Niyut looks up in surprise at Garidan's words. Perhaps his obsession with alchemy will bear some fruit.
"A component of alchemist fire? We have some of that. Is it possible to separate this 'oil of Vra'lithe' from the other components of the alchemist fire?"
** spoiler omitted **...
Pondering Niyut's question carefully as he works, Garidan doesn't actually respond to her right away. Only once his work is at point where he can briefly step away from it does he answer. "Considering that alchemist's fire, once in its finished state, ignites on contact with air, I'm not willing to make that attempt. However," the budding alchemist quickly adds to forestall any complaint from her, digging through the laden pack on Tacal's broad back as he speaks. "We don't need to even try that. Among the ingredients I was allowed to claim at the Tower of Necromancy by Sivantanpisil were both raw seeds and prepared oil." Handing her--carefully, considering the volatile nature of the contents--a small vial capped in wax and filled with a viscous fluid, he nods at it. "Hopefully that'll do what you need, because I'd really like to use the rest for its intended purpose."
On his return to camp, scavenged wood in hand, Garidan trims away the unneed portions with his dagger, then resorts to his armorer's tools for the proper finishing work. Fortunately, the work is simple enough and swiftly done, even after the time he's previously put into his alchemical efforts. "It should be a much easier job than Truk'tosh's cloaker armor," he thinks to himself as he works. As the fires burns down and his fatigue grows, Garidan manages to muster up just enough energy--physical and mental alike--to pack everything away safely before dropping into some the best sleep he's had in recent weeks.
Though physically weak, the latter suggestions of Niyut synergized well with what Querkus's request, the clear path giving him strength.
Hear that? You could be part of your tree, know what it knows, take your home with you. How's that sound?
From a value standpoint, Gruskorb saw it as a win-win; Querkus wouldn't truly die, and not only would he get to keep his home, he could move it to a more defensible place.
That would ease my soul, for certain... but how? And where could the tree be planted in such a desolate world.
That would ease my soul, for certain... but how? And where could the tree be planted in such a desolate world.
We'll find out in time, I'm sure. If I'm running errands for all these wizards, one of 'em has to know the spell to help you get with the tree ... and probably somewhere for it to plant. Just in case they don't know a spot though, keep your eyes peeled as we go.
While Gruskorb may have been weak, his nimble mind and fingers were not fully compromised; he began to fasten the chitin in parallel to the chimera sinew of his necklace.
Truk'tosh fusses with the wooden cache for a few minutes before determining that it is securely locked. Raised among a pragmatic people, he held little value in gold but fine craftsmanship was worth respect in almost any form. Unwilling to force the delicate thing open, he stores the gold-trimmed box among his possessions until Gruskorb admits the connection his spiritual hitchhiker once had to the site.
"Did Querkus leave this within the tree?" he asks the recovering Aegean as he retrieves his find. "It was sealed near its roots but I couldn't find a key. Smashing it seemed like a such a waste."
"Thank you, Garidan. I think this may be useful in the future."
What the young spirit-talker doesn't say is that knowing that it is possible to change the essences gives her a sense of control that she has lacked since the world ended. The knowledge in the Libre provide her with the ability to impose some control.
Live inside the tree? An interesting question, no doubt. No, I lived among the trees. My mother, as the caretaker and protector of this forest, had a special bond with this Eldertree. It was she the taught me the words to be spoken should I ever need protection within it. Querkus said to Gruskorb in response to the half-orc's question.
Niyut waters the ox and checks the earth in the golden bowl to see if the root too needs more water. She weaves a protective charm around herself and Malthazir. She thanks her brother when he renews the weather ward about Garidan and herself. Once all the small matters have been attended, she leads the party back towards the plains and the city to which they journey.
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After gathering their gear and properly securing Tacal's packs, the group begins to head out of the forest. After a couple of hours, the forest begins to thin and a rocky plain opens before the group. A well-trodden road winds through the plains and down into a wide valley. Many tracks of men and horse can be seen along the road. Clearly recent, Truk'tosh and the others conclude that this area has seen an abundance of travel following the Shaping.
Keeping to the road, the group makes their way through the valley for two full days, seeing no other sign of living beast or man. On the third day, the ground begins to rise and Tacal begins to work harder as he pulls the cart uphill. The ground is becoming rockier and the group's speed is slowed as they work to avoid any potential ambushes behind the large boulders that now dot the land. As the group begins to contemplate another rest stop, Gruskorb calls out. Further up the road, he spots the half-eaten corpse of a gnoll. Nearby, he has also found the slain bodies of two zombies.
Searching the gnoll, the group finds a dull falchion with a severely chipped blade lying next to the gnoll and a bone-handled dagger resting in the gnoll's right hand. It's hardened leather sheath is strapped to the gnome's bandolier. The blade is well balanced and by the looks of it, not fashioned by a gnoll. With its weapons stripped, the only other things Garidan finds useful is a small pouch of reddish grains that could act as a couple of days of rations in a pinch and a fifty foot length of silk rope with a particularly dusty odor.
Giving the rope a cursory check for weak spots, something about it strikes Garidan as odd, and he examines it more intently. In doing so, his recently-acquired alchemical knowledge rises to forefront of his mind, noting particular details that allow him to swiftly identify the coil for what it actually is. "Oh, this is very useful," he exclaims happily while running the rope through his hands. He then explains to the others the details of his find before coiling the rope and adding it to their supplies.
Considering the rest of the gnolls equipment, the swashbuckler immediately discards the falchion; his knowledge on the subject is suffificient to point out the blade's poor condition, which likely won't be measuraby improved by any efforts he could make. The dagger, however, which seems to be a bit better in make than average, he offers to Gruskorb in its sheath with a faint smile. "Pretty good blade, seems like it was made for throwing by the feel of it. You're welcome to have it for your collection." The swashbuckler then considers the unknown grains with a dubious expression before somewhat hesitantly adding them to their supplies.
The next day Niyut finishes restoring the strength the Gruskorb's body. Slightly begrudgingly, she gives thanks to the Sacred Mother for her gifts of healing and renewal. She has only been an ally to me, but I am loathe to abandon the lore of my people. Though their fate is a mystery as long as Truk'tosh and I survive, the Firebird continue.
The second day of their travels, she once again communes with the spirits of her ancestors. She says nothing to her grandmother about the gap in their bond. Surely, she understands the nature of my necessity.
When they come upon the dead gnoll, Niyut is struck by the bone handled dagger. After peering into the ether to see if there is any bit of magic about the gnoll or her belongings, Niyut reaches out for the dagger.
"May I see it? I lost my knife when we fell into the fissure."
"We need to find a protected spot to rest, but should beware the dead awake. Brother, do you see anything in the curve of this land to provide us protection?"
The bone dagger proves not to be magical but its markings and the bandolier upon which the sheath is attached are unmistakably that of Haemil. Malthazir believes that the knife would have belonged to an officer in Haemil's formidable calvary. Niyut examines the bone handle and determines that it came from a great cat, possibly a lion. While lions would be very rare in this part of the western plains of Haemil, the lowlands near the southern range of the Iron Mountains have been home to many prides of lions for many years.
Truk'tosh is not able to see much immediate shelter, but Morgrym assures the half-orc that the ascent of the road suggests that the group is nearing the plateau that marks the western plains of Haemil. Surely, you can find a cave or possibly a large overhang at the base of the plateau, lad.. Sure enough, the dwarven spirit proves correct as the group is able to find a rather large cave. Settling just inside of the cave, the group gets shelter from the frigid winds and enjoys the best night's sleep since the occupying Siv's study in the Tower of Necromancy. Tomorrow will be your challenge! You'll need to find a path up the plateau... the paths are narrow and treacherous... and at the top, you'll likely find a fortification of some sort. The riders of Haemil did not like to see strangers wandering about their lands.
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Sitting back from the fire, Niyut begins to weave a story. She hasn't told a story since the night the gnolls attacked their camp.
"At this fire I will not speak of the deeds of the primogenitors. You have already heard of the crimes of Simur and Vash. At this fire, I would speak of their children."
Her hand graceful traces a tower in the air and in the wake of her finger an image of the Bright Tower can be seen.
"In the west, you have wizards and their Hazards. We know of this magic on the storm-ward side of the Iron Mountains, but the clans do not practice this wizardry. The sons and daughters of Chana sing their mighty songs of power. Their songs and lore stretch back to the earliest of days. The other clans have elders of druids and shamans, each according to their blood. But neither their songs nor our shamanic rituals are like unto wizardry. Instead, there are witches in the west. Rather than divide into schools like the Hazards, witches commune with their patrons and claim their hexes.
Where there was once a tower, hunched and twisted feminine figures teach goblins, orcs, and hobgoblins.
"Who are these patrons? Well, not all the children of the primogenitors yielded to the fate of their mortality. They had watched as Vash of the Blood slew Zamaz the Unraveler. They saw one of the immortals die. They thought if one of the immortals can die is it possible that mortals can live forever? Zamaz's death fractured the Compact. What once were laws of iron were now suggestions carven in bronze. The Unraveler's blood seeped into the land. It pooled into witch's blood. Those who drink it are transformed."
Images of goblins, hobgoblins, and orcs kneeling and drinking a dark liquid as they drank this viscous liquid they are transformed into hags.
"I tell you this to warn you. If we cross the mountains we might stumble across scars in the land caused by the warring of the primogenitors. While there is power to be found in these scars, it always comes at a cost. While they found life everlasting, their bodies were twisted into terrible crones. Life, but life bent and broken. The greatest of these crones subdued through the echo of Zamaz's might some of the lesser spirits bound to the flesh of the world. They crowned themselves queens of wisdom, moon, and thorn. Where the Hazards teach things like divination, conjuration, and the other schools, these patrons taught the clans the magic of plague, summer, deception, and all the other secrets of witchcraft. Where shamans bargain, witches take. Some of these crones were bound to standing stones or beneath dolmen by the shamans of the clans aided by the spirits those self-same crones would rule. Others of these ancient queens linger on both sides of the mountains. That is why it is both wise and gracious to share one's bread with strange crones who you might meet in your travels for even a silver of a primogenitor is still worthy of respect and fear."
After finishing her tale, Niyut opens up the tome bound in flesh and continues to read of the rituals of change.
Searching through the Libre Sanguinem, Niyut finds the phrase, for the conversion of essences to that of water, a cup of the water salted with Rynin Salt Flakes is required. The oracle looks to Garidan and his alchemy kit.
"Don't look at me, there is no alchemical use of Rynin salt flakes... but my father use to swear upon pork rinds salted with those flakes. Damn Delicious! he used to say. I wish we had some, my tastebuds are beginning to go numb with the dry rations we're eating."
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Looking between Niyut, Gruskorb, and the dagger in turn, Garidan shrugs in answer. "If he doesn't want it, then you're certainly welcome to it, Niyut. In fact, if you really need one right now, there's another in with our supplies."
[ooc]And done! Valjoen, I'm going to assume that Garidan now has a masterwork wooden buckler with the usual shield bonus and acp for such things (+1 and -0, respectively). Does the material have any effect on the spell failure chance or weight. And does the wood's unusual source do anything of significance?
During the long hours of travel between the tree and base of the plateau that is the party's next destination, Garidan takes advantage of the lack of interruptions to work on his pair of projects. He even goes so far as to precariously perch his armorer's tools on Tacal's back and work on that buckler while walking; his sister's exasperated supervision from her orbiting vessel keeps him from taking a spill as his eyes stay focused on what his hands are occupied with. Even with his focus split, the swashbuckler somehow manages to complete both acid and shield without mishap, though any practioner of alchemy would probably have issues with the way he rushed the final steps on that acid before tranferring it to its waiting flask. To make up for that, Garidan spends extra time on finishing work for the buckler, patiently and carefully going over even the most minor details to ensure that the end result is the best he can make.
New shield in hand, Garidan wastes not a moment consigning his old one to the party's cache of arms, though he does point it out to his companions. "If one of you wants that little shield there, help yourselves. It's quality work, and nothing wrong with it either. Just finally had enough of it throwing off my bladework." He then settles in to attentively listen to Niyut spin another of her curious tales--he's not sure if they're histories, or lessons, perhaps both at once, or something else entirely--before spending the last of his waking hours quietly pondering what sort of alchemical bane or boon to work on next.
The exercise done by Gruskorb helped him put blood back in his healing muscles. While Niyut may have catalyzed most of the repair, some still needed to be done naturally. To think there could have been a whole colony of those things...
Readily sharing Querkus's elaboration of his neighborhood with Truk'tosh, the hobgoblin took his confirmed suspicions one step further. If his family lived among the trees, there will be others that do the same. This root would be an artifact of sorts, and Querkus may be a demigod to some. He kept that trump card in his mind, bookmarked for negotiation with hostile forest-dwellers if necessary.
This gnoll wouldn't be one of them though. He crouched by the body. "If they didn't make this blade, they're either working with some group, or scavenging or skirmishing with them." He shook his head at Garidan's offer. "I've got one of my own."
It was the rope that bothered him more. "Why would they need this?" Gruskorb hadn't heard of the specialized set of strands before. "Is there a pit of fire nearby?" He regretted asking either way. I hope not.
As they sat down to rest, he silently took-in the wise Niyut's account of the history in the realm. Only after did he speak. "We're fortunate you're one of the shamans then." He smiled slightly at an attempt to lighten the mood, naturally melancholy under the firmament.
The brother of the seer came to the rogue with an inquiry about a box. "Doubt it," replied Gruskorb out-of-hand as he ran his fingers along the edges. What say you, Querkus? After relaying his response, the rogue offered his services. "Want me to give it a go?"
As sleep took hold over him, it may have been the recent experiences that tainted his dreams, but he felt a sable presence just beyond his subconscious thoughts. Warm, then cool .... luring, enveloping ...
With a small frown, Niyut responds, "If only I were a shaman. I would have less to fear and so too would my people. No matter how old I become, I doubt I will ever be an elder. I am like the tall tree that calls out to the storm. Some would say my gifts are curses. If I am every possessed by a spirit who I do not control, you must destroy my body. The shamans teach that people such as I can give the great spirits a palace of bone. They would not need to tithe any of their power then to cross the veil."
The young woman does not look up from her book. She is ashamed to admit her terrible secret, but these people deserved to know the potential danger.
When talk of his twin's gifts go to dark places, Truk'tosh is quick to interrupt with an offering of dried fruit and a skin of water. "This tall tree should take a break from her studies to eat", he warns while giving Gruskorb a look that says Shoo!.
"Morgrym warns that the path to the top of the plateau is narrow and treacherous. We should take precautions. Garidan, do we have enough rope to tie everyone to Tacal's harness?"
Despite having taken to only eating in her dreams -- to preserve the rations for the others -- Niyut reflexively takes the piece of fruit from her twin. She loves fruit. Even desiccated the fruit still tasted of life and summer.
The hobgoblin feels a bit out of sorts as Querkus' attention is drawn to the box and he invades Gruskorb's eyes, momentarily taking control of his vision. It is not mine... it came from inside the tree?. The druid retreats to allow the Gruskorb to concentrate on the box's lock. It is a simple lock, he discovers, and although his vision is still a bit off and his hands are shaky, the rogue is able to swiftly open the box. Inside the box, he finds a folded piece of vellum. Gently pulling it out, he sees the flowing script of elvish.
Calling to Malthazir, Gruskorb hands over the letter to the elf who reads it aloud.
My dearest Alyria, I must leave you now. Although I abhor it's practice, my family's trade calls, and it is my duty, as a son and noble, to speak to my father. I have freed them all and shall renounce my name and title before him in Greyton. Were it not for my father's command, I would remain here with you, in Amus' embrace, till the end of time.
With all my love, Kyllvyn del’Agost Dianndor
Gruskorb's swells with the emotions of Querkus as he recognizes his mother's name and comes to grip with the truth of his origins. But it is Malthazir who reveals his feelings to the group first. With disdain for the noble house of del’Agost Dianndor, the wizard drops the fragile letter to the ground and walks away from the fire with a grunt. This was the second time that he has encountered this family upon their journey from Talanor, and he grew weary of hearing the name that has cost his family power and prestige in Greyton.
Malz goes off on his own, hard scowl set as he dissapears.
What the hell is-
Not now.
Malz get some distance, staying within earshot but out of sight of the others. Those bastards. Without them, he wouldn't be in this mess. He would still have his eye.
Perked up by the fruit, Niyut slides the tome back up into her sleeve. She watches Malthazir stalk off into the darkness. She gives him a few minutes and then follows after him. She finds him quivering with rage in the darkness.
Lightly she lies a hand on his back. Touch it was such a common thing before the world ended. Now much more rare. She doesn't speak. Niyut does not know the world that Malthazir came from anymore than he understood the complicated tangle of kinship and custom that had bound her all her life. Once, he had given her companionship when she didn't think she wanted it. When she did not want anyone to see her tears.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~
"Same watches as before? We should rest if the next part will be trying of body."
Pondering the sort of path leading up to the plateau's surface that they might be facing, Garidan nods absentmindedly in response to Truk'tosh's query. He then shakes his head to clear his thoughts and gives the half-orc a more thorough answer. "Oh yes, we've still got a fair bit of stout rope, even after leaving those coils of that heavy hemp stuff back at the tower," he says, referring the Tower of Necromancy and the supply reorganization he had to do in the wake of the cart's abandonment. "If Gruskorb will ply that reparative spell of his, we can even cut the rope down to the appropriate smaller segments as needed, without losing the use of the complete length when we need it again." Frowning, he considers the upthrust wall of stone again. "Considering the damage done by the effects of the rift, I think we may want to travel whatever route those who came before us made use of. It should be the safest, in terms of stability."
When Malthazir later storms off, the action is enough to rouse Garidan from his alchemical reverie, and he quirks an eyebrow upward in curiousity as he stares in the directio by which the elf left. He then glances to the others and asks. "Right, so what crawled under his robes and bit him now? And should we really just let him wander off like that? All it takes is one gnoll that knows how to be quiet, and he's meat." Sighing, Garidan heeds the suggestion implicit in his own question and lifts himself away--with great reluctance--from the comfort of the fire to find Malthazir in the starlit dark beyond the party's camp. Surprised to have Niyut come along, he lets her approach the spellcaster while he keeps careful watch over the pair from a short distance.
The period of rest goes quietly if not anxiously for the group. Anticipation for the ascent to the plateau weighs upon everyone. After a well-deserved break, the group manages to ingest some nutrients before gathering their gear and setting off to the south, following the base of the plateau.
Within a few miles, Truk'tosh discovers a narrow path of stairs carved winding its way up the shear sides of the plateau. High above, the glowing light of fire can be seen. Certainly, someone or something awaits you at the top.
After a long ascent bound together by the rope, you see the path slightly widen and the constructed walls of a small keep above the path's righthand side. Quietly Gruskorb and Niyut sneak a little further down the path only to see several gnolls stationed atop the parapets.
"Here is what I suggest: I levitate up and Malthazir casts fly on Garidan. The two of us ascend in a stealthy fashion and take out the look outs. Once we have secured the gate, Gruskorb, Truk, and Malthazir bring Tacal up and in no danger of catching arrows."
As the fire's light becomes visible above, Garidan lightly brushes the ioun torch circling his head with his fingers, murmuring quietly as he does so. "Douse the light, sis. Don't want 5o warn anyone if they're not in the mood to be friendly." The action proves fortuitous after Niyut and Gruskorb scout ahead and return with warnings of gnolls standing watch. Listening to the plan Niyut proposes, Garidan gives his armor, shield, and weapons a thorough check before stepping forward. "Works for me, just tell which gnolls are my targets, and I'll deal with them."
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"Here is what I suggest: I levitate up and Malthazir casts fly on Garidan. The two of us ascend in a stealthy fashion and take out the look outs. Once we have secured the gate, Gruskorb, Truk, and Malthazir bring Tacal up and in no danger of catching arrows."
Happy with her plan if only because it didn't involve him in the hot seat, Gruskorb - in rare insight - questioned what caused the bravery in Niyut. So she is the lightning rod for spirits, hmm? Indeed, even in their intellectual cities (especially compared to orcs), aegeans would have shunned her for her "curse". Gruskorb didn't mind as much though, particularly after seeing how well she handled herself and him not having a leg to stand on having a spirit of his own.
I wonder what things shaped her when she was younger...
"If you want, I can set my bear trap somewhere. With these "bombs", it's probably not needed though."
As Garidan waits on Malthazir'z spell, he quietly considers the best way to strike the gnolls down as swiftly as he can. There's no way to know how many occupy that fortification, so killing as many as possible, in as short a time as possible, is critical for the two of them. After a few moments of thought, his eyes pan slowly down to the bandolier of alchemical weapons, and his eyebrows rise as a startling--but potentially brilliant--idea occurs to the young swordsman. "You know, if we can climb unseen high enough above the walls, and gnolls manning them, we could hit them from above with some of these flasks to start," he suggests to Niyut. "If they're busy trying to put themselves out, they won't be able to effectively defend against, or evade, our follow-up attacks."
"There is some wisdom to that. However, my mother's wand can do more damage than your alchemy. Perhaps, you could follow up the killing frost with a little bit of fire. Or better yet, you drop the fire on the gnoll furtherest to the west and I will blast the gnolls grouped in the tower. Wait a minute after I go up and the fire will be my signal."
In the dim little of the stone, Niyut weaves protective shadows around herself.
Then softly calling on the spirits of her ancestors, she claws her way into the sky.
Watching curiously as Malthazir casts his spells, Garidan can't stop the excited, and somewhat nervous, giggle that slips out as his feet leave the ground. A broad grin on his face, the swashbuckler spends a few precious moments learning how to move effectively before grabbing a pair of flasks from his bandolier, tucking his cloak tightly about his body to--hopefully--avoid any betraying reflection from his armor, and rising steadily into the darkened skies to reach the targets Niyut wants him to strike.
Eyeing the widely-separated positions occupied by the two gnolls, Garidan grunts in disgust at his inability to strike both with the advantage of surprise, but quickly gets over his discontent as he hovers unseen over the southernmost of the pair. Eyeing gnoll some forty feet directly below him, he takes a few seconds lining up his first flask's drop as best he can, and prepares to let go...
As the first excited barks and howls rise from the throats of the all-to-alert guards, Garidan curses softly and abandons all pretence of stealth to race toward the first of his two targets, the gnoll occupying the southern tower. He gets above it, about forty feet or so, and spends a few dangerous moments unmoving while he tries to accurately position the impact point of the first flask. Judging the drop as best he can, he prepares to drop the fragile container...
"Wait." Malz places the ooze back on Garidan's shoulder, giving it an alternate command, causing it to secret the clear viscous fluid. As it runs down Garidan and turns him invisible, Malz's eyepatch glows bright blue. He looks right into Garidan's eyes and nods. "Be careful." As the invisible Garidan flies off he murmurs another spell, cloaking himself with multiple images.
Lastly, Malz shows his new creature off to the others. A small psueodragon, a forest dragon the size of a dog.
Querkus, what's what? Gruskorb pointed to the drake-looking creature Malthazir seemed to have conjured. Not going to turn on us, is it?
The aegean looked-on, hoping for the best as his airborne allies sought to further their passage.
Initiative
+8 with swashbuckler initiative
Domain power use.
Perception
+13 with familiar
+19 in dim light or darkness
Other
With a few protective spells cast, the group initiates their plan. Climbing above the guarded Keep, the pair can now see more fires along the battlements which reveal several more knolls on watch. Not abandoning their plan, Garidan flies high above the knolls and drops a bomb on the unsuspecting gnoll. The dog howls as the alchemist's fire bursts all about him, catching him on fire. Focused on the flames, the gnoll is able to douse them before they injure him more severely. No sooner had the alchemist's fire detonated, Niyut's wand produces a massive hailstorm of ice and snow hitting the two knolls nearby. They both fall dead. As the gnolls' life is extinguished, a series of howls erupts about the Keep, and the gnolls converge upon Niyut position, several firing arrows. A single arrow strikes the oracle.
Down below upon the stairs, Gruskorb has crept closer to the action, while Malthazir and Truk'tosh begin to urge Tacal forward hearing that the attack has begun. Looking back down the stairs, Gruskorb sees a figure approaching from the rear.