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Madness.
Even as the fish continue weaving their enigmatic and beguiling patterns in the pool, the party divides and turns against itself, roars and muttered prayers to beer battered fishies echoing off the high ceiling.
Rey falls back, desperately trying to rush through her incantation, watching wide eyed as Dragox engulfs Sargon in a massive bear hug and drives him to the floor, only to begin pummeling the mage with his broad forehead - again and again and again.
Sargon cries out, trying to free himself to no avail, his every attempt to summon ruinous spells limited by his pinned arms and mouth full of blood and teeth.
T'wich slips free of Omar's grip, only to take a fussilade of arrows to the chest. He races forward, manages to cut at the archer once, twice, but the sustained barrage of arrows is too much - after only a few moments, the dwarf collapses insensate to the ground.
Meanwhile Gauthier does his level best to separate Dragox from the mage, but it's hard going - only when Omar wades into the brawl do they pull the raving paladin free, and even then it takes the two of them to restrain him as he roars and nearly heaves them both into the pool.
Sargon lies dazed and bloodied on the floor, trying to rise and attack, but all he can do is blink and mutter in ancient and forgotten languages.
Finally Rey calls out the last phrase of her spell and a flat percussive wave of force slams through all present, stripping them of their madness in one lucid blast.
Silence falls in the room as Dragox relaxes and Sargon allows his head to rest on the cold marble floor. Panting and heaving, the party regroups, unnerved, wounded, battered, and allow everyone to be healed.
It's been a long spell of exploring and fighting already, so the decision is reached to rest in this hall, far, far from the pool of delightful fishies. The mood is dour. The growing bond of comradeship has just been tested, and even though all know it was foul magic that propelled the attacks, it's still hard to forget the memories of companions attacking with bestial gleams of blood lust in their eyes.
Sargon slowly sits up and runs his hand through his hair fixing it back in place and speaks an arcane phrase a few times Defecatio emundactio His dirty clothes become cleaned up and with a bit of healing he looks his old self. He looks at his companions understanding the situation all too well.
Shattered heads may heal in time, but some betrayals fester and poison the soul, Let this not happen to us. We were the victims of a powerful mind affecting spell. None are to blame
Reyondelee sits, exhausted after her magical and emotional exertion... After a few moments she summons her lyre and begins to play a sorrowful song, one part love balad, one part funeral dirge, and one part lullaby. As much as the compulsion of the magic that forced the brave companions to turn on one another hurt, somehow the tune and words of the song seem to hurt much deeper down, somewhere most men don't like to acknowledge exists. Somewhere in the heart of the soul.
He melted down his plow for ore to forge.
Equipped a sword of steel, and vengeance swore.
When all that's dark swoops down into the night,
and ravages the children in whom your heart delights,
Darkness, red, and rage become the only sight.
There inside a heart of stone pressed down the fright.
When fang and claw creep, seep, draw out of the woods,
and bite and rend the smiles that were all your good,
then plows and crops lose sanctity, and peace.
Then violence is your table's food, your only meat.
With revenge he strolled in between the ancient boles,
but nothing he found there would return his children's souls,
and yet he searched, sought, killed, and spat.
At night, great irony, he came upon them as they sat,
Laughing, kissing, eating, dancing, in their revelry.
Blood-red his eyes, for no dancing would his children see.
Sword in hand, and vow on lips, he stepped into their fire's ring.
Through the air his steel sword made music sing.
No claw, no hook, no fang, or greed,
could stop his vengeance, swift indeed.
Upon the bloody ruin he looked,
dark, crimson blood from hands he shook.
As at his bloody sword he stared,
one thought he had, one simple care.
How never, never, never ne'er
would he run his fingers through his daughter's hair.
"I've not had my mind taken over like that before. I'm sorry, Sargon. The Inheritor is displeased with my actions. I'll be of better use to her tomorrow," the paladin says as he pulls out a worn copy of the Acts of Iomedae and begins rifling through the pages.
Sargon chuckles a little No hard feelings Dragox, though I must say this experience almost makes me have a bit of sympathy for those on the receiving end of your weapons...almost
T'wich sniffs and rubs his chest, "Damn fish." He eyes the nearly grinning ranger. "Guud shot." T'wich will rest the day and pray the next morning.
"Ah...give me some of that hard tact you're gnawing on Clank. It's gotta be bett'r than fish." He instinctively runs his hand over his chest where Omar shot him. "So, what's th' plan?"
Well Twich, I suppose we should investigate that face, last time we saw one it proved fruitful
"The face sounds fine with me. And Twitch, I don't think I'll ever have a taste for seafood again after the last few minutes in this room!"
After the rest, prayer, and trial ration breakfast the dwarf gets up sheathing his short swords. he counts his potions and rearranges a couple on his bandoleers. He spits on the ground then heads over to the face.
+5 traps
Death trap it is, but I learned long ago that living in fear means you aren't really living. Is it possible that a simple painting will cause us all to gouge out our eyes, and then throw them at each other? Sure, but I'm not going to spend the rest of our time in hear flinching in fear whenever someone farts. My mother once said, "life is for the living, and death is for the dead." In other words, onward ho! Reyondelee says, smiles, and then kisses Gauthier on the cheek as she moves to follow the rest of the group.
Death trap it is, but I learned long ago that living in fear means you aren't really living. Is it possible that a simple painting will cause us all to gouge out our eyes, and then throw them at each other? Sure, but I'm not going to spend the rest of our time in hear flinching in fear whenever someone farts. My mother once said, "life is for the living, and death is for the dead." In other words, onward ho! Reyondelee says, smiles, and then kisses Gauthier on the cheek as she moves to follow the rest of the group.
"I'll just call ye, Mary sunshine."
T'wich and Omar quickly discover a lock placed deep within the stone statue's right nostril.
This long chamber holds two pools; one is filled with delightful fish, the other is smaller and seems to be littered with coins. The stone face is set in an expression of fear.[/ooc]
"No lookin' into the pools." He pauses and glances at Omar. "What do you make of this?'
"Pick that lock, and let's move on. I don't want anything to do with those pools, unless we have no other choice."
With his arm up the face's nostril almost to the shoulder, T'Wich finally manages to cause a deeply satisfying click and unlock the lock.
The face shifts perhaps a quarter of inch, proving to be in its entirety a door, but so heavy that it takes the whole group to shove it open.
Beyond, the passageway extends a ways until ending in a T-junction.
The dwarf sniffs the musty air, "You can lead. He nudges Omar forward.
Before heading down the hall(Behind Twich and Omar of course), Sargon will examine the other pool of water.
How exciting! Another secret door. Rey says, taking out her map and sketching the new details.
After sketching and taking notes, Rey stashes her gear, and follows Omar and T'witch's lead down the newly discovered hallway.
T'wich grins when Rey comments about another secret door. She wouldn't be so thrill'd if it were 'er pretty neck poking through first...I bet.
Dragox waits silently as the trap spotters did their business, knowing even a deep breath might distract them from any stray noises that could be important.
After Omar nods the go ahead, T'wich leads the way. Turning to his right , his eyes scanning from the floor to working the way up to the ceiling.
The passage leads east, rising up a set of stairs to culminate at a gate. The gate to the chamber beyond is made from a strange, bluish metal. The floor is decorated with a huge mosaic of the first mud sorcerer symbol, made of small bits of black obsidian and white quartz. From where you stand there don't seem to be any doors within the room.
Well now this is intriguing Sargon says examining the gate.
I have not seen any material like this...Shall we head on in?
Dragox pulls his sword. He'd learned he would be needing it soon enough, in a room with the mud sorcerer symbol in it!
The gate seems to be devoid of traps; its material however remains elusive.
Sargon will cast Detect Magic on the gate
"We know we have stairs leadin' up and a gate, I think we should scout the other way b'fore goin' through that gate." He glances back then forward then continues, "Best not t'leave an unknown foe behind us. Plus, not sure what that gate is keepin' in."
Getting the green light from Omar T'wich turns on his heels and moves down the other hall (West?). His eyes carefully scanning the way.
+5 traps
This little game of follow the leader reminds me of childhood memories. Rey says smiling. Lead on boys, lead on.