoke slowly as if to a silly child. His kindly demeanor changed to something that seemed almost conniving. “It tells me things. Secret things that only me and the song knows.” He cocked his head and looked off into the cave again. “Well, and my pet too, but it doesn’t sing. Not like me. Vog, vog, vog, vog vog.”
Kellron’s hand shifted on the hilt of his sword which he had very carefully picked back up. “Does the song tell you anything else?”
“Of course it does. It says you’re coming, but that you mustn’t.” Vog shook his head emphatically. “You must not come any further. Stay away.”
With that warning Vog gathered the food packages closer to himself and stepped back. He then spoke an arcane word and disappeared.
Jared moved past Kestral and into the cave. With the flat of his blade he probed the air where Vog had been standing; nothing. “That can’t be good. He turned to look at his friends. “Any idea what he was going on about?”
His companions shook their heads. “Huh. Let’s go inside.”
As Jared shut and locked the door, Kestral spoke up. “Does anyone else smell something burning?”
--
*This occurred after about a year of real-time in playing (and six months of game-time) and folks were just making 11th level after the quaggoth fight. Specifically, Jallarzi was a sorceror1/wizard10 and was finally starting to feel the bite of it. After some discussion, I allowed her to convert her sorceror level to a wizard level, so she gained her sixth level spells at the same time as Jared.
The in-game reasoning was that her sorceror skills had atrophied – she hadn’t been using them much anyway. I was a little sorry that she did so; but not at all surprised. If I had to do it again I would probably suggest the conversion to a bloodline feat from UA instead.
