D&D 5E Tap Tap Tap

[BoldItalic]

They waited, anxiously scanning the horizon in case any more demons arrived. The rose bush remained a rose bush. If anything, it seemed to be taking root more firmly. Rylnethaz began to think they would have to leave it there and sang a wistful elvish song about rose trees in the autumn mists, as a kind of farewell. He sang in a fine tenor voice and, somewhat to his surprise, Clotbert joined in with the baritone part and sang fluently, with not a trace of stammer.

"You have a fine voice, archpriest, were you trained as a temple chorister?"

"B-Before I h-heard the c-call, I was g-going to b-be a m-minstrel l-like m-my g-grandfather. H-He t-taught m-me t-to s-sing."

"Can you sing the words of a spell? Not actually trying to cast it, just singing the words?"

So Clotbert thought about it, and sang the words of the ♫Light♫ cantrip to a little tune that suited the rhythm of the syllables. Almost without thinking, out of habit as it were, he made the hand gestures that went with it. A pale golden light sprang from his fingertips. The two looked at each other as realisation dawned. Clotbert could weave his divine magic after all. He just had to sing the incantations, instead of trying to recite them.

"Can you do anything about our friend here? We could dig him up and take him with us, but he might be rather heavy. Not to mention thorny."

"♩♩ If I only had some diamond dust, ..."

"My crown is encrusted with powdered diamonds. We could scrape some off? Would that do?"

"♫We can but try, tra-la"

So they did. The rose bush turned back into an elderly wizard, buried up to his knees in the muddy soil.

"Thank you," said BoldItalic, as they helped to haul him out. "I wasn't enjoying being a bush very much. There was something hard under my roots and it tasted of metal. Not very pleasant." He looked down at his roots feet, as if wondering what they were for.

"♬Something buried under the ground here?"

BoldItalic waved his leaves nodded. "Yes. I think we should dig it up."

So they did. It took some time because it was quite large. It turned out to be a kind of circular metal hatch buried under the ground. It had a large ring in the middle, obviously put there for lifting it open. So they opened it. Underneath was a short circular shaft with rungs down one side for climbing. At the bottom was a circular tunnel, lined with steel. It ran northwards, straight as an arrow, as far as the eye could see.

They went cautiously north along the tunnel.

 

[Rylnethaz]

“So any new thoughts on the demonic machinery?” Rylnethaz asked BoldItalic.

“D-d-Do y-you s-s-still think its wro-wrong to destroy it?”

“My theory on the engines had just began to take roots. However it has only now bloomed and its fruits are ready to be plucked. You see…”

“To take roots? Bloomed? Fruits ready to be plucked?”

“I am sorry but my short time as a plant seems to have made quite an impression on me. Poor choice of words indeed. However it does not change the fact that I have reached a conclusion. It had just been slightly perverted by this place. The engines are not used as a conduit to siphon chaos away from our world, alas this simply cannot be done in any way. What they do is a fast and sure transfer of the chaos created by demons and their actions in our world back here to be transformed into demonic energies faster and in a more complete way than ever before.”

“Like a bellows blowing air through a tube, fuelling the blacksmiths fire!”

“Exactly! They use all the trouble and mayhem they cause in our world to get more powerful here and faster too!”

“♫ Then off the engine goes tonight ♫
♫ By heroes great and true ♫
♫ Will no more fuel demonic might ♫
♫ After this night is gone and through. ♫”

“If the part-time plant and the part-time minstrel agree then the part-time king will agree too,” said Rylnethaz with a smile, “let’s send these filth back to the maelstrom that spawned them."

 

[BoldItalic]

The tunnel ran a long way north and, in some indefinable way, upwards except that if there are two kinds of 'up', this would be the other one - the opposite of sideways. Rylnethaz mentioned this and BoldItalic agreed. "I went to a talk, once, at the Sages Guild, where the speaker tried to convince us that there were really eleven dimensions, not ten. He called the extra one "strange". It didn't make a lot of sense but I do remember the cheese sandwiches were especially good. You can tell if a theory is right by the quality of the sandwiches."

"Do you have to be mad, to be a sage?"

"No, but it helps. On another occasion there was a talk by a different sage who declared that the world was a ball of coloured wool and we were all made of knots in the threads. There was something about the wool twanging but that sounded rather unlikely. Wool doesn't twang, it just fluffs. Anyway, it was meat-paste sandwiches that evening, so of course his theory was no good. A few sharp questions and he unravelled."

"There seems to be something up ahead," remarked Rylnethaz, adriotly changing the subject. And so there was, for the tunnel ended at a circular bronze door, quite plain except for a handle set in the middle. A humming noise filled the air, seeming to come from behind the door. They opened the door and went through.

They found themselves in a great cavern. The vaulted roof was far above, and the walls were out of sight in a mist that filled the cavern. The humming noise seemed to be coming from a row of huge grey things the size of whales, except they weren't whales. It wasn't obvious what they were, but they definitely weren't aquatic mammals. Here and there, gnomes in sunshine-yellow overalls and white helmets were busying about doing incomprehensible things, peering into crystal windows and pushing levers, or polishing brassy columns with greasy rags.

"I have the strange sense that we have been here before," said Rylnethaz slowly. "Except, we were up in the gallery then, wondering how to get down."

"Well, those are the machines we have to deal with. What should we do about the gnomes?"

Clotbert pointed out a trumpet hanging from a stanchion nearby, under a big red sign that read In case of emanation, blow horn. Do not attempt to deal with it yourself. Penalty for improper use - 5 years in the Abyss. "♬Suppose we blow the horn?" he suggested.

"Good idea," agreed Rylnethaz. "You're the minstrel, go ahead."

So Clotbert blew the emergency horn and all the gnomes fled through little hatches without even looking round to see who was sounding the alarm, or what the emergency was. They were very well trained. The Safety Officer (Gnome) would have been proud of them, if he had been there (he was away, attending an important meeting about the draft protocol for the safety issues raised by attending meetings). Of course, the gnomes couldn't go back to work until the Safety Officer gave them the 'All Clear', and he wasn't there so they relaxed and started playing gnomeball in the recreation room.

"Right. Now to work," declared Rylnethaz firmly. "Do you still have that pesky talking sword, BoldItalic?"

As if in answer, BoldItalic produced the long, thin bundle wrapped in what had once been a perfectly serviceable cloak, and began to untie the complicated knots that bound it. A torrent of words came from within.

"We can do a deal!" shouted the sword. "I know how these machines work!"

 

[BoldItalic]

"And I know how talking swords work," replied Rylnethaz laconically. "Clotbert, be ready to use the scroll of recall, the instant we wreck the machines. There could be a sudden implosion and we don't want to get sucked into it. But don't trigger it until I say."

"♫ Ready are we!"

"We need to de-laminate the ingesture pump manifold," said BoldItalic.

"Pardon?"

"Jam the sword hard into that red box over there."

"Oh. Like this?"

There was a grinding noise and the sword screamed as it met whirling adamite blades, was sucked in and reduced to shards. The ghost of an elderly sage rose out of the havoc, shook its fist at Rylnethaz, then faded and was gone. The sword was no more. Acrid smoke began poring out of the wreckage of the red box and, all around them, the grey machines began to judder. Their humming rose in pitch, first one octave, then another and the chorus of their tones grew increasingly discordant. Alarm bells started to ring high above in the roof of the chamber.

"Is that it?"

"Not yet. Help me lock down this safety valve," said BoldItalic, climbing onto the top of a brass dome. "Could you pass me that quenching tool, please?"

Rylnethaz dutifully passed him the indicated implement, which looked like a big metal thinggy*. After a few turns of the improvised wrench, the valve was closed. The high-pitched humming became even more high-pitched until within moments it was no longer even audible and turned into a funny feeling in the teeth. Far out at sea, dolphins began to swim in circles, eyeing each other suspiciously.

BoldItalic struck his staff on the floor thrice and cast a spell of opening on an overhead inspection hatch. It burst open releasing a plume of foul vapour that sprayed upwards and seemed filled with the writhing shapes of demonic horrors that gradually dissipated and were gone.

"Is that it?"

"Soon."

The grey machines began to glow. The floor under the machines began to glow, became red-hot and started to melt. It turned into molten lava and the machines gradually sank into it and dissolved, releasing huge bubbles of rainbow-coloured gas as they vanished beneath the surface. There was a sudden silence, and the dolphins swam off to annoy some nearby herrings.

"Now?"

"Now."

Clotbert sang the words on the scroll and the scene changed to the shrine of Myrristra in Castle Rylnethaz. The purple hangings were missing, though. Fingers had sold them to a curtain-maker in Overbridge.

---

* It was a 4¾ inch Grave-Partington with a reticulating pivot. The Mk IV with the castellated end, not the Mk V with the gnurled fibrilating ratchet. Satisfied?

 

[Rylnethaz]

Fingers was having his customary casual stroll around the castle. Using of course a loose definition of casual, really, really loose definition. Four of the castle servants were carrying him on a raised, overstuffed with pillows palanquin. A fifth servant, a cute maid actually, was carrying a basket full of fruit and a sixth one behind the procession was waving a fan. Of course Fingers had put on one of his silk togas. Today it was the one with the green trimming.

“Faster servants, Our Coronal, Lord Rylnethaz, would not want you to delay his Grand Steward from his detailed castle inspection. Give me some more fruit honey. And that watermelon looks delicious too. I'll have it next.”

They were just passing in front of the chapel of Myrristra. Fingers had sold the heavy purple hangings for a large barrel of elven wine to a merchant from Overbridge. It was totally worth it. Plus, the chapel looked brighter now without those depressing hangings. Then it happened. A slight ripple in the air, a ripple that suddenly spread in the whole chapel. There in the middle of the chapel three familiar figures were standing looking at him, eyes dumbfounded. There they were, Clotbert, BoldItalic and staring directly at Fingers, Rylnethaz. They were all covered in mud, blood and dust.

Clotbert was the first to talk, looking around, “My hangings, and my drapes too! Oh, I can talk again without having to sing, oh! But my hangings, where are they, and the drapes?”

BoldItalic pointed at Fingers and asked, “What kind of parody is this?”

The ‘Inspection troupe’ was frozen in place as Rylnethaz took a few steps closer.

Fingers almost hiding behind a pillow waved his hand a little, “Err, hello Rylnethaz. Welcome? Aren’t you going to say anything? Happy to see your friend Fingers? I was just thoroughly inspecting the place for you.”

Without any expression on his face Rylnethaz stood by the side of the palanquin. He looked at the two servants holding the handles on his side of the palanquin and said, “Both of you unhand the palanquin at once.”

Of course the palanquin leaned sideways, dropping Fingers unceremoniously on the floor. Then Rylnethaz took one half of a watermelon from the fruit basket and shoved it on Fingers’ head. Watermelon juice was running all over Fingers. “I see you have decided to live it up a little. This is a gift then. This hat looks lovely on you and what is more, it matches the colour on the trimming of your toga too.”

“But Rylnethaz I…”

“Finish the rest of the inspection on foot please, we will be needing the servants. But no need for you to change outfit. I would not want to cause you any inconvenience, please continue your work. The whole tour please, you know how I value your high professional standards. Leave no room without a detailed inspection, in fact, have a look at the courtyard too while you are at it. The rest of you, help me and my companions to undress and prepare us a bath. We have debriefing and lunch in three hours. Enough fun and games, we have to plan ahead. You are a new maid aren't you? She is cute, good choice Fingers. All right cutie, you are coming with me.”

Everyone started to do as instructed. BoldItalic stood for a while over Fingers shaking his head from left to right, rolling his eyes. Then everyone left, leaving Fingers still sitting on the floor, with a watermelon for hat.

 

[BoldItalic]

BoldItalic relaxed, closed his eyes and let the warmth of the bath sink into his tired old limbs. He let his mind go blank and was hovering on the threshold of sleep, at that point where mundane cares fade, the mind is lucid and the answers to half-forgotten problems suddenly present themselves. The inscription on the elvish vase made sense now. He understood why the hawk had smashed the mirror. Why it rained in the Abyss. Why the gnomes in the machinery cavern all wore yellow. It was all part of a pattern.

He sat up suddenly, sloshing water over the side of the bath. The pattern wasn't complete. A servant brought him a towel, he dried himself quickly and dressed in fresh linen, whilst thinking furiously. He had to talk to the others. He went down to the Shrine of Myrristra in search of Clotbert, but Clotbert wasn't there. His eye fell on the statue of the goddess, now lit by a shaft of sunlight streaming through one of the high castle windows. The statue seemed to be gazing steadily back at him. Then the eyes of the statue turned as black as jet and the goddess spake unto BoldItalic: It is not yet over. A greater task yet remains.

BoldItalic fled.

 

[BoldItalic]

The new maid, whose name was Rosebud, was a butcher's daughter from Overbridge. That very same butcher, indeed, as he to whom Fingers had sold the meat of the land-lobster when the king and his party had first entered the town. This was not entirely a coincidence - as part of a complex negotiation, Fingers had subsequently agreed to find out-of-town employment for the girl, who was a flighty wench and involved with a quite unsuitable young rat catcher's assistant from the lower part of town, in exchange for discounted prices on meat supplies to the castle. The butcher believed that if she were away from Overbridge and distracted by the spendour of a king's household, she would soon forget her involvement with her rat boy and, possibly, form an attachment to a better class of person. He was right.

She dutifully followed the king, but with a handkerchief to her nose because the mud of the abyss still clung to his armour. She glanced back and caught Clotbert's eye, raising an eyebrow as if to say "Phew, His Majesty stinks!" Clotbert winked conspiratorially and she smiled, smoothed her hair and walked off saucily, thinking she might perhaps pretend to take an interest in religion.

 

[Rylnethaz]

Then she got near Clotbert and her newly found interest in matters spiritual faded as she found him equal to the king in smell if not more. Without much flourish the handkerchief was back up to her nose. Rylnethaz had of course observed what had transpired.

"Yes, you will find us both stinky. Crawling through the Abyss does that to a person, as does sleeping in the mud, fighting demons and fending off the madness and the horror for several days on a row without respite. Hence our immediate need for a bath."

Rylnethaz and Clotbert started laughing at the embarrassed look of the maid.

"You see, nothing is ever like the fairy tales were the prince Charming saves princess Damsel from the dragon armies without breaking a sweat, all the while smelling like a rose, his hair impeccable and his clothes pure white. But I promise you that we will all be smelling better after soaking in the bath and washing away the grime of the Abyss. Now take comfort in the idea that we have killed enough demons to make the world safer for a while."

"A little while, as it is a well documented fact that demons killed in the Abyss will reform unless annihilated under special circumstances."

"Just as our well read Arch-priest said. However, that little while is enough time for as to take a bath. Bring us the salts!"

 

[BoldItalic]

BoldItalic went back to his chambers, high up in the north tower, and worried. He paced around the room for some minutes, to and fro, to and fro, like a caged animal in a zoo. He worried about what was the right course of action. Eventually, he came to a decision of sorts but he didn't like it. It was going to be very risky. He worried about what would happen if it went wrong. He worried about what would happen if it went right, which was nearly as bad. Basically, he just worried.

He wasn't normally prone to anxiety but that moment when the goddess spoke to him in the shrine had quite unsettled him. It wasn't so much what she said, it was that she had said it to him. He clung briefly to a spark of hope that perhaps she had mistaken him for Clotbert. But that spark soon went out. Goddesses didn't make that kind of mistake. He was the king's vizier. The pronouncement was directed to him and him alone.

He tried to dodge the issue. He sat down at his writing desk, picked up a quill, put it down again, picked it up again and finally reached for a small square of parchment and began to draw a complex diagram, full of circles, lines and strange sigils. He stared at what he was seeing. He didn't like it. He turned it round, he turned it upside down, he turned it back again. He tried using a different quill. Then he sighed, and pushed it away. It merely confirmed what he was already thinking. He swore and stood up.

He sent a short mind-message to Rylnethaz and received an equally short reply. Then he called out loud for his hat and cloak. Unseen hands brought them and put them on, the hat on his head and a newly-embroidered cloak around his shoulders. Satisfied, BoldItalic went downstairs and crossed the courtyard to the hall. He helped himself to a large goblet of elven wine to steady his nerves while he waited for the others to arrive. This was going to need tactful handling and magic wasn't going to be a lot of help.

They were going to need Fingers.

 

[Rylnethaz]

He didn't have to wait for long. Rylnethaz, his hair still wet after the bath, came running down the stairs, the sword Aryvelahr already by his side just in case. Clotbert was already right behind him.

Seeing BoldItalic so worried Rylnethaz asked with barely concealed concern, "What is it, what is going on? The meeting was supposed to be in one hour, what happened? Are we under imminent attack, have you divined any immediate threats?"

"Not exactly, but I fear it is much, much worse. There is also another factor that makes the situation even more complex. We can't entirely count on my magic to help us. We are going to need Fingers' unique combination of talents."

Rylnethaz motioned to him to pause and he called to a servant, "you there, find Fingers at once, we need him here, now!"

The servant darted out in search of Fingers.

"Please explain while we wait."