Sandru feels soreness in his joints. For the most part, he still resists the radiation
La Siréene starts to hallucinate, seeing everyone's countenances as glowing clock faces. The Olivia's heart pendant whispers Tick, Tock, Tick, Tock!
The Void beast falters. Itchy black lesions break out on its skin.
Blackacre nose starts to bleed profusely.
You notice that Phoebe, due to the ravages of her consumption, is oddly immune to the effects of the radiation. She reaches out one hand tentatively through the air full of silent death. "Ianez, I am not sure, but I often have a curious resistance to things. I might be able to get near the clock hand without ill effects."
The archaeologist, having retreated from the vicinity of the hand, pulls a coil of silk rope from his pack. "Then tie this around it, and we'll pull it from a distance. The radiation effects are strongest when you are close to the material the hand is made from."
Phoebe takes the rope, wraps it around the clock hand, and tightens a slip knot. She exhales with relief. "Okay, ready to go."
Quinn's skin is inflamed with a rash. He feels the corners of his mouth and nostrils cracking.
Maybe the backpack... Let's go!
The armies of wights break through the walls! Phoebe drags the clock hand. Your party escapes through the front doors of the police station into the night...
"Obviously I would normally be the best choice to hold this devestating item, but the implications for Elspeth would be terrible. If someone has an alternate way of holding her I am happy to hold the hand."
Quinn does not like the feeling that he is currently in. He looks towards Ianez and asks, "Is there a way we can isolate this minute hand so it won't be so lethal to us?"
"There are three ways to deal with that: stay far away, put something heavy between you and it, and if you have to be close to it don't stay that way for very long*. Lead blocks it very well, but in the short term burying it several feet deep will also let us be near it while we rest. Caromarc, if you can shield Elspeth's compartment inside your manservant he could handle it safely."
The backpack...
Sandru lifts the clock hand, relying on his extraordinary hardiness to resist the radioactive effects. Having retrieved the last piece of the clock, your party flees the overwhelming sea of wights that pour forth out of the walls. You depart into the safe cover of the night.
To be cautious, most of your party travels well ahead of Sandru. Once a safe enough distance away, La Siréene's perception returns to normal, Blackacre staunches his nosebleed, and the other members of your party who are sickened begin to feel a bit better. Ianez monitors the radiation levels the best that he is able. Quinn looks back at his friend occasionally with worried glances. Phoebe, impervious to the clock hand's danger, lags behind and walks with Sandru to chat, and distract him, and keep up his spirits.
Before long, even Sandru starts to feel the effects of the radiation. Your party pauses to regroup. Caromarc lines a bag with a tarp, removes Elspeth from the Manservant's cavity, and carefully deposits her in the makeshift aquarium. The Manservant hoists the clock hand on his shoulder and carries it the rest of the way.
The next step is to go to the center of town and temporally anchor the Tower Out of Time. Yet, the zeppelin crash and battle with Acrietia have taken their toll on your group collectively. Some of you need to rest. Quinn, having worked through some of his instinctual biases against the drow, is surprisingly the one who suggests returning to their shop.
Your party winds their way back to the square faced on one side by the Lamp Stop underground train station entrance, and the other by Madam Sabina's salon. Along the way, your summoned creatures disappear. Your travel is unmarred by conflict, though you all note with twitching nervous exhaustion that the number of undead in the streets and the sky have increased dramatically...a hundred if not thousandfold! Despite your superior stealthing skills...(maybe it's a blessing from Erastil or Ragathiel?)...it seems like a miracle you're able to avoid them.
You arrive at Sabina's. The same pesh-addled young drowess from before lets you in. Your party takes up accommodations in the center of the shop by candlelight. You stock up on supplies, upgrade your items, and mark all the purchases down in the ledger. It takes some effort, but Sandru and the Manservant, under the directions of Ianez, bury the clock hand temporarily to be safe while you rest. The drowess watches you eat and drink, unpack your bedrolls, and engage in meditation. All the while, she sits huddled in a chair, with her legs pulled up to her chest, under a gray linen sheet, absent-mindedly chewing her nail.
After a while, you surmise that she isn't staring at you at all, but through you. She is wondering where her mistress has gone. Still tripping on the effects of pesh...she is seeing in her mind's eye the end of the world. Pharasma is gone. The forces of Urgathoa ride forth to fill all the earth.
It is the eleventh hour.
The Manservant keeps watch. You all fall asleep.
A Dragon Dirgebane 6 tunic slips from a rack and falls to the floor...
La Siréene pays the hallucinations no mind, at first. Without shape, or mind, unimportant. She wraps herself up in a blanket on the floor, crafting items for the battle to come. she falls asleep, items finished, tools in her hands.
----
Tick, tock. Tick, tock.
A shadow, empty. No texture, no body, no identity, no sex.
La Siréene finds herself facing it, standing opposite to it, dressed in nothing but the heart resting on her chest.
Tick, tock. Tick, tock.
The shape raises a hand, points to the heart, as if making a statement known, although no sound escapes it.
Tick, tock. Tick, tock.
La Siréene observes the shape. Familiar, somehow. Somehow, it does not seem strange that it will not utter sound. Seems natural that it would not.
Tick, Tock. Tick, Tock.
Familiar. That's it. It is familiar. What used to be? What has been. Long gone now. What was it... the Original! Of course, it’s the Original. Not me anymore. Don't have those memories.
Tick, Tock. Tick, Tock.
Not original. He died once, that poor empathic sod. I am what died twice. What is self aware. We are the only two things that aren't things. The only people in existence. We are tenacious, aren't we...
----
La Siréene wakes, panting, sweating, clenching her hand.
It takes her five seconds to realize her left hand is no longer surrounded by motes of darkness.
It takes her ten seconds to realize she is in the shop.
It takes her fifteen seconds to realize she is among people who will not be ripped apart by spinning blade, fall apart as stone, or ripped, gouged and eaten by bitting halfling slave.
It takes her thirty seconds to realize her clockwork heart is leaving marks in the palm of her hand.
She does not notice that, while her hand is no longer surrounded by motes of darkness, about twice as many shadows as there are objects blocking the light play across her body as she moves.
Tick, Tock.
Chapter 4
Your party rouses. The drowess is sleeping in the corner.
Ianez rises to his feet, stretching, before he clutches his stomach. "Hungry again? It's only been a day!" He checks to be sure his hair isn't falling out and goes looking for something to eat.
There isn't a proper pantry in the shop, and Sabina's food stores are running low. Ianez finds some bread, cheese, mostly wine.
I spend most of the night scouring the shop, inch by inch. Mostly it is as distraction from thinking about who I am... what I am.
But, I am rewarded... A few secret panels offering potions, infusions, a simple ring and a token. I will use them wisely, or so I promise myself.
I leave in their stead, what I consider proper compensation. Whatever it is that I am, I am no thief. I move to check on Phoebe.
Jornel dreams.
He sits in the parlour of his old friend Fennick. Through the large ornate glass patio doors stretches an endless expanse of silver. Realising he has has become distracted by the view he turns apologetically to his companion.
"I do beg your pardon - I believe I missed that last comment."
"Think nothing of it. I was simply remarking upon the hopelessness of the situation." the charred, burned figure growls as much as talks "The dead walk. The living fail. It is the time of Urgathoa. Even should you succeed - will the dead fall and the living return? Is it not better to save now what you can? Are you so very different from Dr Grey? Could you not moderate his influence? Use his tools for the greater good?"
Caromarc considers as he watches the figure across from him reach out and take a teacup and sip delicately.
"I suppose there is some truth in that - but he must be stopped. Don't you see? It is a moral principle."
The teacup is returned, sooty marks upon the rim.
"Moral principle? You have not changed. But you are not ready for this. You need knowledge you do not have... my knowledge. Without that knowledge you will fail, and fall."
"And the price?"
"No price, Jornel. I still remember you fondly. I would like you to win." could that have been a smile in that hideous charred facade?
"So then - in the place where you sleep there is green curtain over a room that possesses many boxes and one bookshelf. On the left side of the third shelf down you will find my gift to you. The passphrase is Nym."
"Sleep? What..."
Caromarc awakens. The disturbing dream drifts delicately away - save that a slight movement on a green curtain catches his eye.
Behind that curtain is a room. And in that room there is a bookshelf. And the bookshelf is empty save two volumes on the third shelf. And "Nym" unlocks the intricate lace of fingerbones that form the lock.
Glancing through the books Caromarc sees they are volumes 3 and 4 of a set written by a monster. Handwritten, they contain terrible notes on abominable experiments performed, creatures vivisected and blasphemies performed. Disturbing, horrific diagrams and images. And spells. So many spells. Terrible spells, some of them, but all useful.
Feeling the dream drift away completely Caromarc grabs a pen and begins to write what he remembers on the last page and then discovers the most awful knowledge of that terrible book.
For the handwriting matches.
Phoebe rises. The dark light in the shop falls on her face, casting it in geometric shapes - reds, violets, blues, golds. Like stained-glass in a cathedral. Her eyes gaze upward, contemplative, serious...like a cloistered nun or a dark paladin.
La Siréene, Ianez, Sandru, Caromarc, Phoebe... The members of your party arrange their things and prepare to set forth.
The scholar stands and dusts crumbs off of his shirt front. "Let's go. No sense in waiting any longer."
Blackacre stretches, feeling a new strength in his limbs. More gifts? The Angel of Vengeance is good to her servants.
He eyes the drugged dark elf with some disdain, then accompanies Ianez in the search for food. Excellent idea.
His hunger sated, an old yearning returns. He looks over the shelves and cabinets for tobacco.
Blackacre finds a charming dark red box filled with regular tobacco. A little more searching uncovers a black pouch packed with the exotically-spiced wayang variety.
Your party retrieves the minute-hand to the clock from underneath the floor boards, smartly deciding to try transporting it within the extradimensional space in Sandru's backpack.
You exit the shop into the square, and wend your way towards the center of town. Monsters and undead throng thick in the streets, making many avenues and alleyways impassable. You see much murder and destruction. The earth is rent with cracks of black energy. These split and belch huge gouts of orange flame that roil up into the night sky. The air is filled with screams. The sky is bathed blood red, and the rain-spattered cobbles smell of sulfur.
Your journey is short, but seems like an eternity. You reach the heart of the city. It is a small square; from one direction it backs against an old fortress, now a museum for a long-ago battalion, containing relics and curios, but nothing of functionality or interest. From the other side, large avenues slope downhill to all parts of the city.
From this vantage point, you observe endless armies of undead.
"Earl Caromarc, I think your servitor is going to have to remove the hand." Ianez takes out his prism. "It's time...time to step out of Time."
AT THE SHOP:
Blackacre takes a few ounces of the tobacco and, after a brief hesittion, a pinch of the wayang. He leaves enough coinage behind to pay for what he takes , including 10x the normal price of tobacco for the wayang leaf , and writes Sabina a brief note:
Dear Madchen Sabina:
I regret to inform you that my curiosity got the better of me, and I have taken a pinch of your wayang leaf. Hopefully the enclosed coins, which amount to well over hte normal purchase price of such a product, will suffice for recompense.
Sincerely,
Gaston Blackacre.
IN THE STREETS:
Blackacre's eyes dart warily to the dark corners of the streets and alleys they pass. His hand repeatedly twitches toward his sword and his instinct is to plunge headlong into the undead mobs, hacking every one within range, but he keeps his focus on the task at hand.
AT THE SQUARE:
Blackacre keeps watch for any unwelcome guests.
Ianez's prism vibrates with a high-pitched, clear tone. It levitates from his hand, swoops up, and hovers in the air. The crystals in Blackacre's and Quinn's possession sing back. The sound is muffled through the leather of their bags.
"Here we go, then."
So saying the Earl activates certain defensive wards upon himself, then turns to Phoebe.
"With your permission, miss Strange, I'd like to give you some wards as well."
Phoebe says nothing, but allows hoops of blue-colored force energy to cascade up and down the length of her, tilting and wheeling around like a set of interlinking magic rings. The blue glow ebbs, and the ablative barrier becomes invisible. Likewise, she accepts the mage armor spell.
"Nothing is getting me now," she states, quite satisfied with the protections. "Which is for the best. I don't want anyone worrying about me."
"Quinn, Gaston--take out your prisms."
Blackacre looks dubiously at Ianez for a moment, then puts his hand on the prism.
Are you quite sure, Ianez?
Slowly, cautiously, the inspector draws out his focus prism.
Blackacre's prism levitates out of his hand and joins the first one. The two crystals hover in the center of your party, five feet off the ground, drifting in a slow circle, each one rotating in the orbit. Blue and green lights play across the diamond-like surfaces, flashing each time the prisms sound a note, as if they are communicating with each other in some secret sequence.
Quinn doesn't blink at Ianez's command. "I agree. This is the moment we've been waiting for." He reaches into his pack and retrieves his prism. It floats out of his hand and closes the circuit. The three prisms circle in the air, in a dazzling display of flashing lights. Blue, green, white, blue, lavender, blue, green, white...
Quinn's shoulders slump, remembering his fallen colleagues. "Many sacrifices have been made to get here..."
Your party watches the light show with fascination.
"The Hand" Caromarc comments to the Mechanical Manservant
"Of course, sir" turning to Sandru
"With your permission master Sandru, might I draw the hand from your baggage? I suggest you may wish to move away a little."
Sandru grunts deferentially. He gives space so that the Mechanical Manservant can extract the minute-hand to the clocktower. It flies from Sandru's backpack and into an updraft...into the aether. The clock hand tumbles high above the town square, hovering almost out of view.
The three foci explode in a burst of white fire, which sends lines of dragon's breath far up into the sky, until they lick sheets of lightning across the bottom of dark, overcast clouds racing across the sky. There's an ear-shattering rumble of thunder. The lines of white fire reach their apex, at which point they converge and fall down in four lines like four separate waterfalls, forming a magical castle in the sky.
At first, the effect is filled with white sparkles and seems benign. Then, there's a sucking vacuum. Planks, nails, bolts, and metal plates from surrounding buildings all pry off and flip end-over-end towards the materializing tower. It takes shape, constructed level by level...a hideous mechanical marvel...half in/half out of this current reality. An aberration. A wonderful dream.
With clanging and clanking it builds together piece by piece. All gears, cranks, and steam pipes at odd and tortuous angles. A fortress of copper and steel, glowing with unearthly green energy. The TOWER OUT OF TIME materializes in your dimension, hovering high above the city in the town square. A rain of green binary runs down the sides.
"YOU HAVE FOUND ME!" booms Hareton's voice.
"It is time," says a different voice. A portal of dark, otherworldly storms (like the one that appeared when La Siréene and Caromarc were resurrected) breaches the air in the town square, next to the base of the tower.
From out of the portal leaps...
...the sorceress, Paige Carlisle...
...the drow merchant, Madchën Sabina...
...the double agent, "S"...
...and finally, the one who spoke.
In their company -
The new and improved necromancer, Baron Dragomir dan Volst!
As the party rises and moves towards their objective, thoughts speed through La Siréene's head.
Nameless.
Not Original, Endbringer or Maria. Dead now, long gone.
What I was, but no longer am.
Are they so different now, Nameless and La Siréene...
-----
As Caromarc activates his defensive wards, so too does La Siréene.
La Siréene casts on Sandru.
Spells cast, she dons her shield as she observes the light show.
-----
As the familiar faces materialize out of the portal, La Siréene spreads her arms out in welcome.
“Welcome back, to the land of the corporeal.”
I step forward several paces, leaving Phoebe beside the Copper. Drawing my cutlass, I sense its need for blood, life... How is it different than anything else in this messed up world?
I ask a simple question. Friend or foe? Has the master found more powerful puppets?
Quinn stares at the 4 newcomers. He grabs at his Erastil symbol and whispers loud enough that only his friends can hear."Lady Carlisle....I hope I don't regret sparing your life and Agent 'S' ....well...." The monk does not complete his sentence. His thoughts begin to focus on prayer. "Old Deadeye, please grant your humble servant the wisdom to do what is right and just."
Quite ironic that the monk does not pray for his aim to be true. His thoughts are on the mission. If he fails....if he fails his new friends then the world will suffer.
Caromarc blinks, stunned.
"Miss S? You're alive? That is good news"
"Friend or foe, friend or foe..." muses Baron Volst. "That is the question." He stares at Blackacre with veiled intent...something odd in his manner. Like a cat waiting to pounce.
He works his fingers, blue death energy crackling from his palms.
S shoots Volst a disapproving look. "These theatrics are unnecessary," she says.
She turns to the Mechanical Manservant. "Thank you," she says coolly. As always, her manner is all business. "Glad to see all of you are alive too."
"I am sure this looks odd," she adds. "I'll update you on developments since last we spoke."
"You'll remember I permitted Ludo Guillemont to teleport me away (here she lapses into the local dialect) from Der Salon der Nekromantie. The glitch in arcane energies caused his effort to go poorly. Instead of teleporting us far away, as he intended, we simply traveled a short distance and ended up in the banquet hall overran by zombies where they'd been celebrating Volst's initiation.
"Ludo teleported again. The next attempt was more successful. But let's just say...we picked up a hanger-on." She indicates Volst.