Broccli_Head
Explorer
Lazybones said:
Ahhhhh....sneaky devotee...
She forgot to ask why she was fading. Oops!
Shackled City Epic: "Vengeance" (story concluded)
- Thread starter Lazybones
- Start date
Ahhhhh....sneaky devotee...
She forgot to ask why she was fading. Oops!
Lazybones
Adventurer
Broccli_Head said:
Actually, neither of them knows the origin of the disease. For those who haven't read the module, the illness was the Vanishing, contracted in Jzadirune. Many of the magic items (in this case, the scroll they found in the skulk treasure) are corrupted with this illness, which does 1d6 CHA damage per failed save, making the victim increasingly transparent until they ultimately fade away.
* * * * *
Chapter 47
Lines of morning sunlight streamed into the common room of the Drunken Morkoth, indicating a welcome break in the weather. The sprawling chamber with its dozens of tables was mostly empty at this hour, with a few local tradespeople taking their breakfast in liquid form at the bar, and a sprinkling of others enjoying a late breakfast. It was quiet, subdued, with little of the noise that characterized the place in the evenings.
Zenna sat alone in a quiet corner near a window, eating a bowl of hot oatmeal sprinkled liberally with brown sugar. There was a book open on the table beside her bowl, but she wasn’t really reading it, her thoughts instead wandering over a variety of roads.
She liked these quiet mornings, where she could have time to think and read without the close air and isolation of her room. Since recovering from her illness she found that she preferred to be around people, even if she didn’t interact with them directly. Somehow it was reassuring to have that connection with others, that background noise of the city and its inhabitants.
She finished the last of her morning meal and leaned back in her chair, letting out a deep breath. She felt better, had fully recovered from her ordeal, but while she’d enjoyed this quiet time the period of idleness was starting to grate on her. She admitted that despite having spent nearly two tendays in Cauldron that she still did not know the city well. Fortunately she had Mole, who no doubt by now knew most of the back alleys and interesting hidey holes of the city, and probably a good share of its inhabitants as well. Mole had been great about giving her the space that she needed to confront her personal legacies of Jzadirune and the Malachite Fortress, but now it was time to move on to the next challenge. Perhaps tonight, over dinner, they could talk about the subject that they’d danced around until now. What next?
Zenna sipped at her coffee. For a long time she’d been running away from something. She absently felt at her tunic, at the hard lump pinned to its interior. Uncomfortable at first, now the pin seemed a part of her, almost forgotten. Almost.
But Cauldron was half a world away from where she’d started, both in a literal and a figurative sense. Could she find a place for herself here? Would this be more than a temporary waystation in her wanderings? Mole hadn’t revealed her views on the subject. The gnome was possessed of an insatiable curiosity, and while she seemed to enjoy the city, Zenna didn’t know if that suggested that she might want to stay.
Another thing for them to talk about, it seemed.
Zenna’s hand dropped to the pocket of her cloak, to the symbol she still carried with her. She hadn’t gone back to speak to Esbar, although the mage-priest— “devotee,” as he called himself—had sent her a book, a study on the philosophy of magic by the notable eastern mage Nes Tarlok. It had been an interesting read, and it opened new questions for her to ponder.
“Good morning,” a voice said, startling her out of her thoughts. She looked up to see an elf standing over her.
He was clearly a moon elf, the most common variety of his race in Faerûn, at least that one would see in a civilized town. He was perhaps an inch or two shorter than Zenna, which made him fairly tall for his kind. His silken brown hair flowed down over his shoulders, tamed only by a thin leather band about his brow. He looked young, which meant that he was probably thrice her age, she thought. His eyes were deep and dark, the color of almonds, framed by brows that slanted just slightly beyond what you’d expect from a human. Those eyes caught her up, so much so that she swallowed her initial question, and that she didn’t immediately notice the other details about him.
“I am sorry,” he said. “I did not mean to interrupt your privacy. But I had wished to see you again, to make sure that you were well.” He smiled, faintly, as if a secret had suddenly occurred to him that no one else but her shared.
Zenna frowned. While his features were unfamiliar, there was something in the elf’s voice that was familiar, triggering a memory that she couldn’t quite bring into focus. She belatedly noticed that he was clad in simple traveling clothes colored in a mix of greens and browns, with a chain shirt over his tunic and a trailing waterproof cloak over it all. A sword was belted at his hip, and she could tell by the way he carried himself that he knew how to use it.
Suddenly she realized that he was just standing there, waiting for her to reply. “I’m sorry,” she said. “Have we met?”
He nodded, as if her answer was not unexpected. “I thought that you might not remember,” he said. “You were quite ill, at the time.”
Something flashed in her mind as a connection fell into place. “You were the one,” she said. “The one who brought me to Esbar.”
The elf nodded. “Dannel Ardan, at your service.” He bowed slightly in the elven manner, a clipped, curt gesture of respect.
“Zenna.”
She gestured for him to sit—it was the least she could do—and waited until he had done so before continuing. “I have not seen a great number of the Fair Folk here in Cauldron,” she said. “Are you from the Forest of Mir?”
“A bit further afield, actually,” he said, but did not elaborate. Zenna, who had secrets of her own, did not press him, instead asking, “So, what brings you to Cauldron?”
“A bit of business,” he said, “and visiting some old friends. Esbar Tolerathkas, for one.”
“Fortunate for me,” she said. “And fortuitous that you encountered me when you did.”
“Indeed.”
“Coffee?”
“No, no thank you.”
He stared at her for a long moment, enough so that Zenna dropped her eyes, uncomfortable under that heavy gaze. The conversation didn’t seem to be going anywhere, with the elf as reluctant as she to share any information about himself. She was trying to think of a way to politely extricate herself when a familiar voice piped, “Hey Zenna! Who’s your friend?”
Zenna and the elf both turned to see Mole, who as always had crept up on them unawares. If Dannel was surprised by the sudden appearance, however, he gave no sign of it. “This is Dannel Ardan,” she said by way of introduction. “Dannel, this is Mole, my traveling companion.”
Mole beamed and offered her slight hand, which the elf shook briefly.
“Pleased to meet you,” the gnome said, as she leapt sprightly up into the remaining vacant chair. The table and chairs were built for people of larger size, so once she had sat down, all that Zenna could see of her was the upper half of her head. “You’re a moon elf, right? Are you from the Western Heartlands, by any chance? I once knew this elf, he was an arcane archer, from Evereska. Never been there myself, but it sounds like a fascinating place, an entire elven city!”
Mole continued speaking, with Dannel managing to get the odd word in edgewise, but Zenna barely heard them. Suddenly she’d felt a surge of unease creep over her, a vague but powerful sensation that felt akin to nausea but penetrated deeper into her consciousness. Dannel and Mole seemed oblivious to it, whatever she was feeling, and as she looked around the common room she saw the other Cauldronites going about their business as well. Zenna tried to shake off the feeling, but every scrap of instinct that she possessed was warning her that something was terribly, dramatically... wrong.
What was going on?
She was jolted from her reverie as Dannel, in response to something that Mole had asked, drew an object out from under his cloak. It was a silver flute, in two foot-long segments that the elf fitted together into a single seamless whole. The elf raised the instrument to his lips, and a melody lifted from the device, notes of music that seemed to hang in the air and enfold the three of them in their grasp. The tune was soft, lilting, like water cascading over stones. The music of the flute banished the anxiety Zenna had felt, replacing it with a sense of calm. Dannel’s eyes were closed as he played on, and Zenna realized that everyone else in the common room had grown quiet as well, listening to the elf’s performance.
And then he was done. Mole clapped, as did most of the others in the other part of the room. Dannel took the flute apart and replaced it in its sheath, looking at Zenna with a quiet intensity in his eyes.
“Hey, that was really good!” Mole said. “Could you teach it to me, sometime? I mean, it wouldn’t be as good whistled, rather than played on the flute, of course, but I really liked the melody.”
Dannel’s intent gaze hadn’t shifted, and once more Zenna wondered just who this elf was. Why did he act as though he knew her?
“Hey, Zenna, isn’t that one of the clerics of Helm?”
Zenna looked up to where Mole was pointing, noting that Dannel had shifted as well, something flashing in his eyes for an instant before his veneer of self-control returned. The young woman who had just entered the Morkoth did look familiar, and her suspicion was confirmed a few moments later as the woman scanned the room, and headed immediately for their table once she had caught sight of them. She was distressed, clearly, and in fact looked to be on the brink of tears as she rushed, breathless, to their table.
“What’s the matter, Illeywn?” Mole asked. Zenna nodded to herself; she’d forgotten the woman’s name, but of course Mole would have remembered, as she was more interested in people in general.
“Jenya sent me to find you,” the woman said, gasping a little to catch her breath. “She wants you to come to the Temple of Helm, immediately!” She shot a quick glance at Dannel, and frowned slightly.
“What is it, this time?” Zenna asked, perhaps a tad more dryly than was needed. The fact was, she was still a bit off guard due to the appearance and manner of the elf, and the strange feeling she’d felt before. Was Jenya’s summons somehow related?
The cleric looked at Dannel again, but the elf’s expression did not change from a neutral detachment. “Something has happened... it’s Sarcem, he’s in trouble. Please... I have two horses outside, I can bring you there in a few minutes, Jenya specifically asked for the two of you...”
Zenna was curious, but also wary; the last time that they had agreed to help the Church of Helm had ended in disaster in the dark chambers of the Malachite Fortress. She felt a sudden pang at the memory, a feeling amplified by the reminder offered by the familiar symbol that Illewyn wore around her neck. The same symbol Ruphos had worn...
“Sarcem—the High Priest?” Mole asked. “Of course, we’ll go with you.” She stood on her human-sized chair before dropping lightly to the ground. “There’s just a thing or two I want to get from my room, first... I’ll be back in a jiffy!” Before any of them could offer a comment, the gnome was gone, darting out among the tables and chairs in the center of the room.
Zenna stood, and Dannel moved smoothly to match her motion. “Perhaps I might accompany you as well?” he asked. “While I do not know Sarcem Delasharn personally, I have heard a great deal of praiseful speech about him even in my brief time in Cauldron.”
Illewyn looked a bit flustered, uncertain how to reply, but Zenna stepped in. “I am sure that if Jenya needed more help, she would know to ask for it,” she said. “I’m certain that you understand.” She remembered what Esbar had said, about her benefactor having some “issues” with the church of Helm, and she was still somewhat suspicious of the elf’s motives.
But if the elf was put off by her refusal, he didn’t show it. “Of course,” he said. “I will take my leave of you, then. Extend my best wishes to the curate,” he said, with a slight bow at Illewyn, “and express my hopes to your friend,” returning his gaze to Zenna, “that perhaps I shall have occasion to teach her my song at a later date.”
“I will,” Zenna said. “And thank you again,” she added, as he turned to go. Dannel nodded, smiled that odd smile of his, and departed. Zenna watched him go, then turned to Illewyn.
“Well, I guess we’d better get going then. If I know Mole, she’s probably already waiting for us at the horses.”
Lazybones
Adventurer
Chapter 48
The Temple of Helm was as she remembered it, all hard edges and quiet dignity, with a certain majesty in the cavernous interior of its holy sanctum. But she also immediately sensed the tension in the air as soon as they had arrived. An acolyte had greeted them and took their horses to the stable in the courtyard beside the church, worry clear in her features. It was written as well on the faces of the other underclerics that they saw as Illewyn ushed them into not into the small structure that served as quarters and offices for the temple priests, but rather into the main church building itself.
That structure was mostly comprised of a single large hall of worship, with twin rows of wooden pews that could seat perhaps a hundred worshippers. Thick wooden beams supported the roof that rose to a peak some twenty feet above. Jenya Urikas was standing by the altar, and as she turned to greet them, Zenna could see the worry and concern she’d seen earlier reflected tenfold in the face of the woman who led the church of Helm in Cauldron in the absence of Sarcem Delasharn.
“Thank you for coming,” Jenya said, coming forward to greet them with an earnest clasp of their hands. Jenya was a slight, compact woman, nearly a half a foot shorter than Zenna, and at the moment she looked older than her thirty-one years. Her long brown hair, typically done up in a stylish design, now hung about her shoulders in disarray.
“What’s happened?” Mole asked.
“It’s Sarcem,” she said, forgetting about honorifics and titles in her agitation. “Not even an hour ago, as I was conducting the morning devotions, I received a sending from him.” Without waiting for a response from them, she dug into the small pouch at her belt and thrust a scrap of paper at them. Zenna scanned it quickly, then handed it to Mole.
At Lucky Monkey. Have eight wands. Tavern’s been attacked. Bandits led by barbaric apeman. Mortally wounded. Retreated to basement. They know we’re here. Send assistance!
Sarcem? Is that you? hang on! Conserve your resources. I’ll send out aid immediately. Send me another message when you can. But until then have...
“The second line is my reply,” Jenya explained. “I didn’t have time to think it out clearly, I wanted to tell him to ‘have faith.’” She nervously chewed on a fingernail. It unnerved Zenna slightly, to see the normally cool and collected woman so distraught.
“The Lucky Monkey?” Mole asked.
“It’s a wayside inn about a day’s travel from here, along the north road, on the outskirts of the Forest of Mir.”
“We came from the north, though we stayed to the foothills, rather than the forest,” Mole said. She glanced down at the message again. “Apeman... that doesn’t sound too good...”
“What are these wands he speaks of?” Zenna asked.
“Wands of control water,” Jenya replied. “For years now, they have been an essential element in Cauldron’s survival.” She seemed to take some strength from finally doing something, even if it was just relating a story, and her voice grew stronger as she continued. “As you know, the depths of the volcano are filled with a great lake, one that penetrates far down into the interior of the mountain. There are natural drains down there in the depths, but during the rainy season, or ‘flood season,’ as we call it, the caldera collects more water than the lake can drain. This results in potentially dangerous floods that can devastate the lower levels of the city, if not properly handled.”
“The churches of Cauldron responded to the danger by undertaking the creation of wands of control water. With the aid of these devices, the priests of the city have been able to keep the floodwaters at bay, protecting the city. But in recent years, the rains have been mild, and the churches, distracted by other matters, have turned from their responsibilities. Only Sarcem remained vigilant in calling for more preparation... but he alone could not manufacture all of the wands needed. As the rainy season approached in recent months, he decided to set out for Almraiven, to purchase more wands there. He’s been gone nearly a month now, and I had no reason to worry... until now!”
“Please—I ask you, to help us once more. I was going to go myself, but... I know Sarcem would never forgive me if I abandoned my responsibility, left the church and the city without protection. My clergy is small, with young priests, few of whom are warriors. I have sent Morgan to rally the Guard, but getting even a squad released for action so far from the city will take time, and persuasion.” She frowned, her displeasure at the reality of urban politics clear. “It will take an entire day’s hard ride to reach the Monkey, if the weather holds. I fear that if I wait for the Guard, help will not reach Sarcem until tomorrow... which may be too late for him.
“So you want us, just the two of us, to ride up there and see what’s what?” Zenna asked, not bothering to hide her incredulity.
“I... I know it’s a great deal to ask. But...” she lowered her head, “I don’t know who else to ask.”
“Hey, I think I know where I can find Arun,” Mole said. “He’ll go with us, I’m sure of it.”
“If you could just go, see if Sarcem still... if he’s all right,” Jenya said. “If the bandits and this ‘apeman’ are still there, wait for Morgan and the Guards to arrive. I do not ask you to throw away your lives...”
That’s almost the same as what she told us last time, Zenna thought. That’s not how it worked out, though. She didn’t say anything, however.
“C’mon, Zenna,” Mole said, reading the look on her friend’s face. “We can help, we can’t just let these bandits get away with it.”
“All right,” Zenna said, after a moment.
“Great!” Mole said, clearly excited by the prospect of another adventure, even one as dangerous as this one promised to be. “I’ll go see if I can find Arun, and meet you at the north gate!” She shot off like a crossbow bolt down the aisle, gone within moments.
Illewyn stepped forward. The cleric had stood there in the background during the whole exchange, but her face wore a mask of determination now. “Let me go with them, Jenya,” she said. “They will need a cleric, particularly if Sarcem is seriously injured.”
Jenya shook her head. “You are not a warrior, sister,” she began, but seeing the resolve in the other woman’s face, relented a moment later with a nod. “Very well. But remember, if danger still lurks at the Monkey, wait for Morgan...”
Illewyn nodded, a mix of excitement and fear flashing in her eyes. “I will gather my arms and armor,” she said, before taking her leave.
“Come, I will have Malakar prepare fresh mounts for you. It’s a long ride, but the road is clearly marked all the way down to the plains. And I will give you another cache of healing potions... in case.”
Zenna nodded absently. “If you have an extra light crossbow, I could use one,” she said. “I left mine at the Morkoth.”
“We will see you fully equipped and on the road within the hour,” Jenya said. Even as they stepped out of the church and into the courtyard, the cleric was already shouting orders, directing her underpriests to begin preparations. Those preparations went quickly, with a scurry of activity surrounding Zenna as the young priests brought her a bow and case of bolts, a small padded satchel containing bandages, salves, and four precious healing potions, and saddlebags full of supplies. Zenna watched distractedly, her thoughts already going out to the long road and hard ride ahead, and alternately back to that strange feeling of dread she’d experienced earlier, in the inn.
She strongly doubted that the two were unconnected.
The Temple of Helm was as she remembered it, all hard edges and quiet dignity, with a certain majesty in the cavernous interior of its holy sanctum. But she also immediately sensed the tension in the air as soon as they had arrived. An acolyte had greeted them and took their horses to the stable in the courtyard beside the church, worry clear in her features. It was written as well on the faces of the other underclerics that they saw as Illewyn ushed them into not into the small structure that served as quarters and offices for the temple priests, but rather into the main church building itself.
That structure was mostly comprised of a single large hall of worship, with twin rows of wooden pews that could seat perhaps a hundred worshippers. Thick wooden beams supported the roof that rose to a peak some twenty feet above. Jenya Urikas was standing by the altar, and as she turned to greet them, Zenna could see the worry and concern she’d seen earlier reflected tenfold in the face of the woman who led the church of Helm in Cauldron in the absence of Sarcem Delasharn.
“Thank you for coming,” Jenya said, coming forward to greet them with an earnest clasp of their hands. Jenya was a slight, compact woman, nearly a half a foot shorter than Zenna, and at the moment she looked older than her thirty-one years. Her long brown hair, typically done up in a stylish design, now hung about her shoulders in disarray.
“What’s happened?” Mole asked.
“It’s Sarcem,” she said, forgetting about honorifics and titles in her agitation. “Not even an hour ago, as I was conducting the morning devotions, I received a sending from him.” Without waiting for a response from them, she dug into the small pouch at her belt and thrust a scrap of paper at them. Zenna scanned it quickly, then handed it to Mole.
At Lucky Monkey. Have eight wands. Tavern’s been attacked. Bandits led by barbaric apeman. Mortally wounded. Retreated to basement. They know we’re here. Send assistance!
Sarcem? Is that you? hang on! Conserve your resources. I’ll send out aid immediately. Send me another message when you can. But until then have...
“The second line is my reply,” Jenya explained. “I didn’t have time to think it out clearly, I wanted to tell him to ‘have faith.’” She nervously chewed on a fingernail. It unnerved Zenna slightly, to see the normally cool and collected woman so distraught.
“The Lucky Monkey?” Mole asked.
“It’s a wayside inn about a day’s travel from here, along the north road, on the outskirts of the Forest of Mir.”
“We came from the north, though we stayed to the foothills, rather than the forest,” Mole said. She glanced down at the message again. “Apeman... that doesn’t sound too good...”
“What are these wands he speaks of?” Zenna asked.
“Wands of control water,” Jenya replied. “For years now, they have been an essential element in Cauldron’s survival.” She seemed to take some strength from finally doing something, even if it was just relating a story, and her voice grew stronger as she continued. “As you know, the depths of the volcano are filled with a great lake, one that penetrates far down into the interior of the mountain. There are natural drains down there in the depths, but during the rainy season, or ‘flood season,’ as we call it, the caldera collects more water than the lake can drain. This results in potentially dangerous floods that can devastate the lower levels of the city, if not properly handled.”
“The churches of Cauldron responded to the danger by undertaking the creation of wands of control water. With the aid of these devices, the priests of the city have been able to keep the floodwaters at bay, protecting the city. But in recent years, the rains have been mild, and the churches, distracted by other matters, have turned from their responsibilities. Only Sarcem remained vigilant in calling for more preparation... but he alone could not manufacture all of the wands needed. As the rainy season approached in recent months, he decided to set out for Almraiven, to purchase more wands there. He’s been gone nearly a month now, and I had no reason to worry... until now!”
“Please—I ask you, to help us once more. I was going to go myself, but... I know Sarcem would never forgive me if I abandoned my responsibility, left the church and the city without protection. My clergy is small, with young priests, few of whom are warriors. I have sent Morgan to rally the Guard, but getting even a squad released for action so far from the city will take time, and persuasion.” She frowned, her displeasure at the reality of urban politics clear. “It will take an entire day’s hard ride to reach the Monkey, if the weather holds. I fear that if I wait for the Guard, help will not reach Sarcem until tomorrow... which may be too late for him.
“So you want us, just the two of us, to ride up there and see what’s what?” Zenna asked, not bothering to hide her incredulity.
“I... I know it’s a great deal to ask. But...” she lowered her head, “I don’t know who else to ask.”
“Hey, I think I know where I can find Arun,” Mole said. “He’ll go with us, I’m sure of it.”
“If you could just go, see if Sarcem still... if he’s all right,” Jenya said. “If the bandits and this ‘apeman’ are still there, wait for Morgan and the Guards to arrive. I do not ask you to throw away your lives...”
That’s almost the same as what she told us last time, Zenna thought. That’s not how it worked out, though. She didn’t say anything, however.
“C’mon, Zenna,” Mole said, reading the look on her friend’s face. “We can help, we can’t just let these bandits get away with it.”
“All right,” Zenna said, after a moment.
“Great!” Mole said, clearly excited by the prospect of another adventure, even one as dangerous as this one promised to be. “I’ll go see if I can find Arun, and meet you at the north gate!” She shot off like a crossbow bolt down the aisle, gone within moments.
Illewyn stepped forward. The cleric had stood there in the background during the whole exchange, but her face wore a mask of determination now. “Let me go with them, Jenya,” she said. “They will need a cleric, particularly if Sarcem is seriously injured.”
Jenya shook her head. “You are not a warrior, sister,” she began, but seeing the resolve in the other woman’s face, relented a moment later with a nod. “Very well. But remember, if danger still lurks at the Monkey, wait for Morgan...”
Illewyn nodded, a mix of excitement and fear flashing in her eyes. “I will gather my arms and armor,” she said, before taking her leave.
“Come, I will have Malakar prepare fresh mounts for you. It’s a long ride, but the road is clearly marked all the way down to the plains. And I will give you another cache of healing potions... in case.”
Zenna nodded absently. “If you have an extra light crossbow, I could use one,” she said. “I left mine at the Morkoth.”
“We will see you fully equipped and on the road within the hour,” Jenya said. Even as they stepped out of the church and into the courtyard, the cleric was already shouting orders, directing her underpriests to begin preparations. Those preparations went quickly, with a scurry of activity surrounding Zenna as the young priests brought her a bow and case of bolts, a small padded satchel containing bandages, salves, and four precious healing potions, and saddlebags full of supplies. Zenna watched distractedly, her thoughts already going out to the long road and hard ride ahead, and alternately back to that strange feeling of dread she’d experienced earlier, in the inn.
She strongly doubted that the two were unconnected.
Lazybones
Adventurer
Heh, they didn't name me "The Cliffhanger King" in my Travels through the Wild West thread for nothing...
And thanks for helping to keep the thread alive, Mojo Jojo! Looks like it's just you and me, at the moment *looks around, trying to see where all the other readers went*
Another post tomorrow!
And thanks for helping to keep the thread alive, Mojo Jojo! Looks like it's just you and me, at the moment *looks around, trying to see where all the other readers went*
Another post tomorrow!
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