Glimmil continues to regard Finneas cautiously, as if he's waiting for Finneas to sprout wings, kick off the ground into flight and start cackling maniacally.
Wait, that's what Dyrant does.
Finally, Glimmil claps Finneas on the back (of his thigh), and exclaims, "it's good to have you back. How about we get back to Cauldron and get some decent food?"
"Sounds good to be Glimm. I miss satay, I don't think this place has any."
Worth eating anyway.
"Aren't you the big boss here now that you've got the fire-eye? You can probably change that."
"I'm also not a fan of the pus-filled skin that we had to walk across. You should definitely change that, too."
Glimmil's comments shake Atol loose from the flame in Finneas' socket.
"Yeah. If you are the ruler of the plane now, can you raise it up out of the Abyss? Make it the holy place it was before the fall?"
Atol scrunches his face in thought.
"Our enemies wanted control of this plane so they could use it to launch attacks on Cauldron. How would they have done that exactly? Why here? Is there something we're missing?"
"I want to get home too, and we've clearly thwarted our opponents, but I feel like we're missing something."
Atol looks at his companions searchingly.
"Or is it just me?"
Dyrant nods at Atol.
"No, you're right, Atol. It's not just that *something* ain't right...but that *nothing* is right. We have more questions than we started. And look...I mean look...look at Finn's eye. That isn't right."
Dyrant looks around, then summons Aralynn to him.
"Let's see what our Archon can tell us. Maybe we should inquire of the Archons again. What questions would you ask?"
"Ruler? Me? I thought if I sacrificed myself you guys would be in charge?"
Well, it's not a total loss.
Female: How so?
That jerk of a bird I hauled across this place is going to be really upset when he finds out I'm in charge.
"Raise it out of the Abyss? Maybe I can start small?"
Finneas squints his eyes closes and sweat begins to form on his forehead as he bends his mind to a singular task of controlling the plane.
Satay. Satay. Satay. Sa...tay!
He opens his eyes and looks at his hands, the disappointment clear.
Dyrant slumps against the wall to take a break for a moment while his mind works.
"What possible purpose did all of this serve?"
"Can Finneas presently realign Occipitus with Celestia?"
"Was the former ruler of Occipitus just trying to unbind himself from the place, for some fell end?"
"Can we go now?"
[i]"Can Finneas make himself smell less now?"[i]
"Make sure when you ask them all those questions you mention who's in charge and let them know if they could mention it to an ungrateful couatl that was freed from a cyst and then hauled across half the plane Finneas will be happy to accept his apology in the form of satay."
Dyrant snuffles as he nods at Dr. Toffitt.
"Aralynn, let's make some time for deep prayer...we have questions that need asking."
"One, are there more angels that St. Cuthbert wants us to save on this plane?"
"Two, is our purpose here accomplished?"
"Three, can Finneas presently realign Occipitus with Celestia?"
"Four..." Dyrant *facepalms* at Finn's question. "Will the ingrate couatl ever show us thanks for his rescue?"
"Five, does that lich have a phylactery nearby that we need to destroy?"
"And finally, may we go home now?"
"One, are there more angels that St. Cuthbert wants us to save on this plane?"
"Two, is our purpose here accomplished?"
"Three, can Finneas presently realign Occipitus with Celestia?"
"Four..." Dyrant *facepalms* at Finn's question. "Will the ingrate couatl ever show us thanks for his rescue?"
"Five, does that lich have a phylactery nearby that we need to destroy?"
"And finally, may we go home now?"
One - No.
Two - Yes.
Three - No.
Four - Unclear.
Five - No.
Six - Yes.
Dyrant nods along as the answers come from Aralynn, his smile growing broader and happier with each answer. Finally, Dyrant lets loose with a howl of glee.
"Do you know what this means, friends!? WE CAN GO HOME! Atol! ATOL! Let's go home...do you still have that scroll we gave you? You know the important one!?"
Dyrant's eyes glimmer as he looks to Atol to take them home...and to his next bowl of warm gristle.
We have succeeded! St. Cuthbert will be pleased! We have enforced his will...even here in the Abyss! The Cudgel is mighty!
Atol digs a biscuit out of his still open pack and munches thoughtfully.
"I don't know. We can go home, clearly, but should we? Also, I can cast that spell now, and I'd just as soon do so rather than burn a scroll we may need later but that would delay our departure until tomorrow morning."
He sorts through his scrolls, "Of course we do have three of those scrolls." He looks back at Finneas, "We won't need three will we? No we won't need three."
We're going to have to explain that eye.
"If Finneas is in charge her now, shouldn't he, you know, rule? It's a pretty horrid place and just because he can't elevate it out of the abyss just yet doesn't mean we should give up trying does it?"
Atol sighs
"Still, it would be good to get home and see how things are in Cauldron. We have been gone for quite a while and just because we have fought the enemy here doesn't mean there aren't other enemies nipping at Cauldron."
"Is everyone healthy? We are not going to shift directly to Cauldron. We'll be miles, maybe hundreds of miles, from home when we arrive. Who knows what sort of environment or situation we'll appear within."
"Maybe we should eat before we leave. I have a new spell..."
Atol converts a Command spell to a on himself. After some time in prayer to gather his new spells, he offers to cast Heroes' Feast for an hour long prayer-meal before departing to parts unknown. We'll all get temporary hit points just in case...
He'll then take out a scroll of Plane Shift and cast it unless there are other considerations.
Angel HP: 42/42
Weapon Equipped = Cudgel
Conditions = none
Channel Energy Left: 0/8
Healing Touch: Atol, Finneas, Glimmil
Resistant Touch Left: 8/8
Strength Surge Left: 8/8
Bestow Resolve: 1/1
Purifying Touch: 1/1
Pearl of Power Left: first (0/2)
Cassock of the Clergy: Spark, Bless, Sanctuary (DC11)
Chainmail of Luck: Hit re-roll (1x week)(0/1)
Spells Remaining:
0) Create Water, Guidance, Light, Purify Food & Drink, Stabilize -- Arcane Mark, Detect Magic, Read Magic
1) Bless, Obscuring Mist, Protection from Evil
2) Restoration(lesser)
3) Create Food and Water, Daylight, Dispel Magic, Invisibility Purge, Prayer
4) Spell Immunity
5) Righteous Might, Summon Monster V
6) Greater Dispel Magic
The party returns to their home plane and spends an uneventful night camping. In the morning, Dyrant casts several teleport spells and gets everyone back to Cauldron.
Dyrant, in teleporting himself thrice, but most of the party just once back home, runs up to his room for just enough time to change his undergarment and runs back downstairs.
"Who's up for some stew? Anyone? Anyone? Let's go right now!"
Dyrant will lay his hands upon those volunteers and cast Dimension Door, going directly to the Gristle Stew bar and order a few bowls of the gristly finest for both himself, the party, and whatever sad sacks look like they need a pick-me-up.
Gristle is good for thinkin'.
Dyrant thinks as he chews...and gnaws as he thinks.
Now what, Dyrant?
As Glimmil sets foot once again on the streets of Cauldron, he first tugs off his mailed gauntlets and tucks them into his magical belt. He then proceeds to rub his eyes as if he's woken from some very long dream and looks about the town wondering why everything is so bright and sunny.
And how come everything smells so pleasant.
Except, the members of the Cauldron Five, who smell like the Abyss Frozen Over. Literally. Not the frozen part, but certainly the Abyss part.
Absent-mindedly, Glimmil scratches his temple and wonders aloud, "what was I even doing the last time we were in Cauldron?"
"Hmm..."
"Something with gnomes..."
"Skie..."
"Jzadirune..."
"Oh! The gnome temple! I bet all sorts of changes have happened! But first, I need to tell Skie that we're okay."
Glimmil gives the others a long look and sighs.
"And yes, I'll tell he what to expect that we want to sell. What do we want to sell, again?"
Toffitt's arrival back in Cauldron is somewhat more morose. He returns to his boarding house to find a new tenant where Carts had been. Among a pile of missives, he finds a note that reads, Abo, it happened! Lovely man from the greatest city in all the world offered patronage. My star shall sign over all, with glitter and glamour for all. I can't thank you enough for your encouragement and generosity. Kisses, Carts.
Toffitt crumples the note and groans. Head in the heavens, that one. For the best, really. Never had much of interest to say, and far too in love with his own reflection... His face hardens and chest tightens as he suppresses a deep sadness.
. . . . .
Years earlier. A truly young Toffitt stands in the yard of the palazza, practice dueling sword in hand. Around him stand youths whose finery outmatches his own. His rather subtle elven features mark him a bastard among the noble children.
One of the youth, a swarthily handsome lad, challenges him. Emerald of eye, black of hair, with an easy smile capped by a witch's mark. Lukhaj. They fence in respectful silence, and for once the young Abner is not taunted by his opponent.
Several seasons later, their hunt has led them through the mango groves and denser jungle to a clearing. They've lost the other intrepid young nobles, as well as their garments. Tangled in each others arms, they hear a snarl. A black shape jets across the clearing, and another. They scramble for their blades.
Somehow, perhaps due to Lukhaj's prayers to his favorite goddess Sehanine (he always did have a bit of a fetish for things elven), they fight off the panthers—but not before they've left their mark.
Another moon, and another. Toffitt's treatments have left Lukhaj mouth foaming. A silvered dagger slashes his throat as the black fur grows—Lukhaj killed by his own hand, not by Toffitt's (though he will remember having dealt the killing blow). A stricken, tearless young Abner stands still before his dead lover. The beast is coursing through him, yet ensnared by his will. His love has left him. He's going to keep moving onward. He's not going to take his own life.
. . . . .
Toffitt begins packing his things. A retreat. I'm almost done. I'll be forever free. Perhaps I'll set others free. None need live with the beast. None need live in fear of hell...
Attending Atol's feast the day after their return, he announces, "Once we've sold our treasure, I am going on walkabout for a while. I have some business to finish, and new ventures to begin. I hope to return within a moon's span."
He sets himself about unpacking and cataloging samples. He adjusts the formula of his new extract and lays out some other notes. What if I reversed it... Man beast's spirit suspended, preserved... Beast spirit become man... Would it be possible...?
Atol, on arriving back in Cauldron, begs forgiveness from Dyrant. "I must check in with the church. I must report on what we have been doing, and see if there are any emergencies. Then I shall join you for stew."
Stomach grumbling at the delay, Atol makes his way to the church of St. Cuthbert.
On his way to the offices, he lingers in the garden briefly drinking in the smells. Though he has washed, something of the abyss still lingers on him, but the garden soothes him. He walks about briefly and strides more purposefully to the church to give his report.
"...and the little man Kauphon, who later turned out to be evil..."
"So we cut open one of the cysts, and saved a couatl..."
"...and we killed the rakshasa, who we believe was working against Cauldron's interests, but I'm not sure why."
"Finneas' eye is now a flame, but he cannot (yet) save the plane, but we have returned to do what we can for Cauldron."
Dyrant scoops more gristle stew into his mouth, not caring that a trail of it dribbles down his chin and back into the bowl.
So what now, Dyrant?
Dyrant's meditations lead to the time before he ever got mixed up with the Cauldron Si...Five and how it just used to be him and Angel walking the back roads and building his congregation. Now things had gotten really complicated...with trips to the Abyss, threats against Cauldron, and new Archons to lead him.
So what now, Dyrant?
Dyrant's mind's eye goes to Finn and his smoking eye and latent tattoo on his face...such a strange thing.
So what now, Dyrant?
Dyrant orders a third bowl of stew.
* * *
Returning to his home, Dyrant will proceed to bed, still pondering his present and future.
Finneas returns tired from his journey in the Abyss. He will seek out a cell in the temple of Kord and explain everything that happened on his journey, as well as his eye.
"No, it just happened. I was trying to save everybody else, I thought it was the way."
He will spend the rest of the time working tirelessly, attempting to purge whatever evil he may have brought back with him to the Abyss. The frequent beatings to toughen his body and character will no doubt help.
Dyrant will lay his hands upon those volunteers and cast Dimension Door, going directly to the Gristle Stew bar and order a few bowls of the gristly finest for both himself, the party, and whatever sad sacks look like they need a pick-me-up.
Dyrant finds several sad sacks at the bar who thank Dyrant for the stew. Not much appears to have changed in Cauldron. For Dryant, that's a good thing as his stew is just as he remembered. For the people, it's not such a good thing. The mayor has kept to his promise and not raised taxes while the Caulron 5 was away, but the spirit of the city remains broken aside from the gnomes who are rebuilding below in Jzadirune.
"Skie..."
Skie greets Glimmil with many kisses that are only stop once a jealous Cog jumps in bewtween the two for kisses of his own.
"Welcome home brave gnome. I'm afraid you will find Cauldron quite boring compared to the abyss. Not much has happened in the last couple weeks. It's been very quiet, which is how I like it."
Jenya welcomes Atol back and quietly listens to all of his stories. She stares deeply at Atol, deep into his soul.
"So our fate rests in the half-orc's hands? If that is the case, then you must ensure he survives. Of course, that means you must survive, also."
"I would see your friend some time to see this abyssal flame in his eye. I can't say it makes me comfortable to know a piece of the abyss burns here in Cauldron."
"But, it can wait a day. Rest and recover from your adventures."
Finneas returns tired from his journey in the Abyss. He will seek out a cell in the temple of Kord and explain everything that happened on his journey, as well as his eye.
Asfelkir examines Finneas first and then calls in several others. He inquires of the older ones if they have ever heard of such a thing. There is some discussion, but then a human with a scragly beard speaks up the loudest, "There is no record of such a thing, but surely it can't be safe. He is not guided by Kord now. He is guided by something...else. He says he can see with that flaming eye. Who else might be looking through that eye? He should not be welcome here until we are sure of him."
"Oh, the abyss wasn't actually that interesting! I'd much prefer to be back in Cauldron with the ones I love..."
Glimmil blushes when he realizes what he's said, swallows hard, and awkwardly tries to change the topic.
"So, um. Did you get that delivery of magic arrows for that, um, guard fellow? Or finally sell that old quiver?"
Glimmil sloshes around his chocotini and smiles at Skie as he scratches behind Cog's ears, sighing as he realizes how well cared the members of the Cauldron Five have been cared for by their respective deities.
Wait... does the doctor even attend service?
As Glimmil tries to right his drink from its distracted leanings, he is a little too slow as the contents splash onto Skie's silken blouse.
Oh dear me, that won't do at all...
"After all I've done? As a champion of Kord I have given everything for the church and city, more than once. For this you would force me out?"
Finneas is clearly hurt by the attempted abandonment by his second family.
Atol bows deeply to the High Priestess and makes his way out of the temple after a brief prayer in the warm embrace of the high altar. Presuming Dyrant is still enjoying his stew, Atol goes to join him there. He wiles away the afternoon wondering at the eye of Finneas.
He keeps his thoughts to himself though as Dyrant seems sooo happy with this simple fare.
That evening, out of habit as much as anything else, he casts Create Food and Water to feed the Cauldron Five. Or at least any who show up. Atol has grown accustomed to spiritual food.
At some point, assuming he sees Finneas that day, he'll ask him to come to the church of St. Cuthbert tomorrow. "It's nothing really. The high priestess wants to see your eye. I suspect it fascinates a lot of folks. Here, have some more meat."
Dyrant welcomes the company of Atol, even offering to buy the cleric a bowl or two.
Dyrant eats mostly in silence, almost as if he considers this to be a time of prayer or quiet reflection, giving thanks for what is important and enjoying one's life while he can.
* * *
"I agree, somewhat, Finneas. We don't know enough about that eye...and whether others can see through it. Mayhaps you should wear a patch over it? Maybe one of black cloth and lead? We can even put a new holy symbol on it," Dyrant offers, holding up a satay stick as both a sample holy symbol and a bad joke.
"But don't worry too much Finn. We'll work things out. The Cudgel is strong here and the recent events have brought us together and tempered our steel. Together we can face the Abyss...we should not fear the smoking eye."
"I'm not talking to Jenya and I'm not wearing an eye patch. I'll be wearing a helmet so you don't have to look at it if it bothers you!"
Finneas storms into his room and slams the door, locking it.
Toffitt looks at Finneas back sympathetically. That's exactly why I didn't seek help from Cuthbert. And yet, perhaps if I hadn't assumed the worst about them, things would have turned out differently...
Later, prior to going on his walkabout , Toffitt tries to catch Finneas in an aside. "I know what it feels like for others to assume evil has gripped your soul. I'm sorry that's the case. If I may be of any help... All of this fighting of demons and saving of angels has given me some thoughts about the nature of sin and evil. It's not as fundamental a thing for us as it is for those of the outer planes. I know you to be strong, and that you'll hold true to who you are."
Dyrant watches Finn's reaction with confuzzlement, looking from side to side to check if others saw the same thing he did.
I wonder who soured his satay.
"I didn't say it was ugly or hideous, only that fell forces might be using that eye to control the half-orc like a puppet subject to any whim that they desire. That's not too hard to believe, is it? Much less want to protect against?" Dyrant harrumphs.
Dyrant rises and goes to Finn's door, trying to talk to Finn though the wood.
"Finn? FINN!? Come back. Let's discuss this like men...not like whiny elves. Come along now. The Eye affects us all...and there might be danger. Sure a mask might improve your looks, but that isn't the only solution. There is also various illusionary magics available...come out, Finn." Dyrant continues to try to the half orc out.
"Leave me alone!"
Female: You're acting like a child.
What are you going to do about it?
Male: That's no way to speak to your mother!
************************
"I'm trying Doctor, I'm trying. I will show them what I can do."
"After all I've done? As a champion of Kord I have given everything for the church and city, more than once. For this you would force me out?"
Over the objections of the others Asfelkir speaks up for Finneas.
"Finneas's current condition is disconcerting, but he has shown more faith and courage than the lot of you. He will be welcome here. Perform what magics you can to protect him and us from scrying if that is your worry."
Dyrant drums his fingers on the table, pondering life and Cauldron.
Dyrant takes of his headband, rolling it back and forth in his hands, studying the magic therein.
How hard could it possibly be to make this stronger? More powerful? I bet it's easy.
Dyrant resolves to go out and buy some tools to help him increase the power of his headband on the morrow.
As Skie dozes off to sleep, Glimmil swings his legs out and finds Cog also snoring away at the side of the bed.
Sighing blissfully to himself, Glimmil gazes for a long time to his worn leather boots.
I need to figure out how to make these fly... I could be the first Cobwaddle to craft flying boots! I wonder how I'd get started? Maybe Dyrant would know how to work that kind of magic.
Atol spends some time in a daze. The rigors of an alien world are hard to compare to the relatively safe haven of the parties home in Cauldron. He spends several days just puttering in the garden, constantly watching the skies for flying demons.
After a time, he settles down and begins to take the days more in stride. He worries about Finneas and how he's coping with his new look, but he does not pester him. He will offer to manufacture some wands for the church and does so at cost of course.
At the end of the first week, he begins to scribe some scrolls of his own.
- Silence (3) (75gp)
- Dispel Magic (5) (188gp)
- Daylight (5) (188gp)
He'll also stop by Skie's at some point and pick up two smokesticks (40gp total) and puts them in his pack.
Finneas spends his time with the fitting of his new dragon hide armor.
Now I can get this enchanted and I won't get hit as much!
Dyrant lays in bed on his second day back, the bowls of gristle stew still sitting in his stomack. As he stares at the ceiling, he remembers that today is the day of reckoning and rebuilding.
Today I atone for my failures and rebuild from them.
The morning prayers go differently, more somberly, as Aralynn, Archon of St. Cuthbert, eagerly awaits the ritual Cudgeling. Dyrant bathes in freshly-prayed-for water and prepares his back for the reconciliation. Mentally, Dyrant recounts all his failures in the Abyss and angels not rescued.
The Cudgel gives forgiveness.
After ensuring that his door is closed, Dyrant lays himself prostrate, his back uncovered. Aralynn, a whirl of gears and cogs, floats above him, pure divine energy cracking in open air.
Dyrant chants prayer after prayer to St. Cuthbert as the ritual begins.
From outside the doors, the sound of gear hitting flesh resounds throughout the upper floors of the Cauldron 5 abode.
Dyrant barely cries out in pain, but instead raises his voice to higher prayer.
After about 4 hours, the slapping noise stops, the ritual over.
* * *
When Dyrant finally emerges from his room, he walks gingerly. Angry red slap scars in the shapes of gears and cogs dot Dyrant's face and arms.
Still yet, Dyrant is smiling despite his humbled gait and obvious pain. Behind him, Aralynn floats with, seeming brighter and happier than before.
"A cleansing of my soul, nothing more. The Cudgel forgives all failures," is what Dyrant would answer if asked or interrupted.
"I go now in search of magical supplies. I have been given a new gift and seek now to make use of what the Archon has given me."
* * *
Dyrant will purchase MW Crafting Kit (300gp) and arcanic supplies for crafting stuff.
Finneas spends his time with the fitting of his new dragon hide armor.
Now I can get this enchanted and I won't get hit as much!
Finneas takes the last hide to the armorer.
"Magnificent! So few of us ever have the chance to work with dragon hide. Do you have a preference for which bits end up where? I could craft the chest area from the red and the arms and legs from the black. I could split it half and half, but that would leave you looking like one of those jester thieves. Perhaps black for the body and red arms. Do you have a preference?"
A couple of days after returning to Cauldron (and several days into his new regimen of treatments), Toffitt drops by Gurnezarn's Smithy to ask after a fletcher with skill at enchanting bows. Eventually, satisfied that he's found the right woman or man, he surrenders his bow into their care. He also commissions work on his blade to magically hone its edge.
Next, Toffitt drops by Skie's, asking after someone who could add a bit more celerity to his magic belt.
The bitter brew of belladonna and other ingredients invigorates Toffitt. At the same time, a deepening tan begins settling into his skin.
"Maybe black for the arms and legs and red for the body, like you suggested? If you have any left over I'd like to make it into a loincloth for my friend Dyrant. He's been eating a lot of gristle stew lately and he's starting to get a little too big for his britches. Just make it out of the softest parts, he's a follower of Cuthbert so his butt isn't as used to being kicked as we Kordites. Thank you."
Dyrant stares at the loincloth with obvious awe, nearly speechless.
"I, uh...I, uh, uhm, think it's interesting. A loincloth, eh? Made from both the red and the black?" Dyrant flips the cloth from one side to the next, trying to determine which side is 'front' and which is 'back'. Having never worn a loincloth before, Dyrant is confused.
"You're sure this has never been worn before, right?" Dyrant confirms before deciding that the black side must be the back side. To better hide accidental seepage, of course.
Dyrant scrunches up his face before speaking again, the release coming with finally reaching a decision: "I like it, Finn. Thank you. I know just what to do with it."
With that, Dyrant retires to his room to begin work on his new belt.
Toffitt, doing yogic exercises atop some nearby tower while slowly becoming a living lab experiment, does not know how glad he should be that he'll not be imagining Dyrant in a draconic loincloth.
"You're welcome Dyrant. It's my way of saying sorry for how I behaved earlier. I wanted him to make it reversible so you could wear a red or black one depending on the occasion, but he said that would be too much work. We left some room for accent scales in case we meet any other dragon colors."
With a hearty clap on the back Finneas laughs at Dyrant's joke.
"Of course it's been worn before. By the dragons we took it from!"
Glimmil continues to busy himself in the tasks of rebuilding and repopulating Jzadirune, encouraging Ghelve to move his shop into the gnome enclave, and lobbying other gnomes to start businesses where supply does not yet meet demand.
Glimmil specifically works on his two younger brothers, the twins Glimwik and Glimzig, suggesting it's time that the Cobwaddles established a second location for their shoe store. He continues to talk heresy about branching out from just making shoes into making other goods like belts and wallets, culminating in an argument with their father that such de-specialization would lower the quality of Cobwaddle footwear.
At some point during the week, he checks if Finneas has any extra dragonscales from his efforts such that his family could craft Dyrant a matching pair of sandals for his new loin-belt.