One of the prisoners seems very relieved, relieved and hopeful enough that she blacks out, hanging there in her chains.
Dwalar fends off the last zombie inside the small alcove.
Stalking forward, blood still dripping from the wounds on his face, Davin swings his two swords at the remaining zombie in silent rage.
Attack:
Damage:
Attack:
Damage:
Davin's swords lodge themselves in the old flesh, wrestling themselves out of his hands to his surprise. Bjorn quickly delivers a size 12 redaction to the zombies dinner plans, however, sending it crashing into the ancient stones lifeless.
Nella sees to the wounds of the other prisoners and sets about freeing them. As she does so, she ushers them away from the table with the artifact on it. She asks them
What happened to you?
while listening carefully for any signs of enchantment or other falsehood still lingering upon them.
Nella, they are in very bad shape, looking like one little touch could collapse them like a house of cards. They hand there from their chained wrists and cry tears of joy, but the effort seems to cause them great pain. They are breathing heavily from fending off the zombies earlier. "B-b-b-lllll...." one of them mumbles incoherently, its hard to say if he could match the description of Derio with all the blood and bruises.
Its likewise hard to tell if this state is psychological given their wounds or somehow caused by an ancient artifact.
"Up on the ledge another of those stone pieces."
Nella tries to help the prisoners out of their chains. She turns to some of her taller companions.
Please assist me.
Bhoors offers to help with the chains. "Viplo might have some keys."
Bhoors runs up the corpse searches for anything useful.
Bhoors, along with the shackles key you find a stitch-knit pouch with 20 gold coins and a vial of alchemists fire on the dead halfling.
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"Keys and some shinies. Looks like Alchemists Fire too." Bhoors moves back to the prisoners and unlocks the restraints, and collects the manacles and passes them out to the others. "These always come in handy when killing is not desired. Other uses too." He makes a point to not shamelessly flirt with Shal this time. That's right. No wink this time. Ha. Fricken tortle. A tortle." Bhoors shivers.
Shaldinari moves up to the ledge pointed out by Bhoors and takes a closer look at the stone object. Seeing that it appears to match the others they've found, she uses a piece of cloth to avoid touching it directly and carefully puts it in the same box with the other artifacts.
"This was definitely the worst of the bunch so far. Nasty little undead creator apparently." She says as she closes the lid to the container. "It certainly wouldn't be good to have this fall into the wrong hands."
Shal, as you put the other half of the moon into the box, it binds itself to the others, some kind of self mending...you realize there is just one little piece missing: an inset of the snakehead's eye is missing a jewel.
Others, the prisoners slump forward onto the hard stone, barely able to keep themselves up, groaning.
Bhoors looks at the others. "I am not in a place where I could heal them without resting."
Bhoors, they don't seem to have any particular affliction, just badly beaten/exhausted etc.
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Nella looks around in concern to make sure she's not missing anything important.
Once she's satisfied, she speaks calming words to the prisoners. She then walks over to Viplo and, very slowly and gravely turns his body so it is lying on its face. Then an incomprehensible stream of harsh words stream from a face contorted in anger. Necromancy, a crime again nature is one thing. Murdering the weak is far worse. Bringing shame on all halflings is beyond unforgivable. Her voice grows deeper and her skin darkens. She bends over and shakes in rage. Then she rapidly doubles in size several times and in place of the small young woman is a snarling wolf six feet high at the shoulder and howling and snapping in bestial fury. After the cavernous walls stop ringing with the anger of halfling honor, the great Wolf turns to its companions. One by one, they hear Nella's voice in their minds.
Let us leave this wretched place.
You shift through the papers on the desk and find the ravings of a madman. Its fairly clear the halfling was being manipulated by the half moon relic, using its power to lure townsfolk down here for his dark manipulations.
Between the six of you, you're able to get the prisoners up on their feet and lock shoulders, making your way back to the surface. Back to fat 'ol Alastar Bol...
Bursting down the door on his extravagant villa, you see Bol do something you've never seen before: walk. In fact, he hustles towards you, fat rolls a-flappin' crying and nearly singing "Oh Derio, Derio my love, you're alive!" giving the poor man a kiss on the mouth, apparently unashamed of their relationship. They embrace briefly and servants quickly assemble some comfortable daybeds and davenports to assist their recovery.
"So, you've done it? Whatever did you find?"
"Oh yes...there is no shortage of life energies here, they will feel the caress of Sharess..." he tugs at his dainty little gloves revealing a finely manicured (but very fat) palm, and places it on the forehead of the prisoners one by one, channeling the power of his god. You could swear for a moment a glossy red lipstick appears where his hand was, but it disappears quickly and must've just been some kind of optical illusion...
His spunk spent, he returns to his recliner, snapping at another servant to bring a small chest "Dark arts so close to the gates...mmm...this does not bode well. Something has stirred a blackness here we once thought gone forever. Now, about your payment? Yes, I think you deserve a little something extra for returning my dearest Derio..."
= Nella gets the Alchemist's Fire
Bhoors looks in shock at Nella's transformation, "whoa." Bhoors speaks sidelong toward the other, "Oh man is she gonna eat the guy?"
Bhoors nods when Nella suggests leaving.
Bhoors smiles at the cleric of Sharess, "Sharess that's the dancing cat lady right. She's one to celebrate and dance no? I'm a fan. Though I trust my luck to Tymora. Got to admit. Dancing and joy that's good dogma."
Returned to her halfling form, Nella waits politely throughout the fat man's celebrations, her mind ravaged by tragedy. When he speaks of a blackness from the past, she pipes up.
What do you know of this blackness? We seek to end it but know little.
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Dwalar’s eyes widen at Bol’s unexpected enthusiasm upon the group’s return. ”Never knew yeh were... one o’ them. Well this’d be the church fer it, I guess. We’re just glad that thing’s now under watchful eyes,” he adds, indicating the artifact. He turns to the others. ”Anyone else have someone ta talk ta? If there’s any more weirdness about, it could well be the last piece o’ this puzzle.”
Witnessing Nella's brief transformation, the tall elf places her hand on her heart and offers a bow to the halfling when she returns to her natural form.
"Congratulations on finding and connecting to your spirit form." She says quietly. "I am sorry it was brought on by such a dark moment. But may it serve you and your strong heart of light well."
Hearing Dwalar's question she nods to the dwarf. "There is still the matter of the races that Spike mentioned. It is rumored the prize is an artifact or jewel of some value."
He nods at Nella "We have but a name, 'Soulmonger'...thought to be an artifact of great power. The Harpers' intelligence was gathered not from divination but more mundane means, it seems to avoid attempts at understanding it further. The Harpers might be hiding more...as typical *rolls eyes*. Ubtao once protected this peninsula from such threats..."
Turning to Bhoors "Find Sharess brother, and find the Endless Revels of Life! Every sunrise, sunset...every full moon...even such daily pleasures are cause for festival! Existence is a celebration...ever time for feasting!" he rapidly devours some corn on the cob sloppily.
Nella bows formally in appreciation of Shal's gentle words. She responds
May we bring back the light.
Before the hedonist, Nella's brow furrows at the thought of anyone inhibiting efforts to end this foul curse. She looks intently at the large man, attempting to determine if he is holding anything back from her and her companions.
Unsure of much, she heaves a long sigh and turns to her companions.
I am weary of body and soul but this curse cannot continue. What now?
Davin departs from the rest of the group once they exit from the temple. He returns to the Thundering Lizard to allow his wounds to heal and reflect on what happened. The scar across his face is a vivid reminder of how close to failing he was, and it is not something he wants to repeat. The wound is still livid and red when he once again meets with the group.
As the groups sets to leave the Cleric of Sharess' place he turns to them, "Hey with everything going on and the guys that needed healing we never went back to Viplo's hut. I grabbed his Arcane Book but he also had some other books and equipment that might be valuable."
Bhoors, making your way back to the hut, you find what appears to be an agent of the Merchant Princes poking around...likewise he is "appropriating" certain things from within. Do you wish to confront him?
Once finished with Ziplo's house and fully rested and prepared, the party swings back by Pockmarked Po's hut there also among the vine covered Ziggurats of Old City.
It was a bitter task, Spike had warned about dealing with the Zhentarim and angrily left in protest for more righteous pursuits. The Zhents were professionals but some whispered they lacked honor, others outright despised them.
Still, short of any other promising leads on the last missing piece, this so-called "Oracle's Eye"...the grand prize Spike's contact did in fact use the word 'artifact' to describe, could be just the missing element of the cursed thing.
Would the party really be expected to fairly win the races and arena battles, or did the Zhents have some trick up their sleeve?
Po's hut is completely disheveled. It looks like it was hit by a hurricane a decade ago and no one has bothered to repair it. Surprisingly, in contrast the inside seems as lavish as a temple complete with glittering trinkets and tapestries, and also smells of fine oils (for chest rubbing).
A human perhaps 30 with dusky skin and black hair is helped to his feet by a couple of female servants. His body looks as terrible as the hut appeared, perhaps being ravished by some life threatening disease years ago. His face is heavily scarred, one eye is white with blindness, and he walks towards you with a painful, stooped gait.
His hands are twisted and seems to have difficulty with fine motor functions as he raises them in an awkward greeting "Ah, what secrets do you hold dear? Wager that I know what they are?"
The voice was smooth as a spring day, crisp and clean like silver.
Nella has no interest in returning to Viplo's hut and will only do so if convinced it is necessary for ending this curse.
Nella looks at the strange man Po, wondering what has happened to him.
No wager. Our own secrets are not needed here. We need information on ending this accursed pall on the land.
With the scar on his face still livid and red, Davin stares at this wreck of a man. The wound starts at his right temple and cuts a jagged furrow down his cheek and seems to jump his nose to reappear about halfway down his left cheek and terminated at his jawline.
"If you know why we are here, then let's get on with it friend. What can you tell us?"
Bhoors, making your way back to the hut, you find what appears to be an agent of the Merchant Princes poking around...likewise he is "appropriating" certain things from within. Do you wish to confront him?
Bhoors smiles at the man. He's a player and this is his game. "Do I get to pick which secret?" Bhoors smiles, before shrugging, "I think at the moment we are here more on pressing matters as my companions have said. There are times for frivolous wagers and times to risk the big score." He leans back and motions to Po, "I think you are here to let us know which sort of time this is."
"Oh yes, my dears, I dare not waste your time. I know you are the newcomers who have been helping the other factions, and you correctly saved the best for last. It would be a shame to spoil our budding relationship with tedium. I appreciate you coming were it out of bravery, duty, or just sheer madness."
"Kwayothe, one of the more...differentiating...merchant princes is offering quite an interesting prize for the upcoming races. Quite an interesting prize, indeed."
"The wild elves of the jungle had it as 'osali'm ae'...the 'Oracle's Eye'. An amber gem roughly the size of a real eye...its said to allow divination on certain pathways where traditional methods fail. So you see, I suspect we can use it to gain some insight into the Death Curse."
"Perhaps more urgently, I believe some of the racers who have already registered have some ulterior motives, perhaps similar to our own. We must be the first to obtain the eye!"
"I've procured you all a spot in the race under the team name The Bladefangs. Should anyone ask, your sponsor is Tarenbiril....not I."
"Bring me the eye, and the other perfumes and poultices that are part of the prize. You may keep the 60 gold."
Bhoors listens to Po Sure the Zents want to help end the curse. They have an angle not likely good for most folk. "Bladefangs got it . . . no doubt Sabre-tooth Posse was taken."
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Shaldinari listens quietly while Po tells his tale. When the scarred man mentions secrets she suddenly feels a slight tingle behind her eyes and the familiar feeling of her patrons focus. Her vision blurs for a few seconds only to become crystal clear and suddenly the objects of power on herself glow with a faint aura. Covering her surprise she takes a moment to glance around the well decorated room to see what kind of secrets Po might be hiding.
Shal, the light inside the hut magnifies oddly: shadows become darker but light becomes brighter, with strange accents of a glow here and there in pointed clusters, like stars but the color of twilight through leaves. Focusing, you distinguish some of the trinkets that line the walls of the hut carry these accents in even greater variety.
A wooden talisman of a fat old woman seems to have the highest concentrated aura of these starmotes, and as you watch them dance and play in the ether a sylvan voice enters your mind, no louder than a whisper "...pololarol...". You have no idea how, but you understand this word: 'divination'.
To Bhoors "Actually it was either that or the Cranky Flail Snails...er...my agent registered us a bit late and there weren't many options left, my apologies. So what do you say? I think you will be quite suited to this task." hmm, how would he know?
"Ah...yes...its a team race, so as long as one of you crosses the line first, its a win for the team. Likely there will be some surprises thrown at you during the race, for sport. The officials there likely know more about it. But also the races are just the first part. After, there's the gladiatorial combat...I suppose that's where you'll really shine."
Nella smiles slightly to herself. She pipes up from underfoot
What are the rules to this race? Are there mounts provided or allowed? And what of the combat?
"Mmm, surely mounts will be provided. Look, I don't know the exact rules, the officials change it all the time. Plus everyone just cheats, anyways...especially that bastard, Scramsax. Little jerk cost me a fortune last race, and he got away with it...yeah, I think that was the one you were in as well, Dwalar."
"But for the race, its like I said, first one over the line wins. The course goes through town on special roads and tracks, you've surely seen them. They usually give riders a stick for thwapping the enemy's faces and such. All I know about the gladitorial combat is that it is not to the death."
The party makes its way carrying race vouchers that should enable you all to compete. The Grand Coliseum is back in the Merchant Ward, near the Red Bazaar, Fish Market, and Dye Works. This stone arena is the site of gladiatorial games (usually nonlethal, but accidents happen), bloody animal combats, and spectacular circuses. The best gladiators become celebrities and earn fortunes. Statues of the arena’s greatest champions line the tops of the Grand Coliseum’s walls, including one of the city’s current merchant princes. Ekene-Afa gained fame and fortune as a gladiator before retiring from the arena to become a trader and politician.
Events are held on most afternoons; only special shows are held after sundown, as the coliseum depends on natural light. During the week, the bill features qualifying matches, consolation bouts, and other small events. Major events, championships, and special extravaganzas are staged on holidays. A holiday show might include a battle between "heroes of legend" and "pirates" (all portrayed by gladiators), a bloody match pitting velociraptors against tigers, or even a contest of mages battling captured ghouls, skeletons, or zombies...
Despite their regularity the game is packed, hawkers are everywhere peddling mysterious meats-on-sticks and thin paper fans. A few dwarven knuckleheads are rolling kegs of ale up to their 3rd story seats. A swarm of bright colored macaws flicker in and out of the crowd picking up scraps of popcorn, while more bizarre flying snakes pluck juicy little jungle frogs from the shadows.
The racer's entrance is clearly marked, and your fellow competitors are checking in. A particularly burly Chultan spots the party wide eyed and slack jawed and saunters over with an evil grin "Well well well, lookie here Charlie, these newcomers think they'll have a go?! Are we excited to have our first little dinosaur race, newcomers?" he asks in a voice a mother might use with her newborn baby.
Nella looks around in wonder, taking in this place of blood with some sorrow at the injustice towards majestic creatures the arena represents. Her mood is temporarily lifted when she eyes the fascinating flying snakes.
When the man accosts her and her friends, Nella stares firmly into the face of the burly Chultan. She speaks into his mind.
Yes.
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"A race! Don't yeh worry, I'm an old helm at these. We'll get yeh that gem, an' make no mistake!"
* * * * *
Dwalar turns to face the big man squarely. "Me friends might. I've 'ad me first already. Yeh might be too stupid ta recognize the beard, so lemme jus' say... It didn't go well fer the other teams that day."
Nella's voice startles him, but he is unable to make sense of it "What the...Ch...charlie we got some kind of ventriloquist over here..." and falters a bit.
At Dwalar hes more comfortable resuming his insulting tone "Beginner's luck, hairless! We're the Green Vipers and dominate this track every week...you little punks are about to eat our dino-dust..." One thing is certain, they've got you beat in the youth and looks department: they sport bright, tightly fitting racing jumper suits and are lean and wily looking.
A Green Viper with white-blond hair tosses a handkerchief at you "Here, you better take this for when you cry home to mommy..." and another "Bladefangs? More like spayed-lames!!"
As they register their caged racing animals, you note they are among the healthiest and most fit of all present: young allosaurus roughly the size of a warhorse that are painted equally vibrantly to match their outfits. The official comes to you next with a little clipboard. It seems Po has sent yours ahead, and it just takes a moment to take your vouchers and information. He asks "Bladefangs you say? And who was your sponsor again?"
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Shaldinari reaches out and grabs the handkerchief as it drops through the air. Ah! How delightful." She says is a bright cheerful voice as she gives the rag a closer look. "Yes indeed. I see a few hairs, I'm sure some flecks of skin. Just enough of your true substance. Should prove handy although I doubt your teammates will appreciate the direct connection to you during the race."
Waving her hands over the rags a few times she mumbles a few words and the cloth is covered in a purple and black swirling energy as shue tucks it away in her pouch. "That'll keep it safe until....the time is right." She adds before smiling and turning to walk up to the official with the others.