"Probably to help the survivors relocate Atol."
"ahh, that makes a lot of sense. So magical!"
I will need to exchange some money and return, perhaps there is more to the riddle. A platinum Sasserine ring might generate a more interesting response than these golden suns.
Silfr will scratch a gold coin and deposit it to the carving, then hurry up to the throne to see if it appears in the armrest.
After that experiment, he is ready to continue through the tunnel to the south.
I will need to exchange some money and return, perhaps there is more to the riddle. A platinum Sasserine ring might generate a more interesting response than these golden suns.Silfr will scratch a gold coin and deposit it to the carving, then hurry up to the throne to see if it appears in the armrest.
After that experiment, he is ready to continue through the tunnel to the south.
The scratched coin does indeed end up in the secret compartment.
Dr. Toffitt's eyes flutter open to reveal darkness. Something covers his face that is far more coarse than the supple leather of his chirurgeon's mask.
More an affectation than anything, I am afraid. If only I could knit others' wounds as well as I mend my own. I feel so close to perfecting the formulae...
He begins to stir, but finds his movement restricted.
A memory of his last waking returns to him. Guttural voices shouting gibberish when he strained against his bonds, followed by the bright light of excruciating pain. He thinks twice about struggling, and instead draws in a long, long breath. He thanks himself for the many months he has spent controlling his body's metabolic processes. One breath and half a sun's passing. He listens intently for signs of his captors, willing his body to right itself.
I would ask the gods to help, but it seems I must help myself. Again... He attempts to struggle more subtly this time.
Oops...
Dyrant waits by the passageway to the south, ready to move on.
Dyrant waits by the passageway to the south, ready to move on.
Atol stands by Dyrant.
There was indeed no one there. Dr. Toffitt struggled for a while against the ropes. Hours? Days? Eventually he fought free. Dark tunnels... From his pocket he took a stone. Soon it spun glowing around his head, narrowly missing the brim of his broad hat.
Straight, left, right, straight. He used a loose rock to mark his passage against the stone walls. Disoriented, hungry. How many days has it been? I so rarely feel hungry any more.
An ill wind passed along the passage way ahead. Dr. Toffitt drew his rapier, drank his curative elixir. His step lightened, he moved forward. And fell, the floor collapsing underneath him. A whir and a crunch as he hit the ground. more darkness...
The party wanders south and then east down the first offshoot which ends in a small room. Rubble and splintered furniture fills this dark, 10-foot-high room. Most of the detritus lies heaped between a pair of 5-foot-diameter tunnels crudely carved into the west and northwest walls. A wooden lever juts from an iron plate set into the east
wall, near the door. The lever looks like it can slide up or down; it is currently in the “down” position.
The party finds a secret door to the south to an empty room. While examining the secret room and the lever, Cog pulls Glimmil through a tunnel north out of the room to a hallway and begins clawing at the ground. As Cog does this, Glimmil notices the signs of another trap like the one that almost ate Silfir.
Dyrant points at his map.
"Sorry friends, I seem to be turned around. I meant to go through this other doorway over here." Dyrant glances around to affix his current location.
"Ah, another one of those traps you're so fond of Silfr. Do you think your old set of armor is caught inside this one? Or maybe there is treasure that needs to be rescued?"
Dyrant will spend some time re-orienting himself and his map...and marking in the lever and pit.
Should I call for aid? Could be it is my captors, come to find me after these many days. Years? Wait, no, they never made such a racket.
Oh, what shall I do? Better to be eaten alive than lie here starving.
HELLO THERE! DR. TOFFITT BEGS YOUR INDULGENCE!
Dyrant looks at Atol's tummy, then at Atol.
That tummy seems to growl something awful.
"You hungry again? We just ate 20 minutes ago."
Dyrant wonders if he should have let him eat the sludgy paste a few rooms back.
Glimmil feels like he's been in a daze for the past half hour, having given up opportunities to put his hand into a gnomish sculpture's mouth and sit on a throne and pretend he was king. He wasn't worried, the time for heroic deeds would come again soon enough.
Stopping and holding up a mailed hand, he turns to the others.
"Hey! Did you hear that? Sounded like a merchant yelling something about toffee-flavored indulgences?"
He scratches Cog behind the ears innocently as he looks about.
"Another floor trap! And a lever in near proximity. Though my hand hesitates, as we do not know if the lever will unlock the door or reset the trap.
I am not willing to risk the life of what could be a kidnapping victim through toggling switches without knowing their purpose.
"Would someone with the proper implement work to force open the top of this trap? We can lower a rope to them, and raise them from near death as I was."
"I say out there! Please help! I would get myself out, but all of my equipment is broken. Everything but this damned spoon!"
Proper implement? Does he want me to use my axe or a spoon?
Glimmil stands in contemplation looking back and forth between his pockets containing his spoons and over his shoulder at the haft of his axe.
He chooses to work with his assorted implements, inclusive of the tools that Ghleve had given him earlier, and works to unhook the mechanism that shuts the trap door.
Glimmil wiggles a spoon in near a hinge until he gets a confident sounding "pop" sound from the mechanism. He holds his spoon in front like a soldier would hold his sword during a combat drill.
"Proper implement used! Sir!"
Silfr softly applauds Glimmil's Spooncraft.
"Well done. Now apply the rope and let us fish out whoever is down there."
Calling into the pit trap, he shouts "Keep calm and do not re-activate the trap! We are sending down a rope, shall we include a gnome to help you climb out?"
"More traps and levers, and now toffee in a pit? Beware Glimmil, perhaps the skulks have learned to imitate voices and are luring you down there to steal your spoons."
Glimmil finds the trap to already be locked in a non-active state, but pops off an appropriate piece to make sure that doesn't change. The party can easily pry open the doors safely and retrieve the doctor at their leisure.
"Hello down there! Hang on while I lower a rope. Are you hungry?"
Turning to the others, "All this talk of food has me a bit peckish. Maybe we should stop and eat a bit with this stolen person before returning them to the surface."
Atol takes a grapple and rope out of his pack. He carefully affixes the grapple to something and lowers the rope below.
Our first stolen person. Yeah! We are finally getting somewhere!
"Can you climb or do you have no strength left? If not, tie yourself to the rope and our warriors will haul you out!"
"Who is down there? Don't I know you from somewhere?"
I've met so many in the last 3 days. Who could he be?
A light appears in the pit, pulsing in a familiar way—an ioun torch. In the light cast by the torch you see a much wounded, oft-perforated Dr. Toffitt. He who rushed out of the Drunken Morkoth Inn, for what reason you cannot even begin to guess.
A willowy man, to be sure. He has the look of elves in his features, making it difficult to determine his age. Twenty? Fifty? When he smiles, he is almost abnormally long in the tooth, and there is a hint of the feral in his features.
His eyes unsettle. One is the color of leaves. The other is the pale yellow of a panther, ready to spring.
His bearing shows him to be a man of letters. Which is to say, one who must work for his station. His attire bespeaks a more rugged lifestyle—well worn but fine traveling clothes, overlain with protective leathers that bear a myriad of fanciful studs. At his waist rests an ornate rapier. Small bottles peak out of a pouched belt, at which also hangs a fine buckler.
He looks up bleary-eyed, still adjusting the presence of light. "Is that... Yes, it is you. Silfr, yes? And... Finneas. Er... Dyrant, was it?
I am astounded. Spurned by the gods like me, and yet he struggles on, tears dried. Our fates are truly in our own hands.
I see you have found new friends. Well met."
He begins a long, rattling cough, and gasps for air.
"Excuse me, my body has become unaccustomed to... Well, breathing. I am afraid I am badly injured. My healing elixir shattered during my fall. Ordinarily I am an adequate climber."
It is a pity that Dyrant is not truly a cleric. Perhaps the gods smile on one of these others. Or perhaps they carry an alchemist's lab with them...
"May the power of Kord restore strength to your ailing limbs, knit your wounds, and vitalize your...um...be healed."
"Is anyone else still injured, even a little? I could channel and top us all off. If not, I'll heal this poor newcomer again. You call yourself a doctor? Can't you heal yourself? I mean no disrespect, just confused."
"I thank you, good fellow. You do honor to... Ah, yes, Kord hears your prayers, as I recall."
He continues coughing. It sounds almost like a cat hacking up a hairball. He still looks quite battered and bloodied.
"I don't suppose you carry a bit of bitumen, denatured murdroot and white clay with you? And a beaker? Um, or perhaps more of Kord's blessings..."
How nice that the gods smile on some of us. If only Finneas could wish away the beast as easily as he banishes my wounds. No, I dare not ask him that. No one can know my shame.
Hearing Atol's offer of healing, Toffitt says, "You are most kind. Certainly, your assistance would also be most welcome, sir. Which of the gods favor you? Ordinarily I have it within me to mend wounds, though it requires the correct formulae and equipment." There is the briefest flicker of envy in his golden and emerald eyes.
"I don't know what any of that is, but we passed a table earlier that had pudding on it. There might be some other cooking supplies on it that you can use."
Male voice: What's he doing here? He's working with the skulks!
"How did you get here Doctor?"
Dyrant takes to make heads or tails over this pit denizen.
"Excuse me, Mister Toffey, where did we meet again? How did you know my name? You mentioned something about selling indulgences? I'll have you know that if you're selling indulgences of St. Cuthbert, I must brand you heretic and cudgel you until you repent."
Dyrant hands twitch.
It's been a while since my last good cudgelling. Maybe I'll work the top half and let Atol work his knees.
"St. Cuthbert does not take kindly to heretics and Pholtans."
"Pudding? Alas, gelatin is not one of the ingredients for alchemical curatives. Did you see any glass beakers? Er, jars would do as well."
He introduces himself to Atol and Gimmil.
"I thank you for this most valiant rescue. I am afraid my circumstances are unclear to me. I had left the tavern.
For reasons you would rather not know. The curse murmured to me, but I remain its master.
"I found myself beset by shadows, and a blow led me into a much deeper darkness. I awoke bound in rope and burlap. And was sent rather unceremoniously back into that deep slumber. When I next awoke, my captors were no longer there. I freed myself from ropes, only to stumble upon this... This pepper mill."
At his mention of the spice, you hear a loud growl. "My goodness, how many days has it been? I am weak with hunger. I hate to ask more of you..."
Hearing Dyrant's words, Toffitt looks puzzled. "Selling indulgences? Er... Oh, no, no, I was begging your indulgence! Certainly not selling St. Cuthbert's. I doubt that he would ever indulge in a creature such as myself. Not directly, that is."
Glimmil stands quietly at the arrival of the new-comer, his eyes studying each of the man's attributes and possessions.
At the mention of beakers and alchemist supplies, he sees an opportunity to be helpful.
"Why, yes! We just came from something of an alchemical lab! There were all kinds of things within."
"And I don't believe we met - I'm Glimmil Cobwaddle, Doctor Toffeet!"
Glimmil contemplates how difficult it would be to move about if your feet were made from toffee.
"I have food." Atol beams with pleasure.
Atol digs out some rations of dried beef and a hard roll or two and hands them to Toffit.
"We should get you out of here as quickly as we can. This is a very dangerous place to be wandering about. Dyrant, can you pull out the map and plot our best route to safety?"
Our first saving!
At Glimmil's introduction, Dr. Toffitt — TOE-fit — bows. "I am most glad to make your acquaintance, Ser. I take it you are the brave knight with..." He spies a spoon sticking out of the trap's mechanism. "The might spoon. Might I offer you mine, as recompense for guiding me to this most fortuitously placed lab?"
Dr. Toffitt gladly takes the hard roll from Atol but politely refuses the dried beef. It seems to sate his hunger, for now.
He asks the party why they are in this dark place and, indeed, where this place lies.
"You wish to join us? We seek lost children and we have faced many dangers...I should expect to face many more. The gnomes of this citadel know no ends to their traps, illusions, and mechanical lethality. You would not be safe."
Dyrant ponders for a moment.
Given two hours, I could re-scribe the prayerspell of Embiggening.
"Professor Toffey, you want us to wait while you cook some breakfast in the local laboratory? Is the food Atol gave you not enough?"
Glimmil nods as if the emphasis on the TOE was all he needed.
"Good doctor, we share a common love for orthopedics! I have some skill at the crafting of shoes, not like my forebears or my brothers, but nonetheless."
"Perhaps your insight into this.."
Glimmil gestures at Dyrant.
"He wears funny. Notice how his 'sole' is practically broken."
Dr. Toffittbegins to make a list of questions to ask about this place and its former denizens, while he mixes together his elixirs and mutagen. He attempts to keep his general pity of Dyrant under wraps.
But unfortunately his pity is quite evident.
"I would like to concoct alchemical admixtures that will make me a much more useful to you in the coming battles. I, Dr. Toffittam well acquainted with danger and woe. It is my calling to help those in need."
Wow. If all the stolen people are this helpful we'll be a veritable army by the time we're done! I'm going to need more rations...
Dyrant harumphs as they walk back to the laboratory.
"Eye of newt and tongue of salamander, eh, Dr. Toefeté? I hadn't made you for a witch. Silly people, them witches with their cauldrons abrewing. Feh! Witches are heathens who should be put to the cudgel."
Dyrant harumphs again.
"However, if time in the laboratory will give you cause to aid us in finding the children, I will use the time to scribe a prayer. It has been useful in the past and will be again, I believe."
In the laboratory, Dyrant finds a quiet and clean place to sit. He will take out his prayer book, prayer box, and good his prayerpaper and begin to scribe. He will be done in two hours.
"If you're to join us then we'll need to keep you patched up Doctor, although I do find it strange you can't heal yourself."
The Doctor looks skeptically at the disorganized lab. I will need to get better ingredients once we have left this place. But these will do.
"Not so, my good man. Dr. Toffitt is skilled in all manner of curatives and restoratives."
Finneas feels, perhaps a lack of confidence in this statement.
"It is just that some of us are not so blessed as to have a god's foot... Er, I mean ear... Upon us. We must create the cure with our own hands and wits. Would you hand me that pipette? The narrow glass tube with the rubber nub on it."
Finneas shakes his head
"Sorry Doctor, unless you want the whole table lifted I'll not be getting involved."
Too many words
Male voice: Hit him in the face.
Female voice: That's not nice.
Male voice: Him him in the cr
Female voice: That's not nice either!
Male voice: ook of his arm.
Shut up both of you.
"I believe you don't have Kord's foot on you Doctor, it can be a powerful motivator. Perhaps Dyrant or Silfr can be of assistance."
"Good doctor I have some ingredients that might assist you." Atol unslings his backpack and hands it to Toffitt.
Alchemy Fire x3
Antitoxin x3
Backpack
Candle x10
Chalk x10
Charcoal
Compass
Crowbar
Earplugs x6 pair
Flask of Oil x2
Flint & Steel
Grappling Hook
Manacles, MW
Mirror, steel
Rations x5
Rope 50', silk
Sack x2
Smelling salts
Smokesticks x2
8 sunrods
Sunrod x11
Tanglefoot bag
Tindertwigs x22
Thunderstone x4
Twine 50'
Universal solvent
Vermin Repellent
Whetstone x5
"Doctkor, it is surprising, though not unwelcome, to see you again." After Toffitt is appraised of the exploration so far, Silfr adds a suggestion.
"We are glad you will attach to our mission, as Jzadirune contains many deadly inhabitants and traps. The addition of a doctor would be advantageous. Please take time to replenish your medical supplies and compounds, though only the minimum time."
To the others, he adds that "The discovery of a kidnapped Cauldron resident in this unfavorable trap suggests that our complete search of Jzadirune was merited."
Silfr takes out his pocket compass to confirm the direction of the southward skulk tunnel.
"We should continue to follow the tunnel south and least complete the search of this map quarter."
While waiting Silfr will check for secret doors just north of Toffit's pit,
After one hour he will check on the doctor and see if he is done making compounds.
For safety he will also concentrate when looking into the room and silently detect evil on the two.
"My goodness! You are well prepared. These will certainly be helpful to us, although for my elixirs I will need slightly more basic components." He does look with a bit of satisfaction upon the alchemist's fire, thunderstone and tanglefoot bag. He looks for consent from Atol as he removes one of each from the backpack and returns it.
"Please forgive my fit of pique, Finneas. I am afraid I have had a troubled relationship with the gods. Like our friend Dyrant, they have not answered my prayers, nor the prayers of those that I have loved." His hand touches absently the lid of his golden eye. "Please do not let my own sorrows mar my thanks for your kindness in sharing blessings with me."
Fail!
Dyrant puts the final touches on his prayerscroll and begins to pack up while the ink dries.
Whispering to no one, "Thank you for your time, Angel. Your guidance and patience gives me strength."
Dyrant pulls out his map and again suggests exploring the area to the south of the throneroom.
"We could finish this south quadrant quickly and then come back to the secret doors."
Edit:
Silfr suggests continuing the tunnel south from the room of the (illusionary) gnomish king. It may connect to the other large room with stairs, and the hallway back to the gnomish totem pole room. That same hall has a room with an unknown door rune.
Edit:
[/ooc]