Wounds are tended to.
Frightened tears have carved jagged paths through an encasement of blood and grime, revealing flesh that shows none of the signs of infection you have observed to your travels and travails.
Though the large leather sacks are crudely fashioned, they appear to be relatively resistant to the insidious movements of the sluicing of foul rainwater that swells the river beside you, and soaks your sore and befouled bodies.
At first the children recoil in horror of more "monsters" having descended upon them, but children are trusting by their nature and inquisitive as a rule, especially when not cast into eternal darkness and their thirst has been quenched.
It does not take long before the little ones are filling your ears with endless tales of mundane details. A little 4 year old girl named Ofira protectively holds her younger brother's hand, a boy that is perhaps 2 years old, and relays with confidence that they live close to a beehive, a whole family of garter snakes that they swim with when their parents aren't looking, and that they live in Stormhold. Dandelion is forced to relinquish his light source, by the inquisitive 2 year old, who spends most of his time chewing on the enchanted rock and laughing.
Calvoric has heard of Stormhold, a small outpost settlement of a kingdom long since forgotten, which lies scant miles from Muaem. Its walls were rebuilt, fishermen moved into the area to take advantage of its close proximity to ample fish stocks, and eventually a small community grew up around it.
Shielding the children from the burning rain is brilliant, and it provides ample time to magically wash blood from their bodies, and minister to injuries. There are a few scrapes, and only one gash to contend with.
Corralling flaming felines would be easier than keeping track of 7 little crawling, oft bawling when thunder booms and lightning rakes the air, little creatures.
It appears that you are not the last to continue to draw breath.
after the fight
Cal quickly searches the ogre, grabbing water skins, cloaks or even blankets thinking about making enough of a cover when the three of them like the top of a tent. Grabbing some rope as well, noting that having the ability to tie them to wood would at least help out as well. The bard also stuffs a few handfulls of gems and placing them into a pouch.
upon searching the bag and finding the children
Cal almost growls at the sight of the children, the thought that the ogres eating children brought the start of a snarl that Cal quickly hides.
Cal kicks one of the corpses, then moves to help the other two with the children, helping calm the seven kids, using magic to get the little ones clean wasn't much effort. Still in the weakened condition that the three of them were in, this was going to be a challenge at least the children would be fed from the spoon, as Grrndal had a way to keep the three of them and his bloody freaking cat fed.
Of course now the group couldn't travel in the dark for the children wouldn't be able to see. The bard kept a close eye on his new charges, while humming, trying to project an air of calm.
Later Cal let's Grendal and Dandelion know that the town that the kids are from was on the way of their destination. " Not a whole lot of known history 'bout the town, used to be a keep that got forgotten about. Fell into disrepair, people left, years later a whole buncha people moved back around the area and made it into a town a number of years back. I think around 50 Years ago or so. Zot! Get yer sister back over to the tent. " Cal says fondly to one of the eldest girls he had learned all their names quickly then told them that today they had new ones, only for today though. It was a nonsense game that most children had loved in the past when Cal had played it before.
"We should use the javelins and hides to make a stretcher. Something with a little bit of padding. I can change my shape to that of a camel, err, horse, and pull the stretcher behind me. It might take a little work, and someone might need to keep an eye on the supports, but basically, I'm thinking something like a little sliding cave to keep them safe," the druid looks over at the other half-orcs. He pauses for a moment as one of the toddlers traces the etching in his tusks. "Okay, I need my teeth back, thank you," he smiles at the giggling child from where he kneels near the impromptu shelter.
Despite the herculean effort that was going to be needed to keep the newest members alive, Grendel was gladdened. He should have been been more concerned with supplies, of danger of traveling with a small platoon of children, or a thousand other things. Grendel was just happy that someone else was alive. It gave him a faint sense of hope that they might actually be able to do something. Rather than just trudge along, blindly putting one foot in front of the other.
"Dandelion, what way did you say the tracks went? I was a little distracted when you mentioned them the first time," Grendel wore a slight grin on his tired features.
Looking back at the shelter, Grendel's eyebrows rose to his flame colored hairline. Nagrish had slunk into the middle of the dry shelter and was calming licking a paw from where he sat. A glance revealed all of the children still around, so the thought that the cougar goggled one up was wiped from his mind. The desert cougar seemed immune to pokes and rough petting from the miniature peoples. The cat calming moves to cleaning the others that happened to share his nice dry cave. The sound of Nagrish's rarely heard purring kicks up, surprising the druid even more.
"Well, it seems the Desert Spirits have no end of surprises today," the half-orc comments. "Back to what I was talking about. I think we should check this Stormhold. I'm not sure what we'll find though," he looks pointedly at the three ogre corpses. "Young ones tend to be very well guarded."
You imagine that your presence has been revealed to every creature for a thousand thousand miles in every direction.
The resilience of children is truly a sight to behold. Tears are inevitable, but surprisingly there are squeals of delight as little moppets playfully clamber about until you are forced to catch them by an ankle and dangle them in the air to keep them entertained. Hair, manes, fur, tails, ears, paws, hooves, and tusks are tugged at and prodded, while you are interrogated by an never-ending stream of "why" questions and requests for different songs to be sung.
More than just the magical light pushes the darkness back; a child's laughter provides a momentary reprieve from the horrors that have haunted you as of late.
What you imagine to be the better part of a day lays behind you before the gloom presses even closer into you, making it an effort of will to continue to press against it and continue to walk forward. Your movements are like wading through waist-deep water, leaning forward as if moving into a strong headwind. As you progress the murkiness begins to do more than simply drag at you, it's as if the air seems to congeal into a kind of gelatin, and it becomes a fight to keep your legs moving forward.
It grows darker and darker to your vision, until all sights and sounds are lost to you. Your movements excruciatingly slow.
From one step to the next it is like an oppressively heavy executioner's hood has been torn back from over your head and the rain suddenly stops...your hands fail to protect your eyes from the blinding brightness....birds chirp...a cascade of crystal clear river water sloshes past you....the stench of ever present death is replaced with fresh summer air....the air remains humid but comfortably so...insects skitter over to take your measure.....flowers fill the air with their perfume....a cool breeze plays over your body....everything is vibrant and alive around you including the large game that is grazing not 200' away.
There was a darkness within each of you, and it flits back in fear of the light, permitting you to properly breathe for the first time in uncountable days.
Turning about you see a wall of pitch darkness climbing up impossibly high into the sky. It roils and pulsates, but remains in place. The wall stretches out far into the distance obscuring everything to your left and right, including the seas off the edge of the land.
Grasslands, interspaced with outcroppings of stone, lay before you. Hardy trees rise up, their shallow roots both above and below ground like sea dragons.
In the distance there are plumes of dark smoke rising up in the air. So much smoke that a forest must be aflame. The heavy 700 pound plus giant humanoid's footfalls that you have tracked move towards the smoke.
Dandelion is as surprised as the others.
What was the most dark, depressing and deadly situation is now eliminated in a heartbeat with a wall of happiness. Dandelion looks around in wonder, but realizes when he sees the smoke that even this relative paradise has its blemishes. In this case, it is probably the smoking ruins of Stormhold, coupled with the dead bodies of the only people who loved these children.
"I hope.... " says Dandelion, wondering how he can say it so that the children will not be shocked, "I hope ... we find something better than the worst under that smoke." In truth, he hopes at least one of the townsfolk survived.
It had been a trying time, with the children. They are so very unpredictable, and prone to accidentally killing themselves. To be a parent, he realizes, means being constantly on guard for your offspring, like a bird protecting her young in the nest before they're able to fly. He had been running around, saving them from the river, the rocks, themselves. Grendel the horse and Cal had laughed at the children, or was it at him? He was surprised he could see a horse laughing. No matter. Dandelion had been run ragged trying to keep up with the children. His suggestion to tie them up had been met with disbelief, so he had dropped it. In the end, he carried one of the babes who had kept falling out of the litter, and had Ofira on his shoulders, where she was happy to ride and complained very little.
At least they had been able to give them clean water. Most of them had rejected the healthy food the Spoon provided, until they were extremely hungry. Of course, by that point the hungry ones were screaming and even less able to listen to reason than they had been earlier (which was not too much).
To bring their hopes up, he says, "Look, deer! Birds! Loot at the trees and the flowers! Look at the smoke. Is it coming from Stormhold?" He's not optimistic that Ofira will be able to tell them, but he feels he must ask.
" Anything at this point is possible." Cal trails off, smiling with warmth in his heart enjoying however brief of a respite might be. Keeping the children entertained had been taxing however, this was a task that Calvoric had taken with little difficulty, at least with having to come up with different tales and songs almost on the fly.
Children seemed to draw the darkness if not the insanity of this week back into the depths were it belonged. The fragile balance was that if the three of them were unable to find a way to defeat this nemesis would be that all life would be destroyed.
Looking at the smoke, the bard frowns, suspecting that with the large footprints that Dandelion had found and that they had followed told a tale of woe.
Plodding on, hoof following hoof in what seemed to be an endless march to nowhere, Grendel wanted to stop and lie down so badly. The futile nature of what they where trying to do crushed down upon the shape changed half-orc. The weight that he dragged behind him seemed feather light compared to the thoughts that weighted down the druid. The sound of the laughter coming from the shelter he dragged behind him helped to balance out his thoughts, kept them from falling into a blackness echoed by the world around him.
Fighting to continue walking against the alien darkness as it presses closer and tighter around him, the druid grinds his teeth. Grendel felt like the oily, death stench was trying to slip into his skin and take him out for a stroll back the way he came. Ears flat against his equine skull, Grendel continues forward.
With a blinding suddenness, Grendel staggers, suddenly freed from the resistance that he had been walking against. He suddenly thought of being deep under water, fighting to reach the surface. Glancing behind him, the druid could see a wall of absolute darkness. The surface almost seems to bubble out, like a thick sludge heated from within. He glad that he was still in the form of a horse, the surprise wouldn't completely visable on his face. They had walked far enough out of the darkness that he should have regestired that they had reentered the world of the still currently living almost 15 feet ago.
Gathering up his thoughts, Grendel let's his form flow back into that of the one he was born into. The ropes slid down his body, not sized for him to drag the stretcher in this form. Shakily, the druid inhales deeply, letting the scents and sounds of the living wash over him. Tears slid out from underneath his closed eyes as he raised his face to the sun.
Coughing deep in his chest, Grendel sinks to his hands and knees as several painful sounding coughs. After a short coughing fit, Grendel retches. The blackish-bloody fluid dribbles from his gasping mouth, not a gushing amount of fluid like it seemed he would cough out. The bile sizzles in the daylight, before drying out within seconds.
Slowly, Grendel gets to his feet, wiping off his mouth and chin. Gingerly, he takes another deep breath, feeling..., much better than he did a few moments ago. He frowns slightly, feeling as though there was still something not quite centered within himself.
The sound of the children snapped Grendel back into the world of the present, as well as the thick scent of smoke. He sniffs at the wind trying to if the forest was indeed on fire. And if it was, how, other than reentering the darkness, would they escape from it.
"Dandelion and Cal excellent job on keeping the little ones safe," the druid says, looking at his companions and nods. "It looks like we have a slightly different problem than what I was first thinking. And that could be complicated if the forest is aflame." The druid really hoped that was not the case. All though his spirits had lifted considerably now that life surge all around them.
'Just a typical summer day. Pay no attention to the wall of black unlife, go about your business. Move along,' the druid thinks to himself with a glance back at the wall of darkness.
Stones and sticks pierce the black without issue, and your hands enter and press against the same resistance you had felt upon your leaving, though this time it is as if it is drawing you in. The flesh comes out pale and more grey, feeling as if it is in the latter stages of an infection. You are confident that you can re-enter anytime you wish.
The darkness remains static and does not encroach further, perhaps rebuffed by life itself.
An expansive lake, Lake Ibey, is the source of the River Ibey, and it is here that signage directs you to turn upon the cobblestone path towards Muaem or the dirt path to Stormhold.
Standing upon high ground afforded by an outcropping of rock, provides you a vantage of the besieged spired city of Muaem lying perhaps a quarter mile from Lake Ibey. Its outlying farms have been razed and small sections of the city send up plumes of smoke as well. Though hundreds of dead litter the field before its great gates, having been rebuffed by hundreds of steely-eyed archers, its walls continue hold.
The monstrous attacking force, thousands deep, is far from an organized mass, and even as you look down upon the motley crew of orcs, goblins, and ogres testing the walls. Burning pitch is cast into the city creating nuisance fires, but nothing that will threaten the city long term. Clusters of monsters wander far afield, some carrying plunder, while others carry screaming farmers. Too close for comfort a giant casually tears a woman in half and hold the ends up high, so it can drink her fluids before swallowing the halves whole.
Warships fill the area around the port equipped with siege weaponry they are ready to employ against any sign of movement.
Calvoric remembers a first-hand story he had heard from a thief who had escaped from Muaem using ancient tunnels that were built to permit the nobility to escape in times of siege and surface within the deepest depths of Lake Ibey. The tunnels are reputedly guarded by golems, doors locks by magical means, and full of deadly traps. He is confident that he can find the entrance given enough time and sufficient stealth to avoid detection.
Each minute away from the darkened lands pushes the pestilence further away from your vital organs.
Undisciplined patrols of monsters fill the space alone the route to Stormhold. You avoid them with ease, especially since the surprisingly-silent children seem to sense that danger is close; clutching you with desperate strength. Scant miles later leads you to a small outpost settlement fashioned from stones as old as any you have ever seen. Some of the mortar is much newer, especially in the areas where the walls are currently being rebuilt, and many people work feverishly to erect the wall once again.
A serene lake, festooned with docked fishing craft, lies within 100 steps from Stormhold.
Your approach is announced far before you are within the range of a bow, and your skin prickles as you hear the creak of wood as bows are prepared to put you down.
An aged half-elf takes your measure with milky eyes. Gnarled hands struggle to lift his flask of goat's milk to his parched lips. At his side is an intense young man whose eyes never stop scanning the party's movements. He whispers something to the old half-elf.
An order is yelled, it is a chaotic time but you are pretty sure the order came from the old man, and arrows fill the skies.
The reality of this protected land sinks in as Dandelion sees the scene of war in front of them. He tries to shield the eyes of the children looking on, especially when the giant makes a meal of a human.
He wonders how they all survived. Perhaps this protected area is large, and the hordes' camp is within it. Seeing the city rebuff the attackers gives him some hope, but moving to Stormhold is first priority. After they deliver the children to their new guardians - and Dandelion is hopeful now that there will be some - only then can they think about sneaking into the city. He says, hoping Grendel may have some magic for it, "If we were fish we could breath the lake's cool water."
When finally they reach the periphery of Stormhold, hope is high the children will be home; some with parents, even. In these tough times, many will have already lost children, parents, husbands and wives, and many more would in the future. Perhaps these seven would survive and see a world where they can live in peace, stride safely through the forest, and find love.
Dandelion hears no order, and expects the archers to stay their weapons when they see the children. So it with some surprise that he sees them firing. Slower than the others, no doubt, he rushes to cover the children with his own body, not even thinking.
He tries to yell out loudly, "Hold your fire! Children here! Your children!"
" Whoa, whoa, WHOA! Friendlies here mate!" Cal Screams in Elvish as his adopted father had taught him. Running Cal joins Dandelion in shielding the children, the last thing the bard wanted to see happen was mostly innocent children get killed thanks to the people defending their homes.
The bard doesn't even think to cast protection magics on himself, indeed, there wouldn't be enough time for the bard to cast and defend the children. [i] ' If we live long enough to get out of here, we will have to go through the passageway at night.' Calvoric thinks to himself his body tensing waiting for the impact of the first volley of arrows.
The site of the unruly mass of monsters creatures laying siege to Stormhold was a sobering sight. A twisting rage filled the half-orc as he looks at the thousands of creatures attacking. 'The stupid fools. The world herself is being drained of life and these idiots..,' Grendel lets the thought trail away. A deep scowl cuts across the druid's tusked face as the giant tears the woman and half. Maybe half of the fluids actual went into the giants mouth, the rest covers the brute.
Eyes narrowed, regret bubbles up within the druid, following the path that his rage had left in his thoughts. He regrets not being strong enough to let fire devastate the crush of fools. He can practically feel the crimson flames ripping from his damaged hands to torch the horde. His minds eye gleefully created the image of the flesh being blacked, splitting open as organs boiled. Grendel finds a moment of pause, retreating from the thoughts of annihilation. The flames in his mind where twisting with a black energy that drained the life as the flesh burned.
Turning away from the sight of the ongoing carnage, Grendel focus on getting them moving and not being seen. Before his mind turns back to the pleasing images of beings being painfully obliterated by his magics.
The short eternity of time spent within the Darkness had left it's mark not only on Grendel's body, but his mind as well.
It seemed that they had managed to avoided being detected when the sight of the archers. Not to mention the creaking of drawn bows aimed uncomfortably in their direction.
Grendel throws his arms wide, trying to make himself more of an arrow sponge so that Nagrish and the children in their care wouldn't catch any arrows. At least that was his hope.
Each impact is akin to a hammer blow, its flight having conveyed a surprising amount of kinetic energy over a relatively short distance. Armour and clothing foil many of the arrow strikes, as does the range, but having formed a defensive shell around the covered stretchers and its innocent contents makes them easy targets. One by one you fall into oblivion, the sounds of the frightened children's screams still ringing shrilly in your ears.
You hold vignettes as the attack halts, the children are located, and you are frantically dragged from the field to cold cobblestones within the protection of Stormhold.
You wake to the squeezing pain of the rack as your grievous wounds are compressed and stretched far beyond their limits.
Glancing down you see that it is not in fact torture, but Ofira and other little children hugging you. It takes a moment to orient yourself and recognize that all of your wounds have been tended to via mundane means, rather than magical ones. The elderly half-elf plods over with the young man at his hip, ordering the young man, Jaevan as he calls him, to help you each to a chair so he can properly address you, "It appears that Ofira has taken to you. We are in forever in your debt young ones." There is sadness in his cataract-spoiled eyes as he looks down at your wounds. "You have suffered many trials that would break less men."
The half-elf bows with a disturbing number of creaks a pops, "I am called Corros, and I offer you my most sincere apology for our inhospitable greeting." He nods to his left. A bulging bit of fabric, you recognize as your makeshift stretcher, twists and bulges as Nagrish seeks an exit. "Please see to your warder, eat, drink, and we will talk in the morning should you wish to."
With that he exits, leaving the door open a crack revealing the darkness of evening beyond.
You are left in someone's home, decorated sparsely, and smelling of fish. Spiced trout and mead awaits you, as does a number of other gifts. Your movements are stiff and sore and exhaustion forces two of you to beds, and another to sleep on the floor beside the Nagrish.
You wake having spent a night without any hint of the nightmares that has plagued you as of late. The rest has done wonders for you, buoying your spirits and refreshing your body. After eating your fill you walk out into a stronghold in the process of frantic repair. Bloodstains are washed from the streets, and walls are rebuilt. You are greeted as returning heroes, everyone you pass thanks you, many with tears in their eyes, as they learn your names and promise to keep you ever in their thoughts and their hearts.
Heroes.
The last thing Dandelion thinks is, why am I protecting these children? They are strangers to us. But he doesn't stop. I learn something about myself, something important, and now I will die. As arrows strike his body, he tells the children to lie down, so they are less likely to be hit. The darkness - why is it here, he thought it was not here? Why is it getting dark? It was black..........
And he was hunting in the forest. The forest was healthy, and full of color. His quarry, a large boar, was getting away from him. Somehow that was a good thing. Why was it good? Because the boar was alive! The animals were all alive! The birds flew, in great arcs, all in unison, and they called to him. But he wasn't watching because he was hunting. Later he would see the birds, for what they had to tell him was always important........
The first thing Dandelion thinks is he is being tortured. Groggily he wakes, and sees a room, some children. He yells loudly, waking the others (thankfully) and scattering the little ones. But then he smiles at them, and they come back. "Not there, or there. Or there - that's where an ogre threw a javelin through my leg!"
The second thing he thinks is, did all the children survive? It was clear that he had, and he was concerned about the little ones. He counts them.
The third thing is the half-elf standing in the room. He's talking, but Dandelion barely follows his words. Still, he looks apologetic for shooting them, and the children. Dandelion does not get a chance to say anything before he leaves, with all the other people talking (and he had trouble following most of them).
Finally with everyone gone, Dandelion feels very hungry, and he tries to stand. That proves difficult, so, thinking he may as well eat on a healthy pair of legs, he touches them with his magic. Standing, he moves over to Grendel and touches him, and finally to Cal, and touches him. How many arrows hit them, he wonders. And were any children injured? He looks around the room as he helps himself to the generous portions of food.
He thinks about meditating. He would have to go outside, and if there is no good spot there, maybe the roof?
'Typical.' Cal thinks to himself as the arrows land into his body, 'After everything else, these idiots only see three half-orc attackers'. Still the bard figures if they manage to get the children inside over the corpses, then someone would be overjoyed, at least then Cal wouldn't have to plod along and suffer any more.
As Cal regains consciousness he wonders briefly if this was the next life, then the pain registers to the half-orc 'Guess we are still alive, as the dead feel no pain' Calvoric thinks to himself. Grunting as the pain of children hugging his battered body Cal groans at Dandelion's shout.
Cal grunts at the other half-orc saying " Yarg, I think we've paid the price of admission, let's keep it down to a dull roar." He manages to get out. Cal focuses on the half-elf's words responding in Elvish " There is grace in the flight of arrows, while they struck us, the wee ones were saved."
Cal waves off further explanations at the moment, knowing that this was going to be a temporary stop at best. While the folk of Stormhold might be holding off a siege, bigger threats were on the horizon. After resting, Cal spends time sealing his wounds with his own Songs.
Walking around Cal takes to finding out what had been going on in the last few weeks, trying to figure out if there had been any evidence of the chains here, along when the attacks started. `
Not all the children were in attendance, but you are assured that all 7 children survived; half-orc flesh offering a very effective shield against every arrow that left its bowstring. Some children have been orphaned by the vicious ogres' attack, but all have found familial support or have been taken in by neighbours.
Nagrish has survived without significant injury, save the slight ruffling of his feline pride after having the makeshift hide used to temporarily cage him.
Mummies walk around trailing less bandages than the 3 of you. It is difficult to count how many arrows had hit you, since you had been wounded so often, and had walked around in a fog for the better part of the last days, but you figure it was probably all of them.
Outside of the family home is a maelstrom of activity predominantly taking place at the wall. Each hearty person of age, including those of advanced years, sets about the task of shoring up the stronghold's defences, or to prepare stores, in case another attack is launched upon them. They have been at it for days and the walls are looking substantial to you.
From the number of bows that lean against the walls you imagine that every single adult is more than handy with a bow, especially considering the accuracy of their shooting. As a half breed you are well-accustomed to not fitting in anywhere, but the thought that an entire village might have gathered as one to shoot you is a new one.
You are hailed and treated with profound respect, but left to your own devices by all but the children skipping and playing within the "safety" of the perceived protection of the walls. Dandelion is afforded all the space he wishes to utilize to pray.
Familiar rumours find Calvoric's ears, and it sounds as though nothing untoward had transpired until a half tenday ago when the blackness billowed across the lands and formed the wall of blackness the group came from. They have seen no chains. Monstrous races appear to be attracted to the areas of black, and have gathering in surprising numbers to launch attacks at those civilized areas closest to what is being called the "Umbral Lands".
You are the first they have heard of anyone escaping the black.
Floating comfortable within a sea of darkness, he watches small swirling clusters of sparkling motes in the distance. There were some that seemed to dance within pockets of multi-colored vapors, gas perhaps. Still further away, he "notices" a dimensionless twisting pool that seemed to pull in one of the nebulous clouds that strayed to close to it. The thought of how similar to stars the winking motes of light looked moments before an unpleasant sensation wriggled into his consciousness.
Pain.
With a sensation of falling, Grendel jerks awake sitting straight up (thanks in part to Dandelion's shout). With a grunt of pain, he falls back to the floor with a heavy thud. Forcing his tearing eyes open, the druid's mis-matched eyes inform him of what is going on. Once he realized that the children had been spared the arrows, his heart soared. The druid silently thanks the spirits that are watching out for him, and the others.
Slowly working propping himself up, Grendel returns hugs to the little ones. They would never realize it, but the children had saved the three half-orcs as much as they had saved them. The prince ruffles several heads of hair with bandaged hand, handing out smiles at the pack of children.
Excepting the hand up, Grendel forces himself to his feet and than shuffles over to the chair. With a grin he nods his thanks to Dandelion, as the large half-orc heals the druid and bard. The healing magics close up the majority of the wounds, robbing him of some of the pain that danced along his nerves. Speaking in his native Ignan, Grendel calms the wrapped up Nagrish with a few words. The desert cougar ceases his struggling to get out. From the movement in the bag, the cat looked to be sniffing out the opening.
Listening to Corros, the druid nods to the ancient half-elf as he apologizes for filling the three up with arrows. Grendel's thoughts where along the lines that Corros was either the surviving leader, or some sort of respected councilor.
"Considering your town is under siege, it would foolish for us to have assumed a..., more peaceful greeting. All of our thanks to your healers, they do good work," he had smiled tiredly. "I look forwards to the morn, for I do have a number of questions."
Standing up after the elves had left, Grendel bends over with a grunt to release Nagrish. The hide sack falls away from a decidedly angry looking feline. Icy blue eyes survey his surroundings. Finally looking at the druid, the cougars ears tip forward and his head cocks to the side. Sniffing at a few of the new bandages that are wrapped around the druid, Nagrish "murrs" and nuzzles Grendel's cheek. He hugs the desert cougar with one arm.
"I'm fine you big softie," the half-orc druid chuckles and scratches the cougars ears. The rumbling sound of the big cats purring fills up the room that they sat in. Actually looking at the, presumably abandoned, home they had been put in, Grendel grins and looks at the other half-orcs. "Dibs on the floor. Nagrish tends to hog beds all to him self. And it's hard to argue with his claws, they tend to win most arguements. So, needless to say, we'll be down here."
Sniffing at the air, Grendel gets back to his feet with a few muttered curses. Looking at the food, his stomach growls and gurgles, as if to remind him that he had been being sustained on nothing but dream food for a while now. Making himself a goodly sized plate, the druid didn't plan on gorging himself. His eyes might be larger than his stomach, having never used the ritual of Dreamfeast for any extended period pf time. 'It's not like I can't go back for seconds, he thinks to himself as he makes a plate up for Nagrish, heavy on the trout.
Feeling like his skin was a few sizes too small, Grendel gingerly sits down at the table. With a grunt of effort, he bends down to set Nagrish's meal down. The hungry cat actually waits for Grendel to get his hand out of the way before attacking his meal. The druid begins to work at his own plate. It isn't long before it is devoured and a bit more is added. The mead was perfect touch to the meal, Nagrish was perfectly content with the water he had been given.
"Alright, I'm going to pass out now," Grendel says on the wings of a honey flavored belch.
The morning finds Nagrish half-sleeping on the druid, both struck down low from the beam of sunlight that pours through the window. Slowly, Grendel opens his eyes to the daylight of a new day. His dreams had been almost nonexistent, not a single nightmare wrenched him from sleep. Aside from the twinges in his speared hands, Grendel felt pretty damn good, all things considered. He notices that his left hand wore a slightly thicker padding than the right. 'One of those sons a b@*#!es shot me in the damn hand,' he thinks with a shake of his head.
After finishing with the normal waking routine, Grendel and Nagrish head outside. It was early enough so that he could meditate for an hour without interruptions. Having a head full of healing rituals, the half-orc goes to seek out the healers. The druid was certain that there was a far number of wounded from the siege. Between his magics and knowledge of the healing arts, he figured on repaying the healers by aided them as best as he was able to.
Drawing upon a childhood spent in the court of royals and merchants, Grendel is extremely diplomatic when coming to accepting the praise. He smiles, thanks the person, and tells them that he was happy to help save the children. In truth, he certainly didn't feel like any damn hero. He felt like it nothing short of miraculous that managed to survive and rescue the children from the Darkness. A hero would have saved the people of Dewsdam, and killed the vampire. Not that he was bitter, just felt slightly unworthy of the title "Hero" that the locals seemed happy to throw around.
Thinking about it for a few moments as he follows the directions to the healers, he realizes that the people needed the thought to believe in. Being under constant attack, watching friends and loved one being slain, it made sense that the people of Stormhold would lock onto something positive. And saving the herd of little ones certainly counted as a positive thing.
Grendel plans on finding Corros around noon to ask the elder half-elf his questions. Most of his questions where in the vein of "How long since the wall of Darkness had appeared; did the horde arrive with it? Did there look to be any evidence of the Death Cult whipping the horde into a frenzy? And What did they see when the darkness fell, where any falling stars observed?"
You finally see some serious progress in the healing of your wounds. It appears the rot had slowed or stopped your bodies natural healing processes. Starting at the "chain" your exposure to the strange pestilence had been slow, making you feel increasingly unclean and sickly. You see the reverse process here, as your bodies violently vomits green-black pus from within, though strangely Grendel progresses far faster than the others.
Healers are thankful for the offer of healing magics, and direct the party to those that have been previously unseen. Within some of the homes are others that are mummified by thick and blood stained bandages. You provide an unexpected reprieve, helping them to join their fellow villagers, or offer a hand to hold as they sink painlessly into the black.
The skin covers the wounds in your hands, though the flesh is tender, your movements restricted, and the feeling limited. Spells fail in their casting as often as not.
Corros and Jaevan approach.
Corros relays that it was approximately 5 days past when the darkness rushed across the lands, and that it appeared to draw monstrous things with it. Some people were stolen in the night, others had dreams too deep and never were able to awaken; their souls apparently removed in their dream state. Oceans have swallowed some of the lands, leaving unexplored land formations bare and untouched by any of the races. Corros is unfamiliar with the death cults, but he has seen lights fall from the skies with devastating effects.
You are aware how silently the young man moves, every sinuous footfall planned in advance to maximize stability and to minimize noise. Jaevan does not appear to be well-liked by the other villagers, and in regards to his social standing within Stormhold apparently no f@!&s are given by him.
Calvoric almost smacked himself in the head remembering that the potions had survived digging into the bottom of his backpack he sees that throughout all of the trails that the three of them had gone through as well.
Pulling one out he uses his hands as well as his teeth in pulling the cork. Grunting at the act he finally gets the stopper out, spiting the cork out of his mouth he winches at the smell, while it smelled bad, and potions always did Cal drinks the contents as quickly as he was able to choke it down.
The first taste wasn't so bad, the aftertaste was so horrible that for a moment Cal thought his tongue was going yo get up out of his mouth.
6 well-wrapped phials of thick blue liquid with crystals bound within.There is no smell to the liquid. Tipping the phial back into your mouth provides an immediate effect as all fatigue is washed from your body, poisons and diseases depart, but most importantly all of your wounds close and provide full functioning once again.
" Ah say ah God Damnnation, Grendal here you need one of these." Cal says while wiggling his fingers with ease, the pain and fluttering due to the damage of pulling himself off the spikes no longer evident.
All though he hands now itched something fierce, it was an itch he couldn't get to. The sinews seemingly regrowing them self's thanks to the magic in fact Cal could see the scars going from an angry half healed tissue slash half dead to a much more normal color.
Digging back into his backpack, he hands Grendel two of the phials, one for the druid and one for his cat. Cal waves to Dandelion waiting for the other half-orc to come over so he could be handed one as well.
" Well Jaev, whatcha thinkin' 'bout the going on of the last 5 days or so." Cal asks, his southern drawl thicker now that the Bard felt a little bit more normal.
Inscrutable corpse-grey eyes dissect Calvoric in an instant. The eye contact is held a bit too long, conveying the uncomfortable feeling of an apex predator sizing up potential prey to torture for hours before delivering the killing blow.
You gain some insight why the citizenry of Stormhold shows no fondness towards this enigmatic young human.
Broad calloused hands, ruined by scars, especially across the knuckles, slide across one another until his arms are crossed.
Jaeven turns his attention elsewhere.
He is a handsome man, his every movement, Hell each hair on his pate, in perfect control. Any attribute is overtaken by his demeanour, which is completely devoid of compassion or warmth.
Dandelion accepts the free time, and the hero naming with as much grace as he can muster. Truth be told, the three of them went through something very much like hell as it was described to him by those who, in all honesty, had no clue. But it seemed like hell, and death had been everywhere, and they had done the right thing in bringing the children home, and in protecting them from their guardians' arrows. So being called a hero was not such a stretch for Dandelion, and if it got too much he could meditate, or pretend to meditate, looking at the ground or the sky, and never hear what they were saying to him, or about him.
Meals are consumed heartily and with enjoyment, and information is passed between the various parties. Dandelion finds a quill and paper and starts a little dictionary, showing words in the common tongue and their pronunciations in the tongue of the giants. He is certain the spelling is wrong, if there even is a correct way to write giant, but he tells Corros that he's written it the way he says it, and it may be off somewhat. Still, if the giants are shouting something during an attack, it may be good to know what they are saying, right?
Dandelion carves a likeness of the girl Ofira riding on Nagrish (even though it never really happened), out of some wood he finds. He presents it to Ofira as a way for her to remember them, should they fail to return here for one reason or another.
Cal provides a potion, and, seeing what it does for him and for Grendel, Dandelion accepts it thankfully and drinks it now, since it seems their plan is to enter the spired city of Muaem; and they should be as healthy as possible before they attempt that. At least, he thinks it is the plan, and he brings it up with the others, when the three of them are alone.
"Are we going to Muaem? The secret to the darkness lies there, or at least, more pieces of the puzzle. But once we enter, where do we go? I do not usually make complicated plans, but maybe we need a basic plan now? Cal, do you know the city well?"
"Well, the creatures drawn out by the Darkness while it feeds on the land. That would explain why we had so much difficulty, while those ogres seemed to be suffering no ill effects," Grendel comments as he looks at the potion vial. He had slid the second into his robes pocket. The druid had cleansed Nagrish of poison and disease after finishing up with his morning meditations. The cat had thrown up the most nauseating hairball that had ever come into existence. After that, the cougar seemed.., pretty much the same. He had looked at the druid and begun to clean a paw.
Grendel had watched with a neutral Healer's eye as Cal offered himself up to be the guinea pig for the "healing" potions. Eyebrows that matched his flame colored rose towards his hairline as he watches the effects take place with in the Bard. Cal wiggling his fingers effortlessly was really all the proof he needed. Prying the lid off of the crystal vial he gently swirls the contents, watching the tiny crystals dancing when whey caught the light.
Tipping the vial back, the druid drinks the contents, expecting a nasty taste based on Cal's reaction. It was not the case, for Grendel could not detect a taste. In truth, he might have been distracted by the wave of powerful healing that suddenly envelopes the druid like a warm blanket. The aches and pains that had been lingering, pushed to the back of his mind. Grendel could feel the blood pounding through the restored blood vessels in his hands as a slithering feeling worked up his arms. Torn sinews and ligaments repaired by the potent magics.
Hands feeling wet, Grendel looks down to see the bandages on his hands were soaked with a blackish fluid. Curiously, it lacked the pungent stench from before, as if neutralized by the magics. Peeling off the befouled bandages, he adds them to the pile of bloody rags that are to be burned. Wiping the last of the mess off, the half-orc carefully examines his freshly healed hands. Grendel smiles as he curls his hands in fists and than unfolds them without any trace of pain.
"So much better. Yes, the plan is to head to Muaem to see if we can track down that gnome," Grendel turns back to address Corros. "About a month before this began, do you by chance remember three or four foreigners that might have came through Stormhold on their way to Dewsdam?" Grendel asks, giving a description of Dimqu and her company. Having stared a the sketches so many times, it wasn't hard.
2 phials of the powerful healing draught remain. Each of you is brimming with energy, hope, and shows no signs of any negative effects or injury.
Ofira is ever seen with the oracle's carving clutched in her tiny hands.
Words are left for the townsfolk in the guttural giant's tongue and passed along to all members of the watch.
Calvoric probes the deepest recesses of his mind, but finds no new information regarding the spired city of Muaem.
None of the townsfolk remember Dimqu, Bragh, or Xelien.
A freshly healed Dandelion heads outside to a quiet spot early in the morning. He meditates with his eyes open. It is not ideal - the presence of buildings blocks out much of the flora he should be seeing, and fauna too.
But he does observe some birds, and some mice, at least. He appreciates the subtle knowledge they pass on to him. He also drops some stones on the ground. He knows that looking at how they fall will tell him things, too. It is inexplicable but it is true.
After an extra long time meditating, he finally stands and wanders around Stormhold. He sees one of the children they save - he forgets his name - and waves at him and smiles.
" Corros has anyone been sent out to Muaem at least for reinforcements or better yet more information?" Cal asks the man since the other one is acting like he is better then everyone around.
Calvoric cares little about Jaeven and his in fact the bard just smiles at the man. After being snacked on by a vampire, Cal has better things to do, than placate one who thinks he was a predator.
Pushing off the building anger the bard looks for more information. As that was more important then pride.
Children present you with comically-large bundles containing sturdy boots, leather breeches, shirt, vest, gloves, wide-brimmed hat, scarf and a cloak. As conspirators and delivery personnel they leave much to be desired, as one loses interest and wanders off with the bundle, there is a need for constant reassurance from the adults that are trying unsuccessfully to hide their presence, and another drips jam onto your explorer's outfit. The clothing is far from tailored, but it is clean and not half rotten away from acidic rainwater.
You are far from the bedraggled trio that inched its way to this place. Gone are your horrific wounds, your complete exhaustion, and the burden of the 7. Most importantly an ember of hope lay before you. There are others that have survived this catastrophe, and though so many have fallen, there are areas where plants and animals flourish, and the sun still kisses the ground.
Corros' words are grave, "Any that have left Stormhold have never returned."
Time stretches slowly at the keep as you sup upon meals that are brought to you, and drink in the adulation of the many. You could get used to such treatment.
The day stretches into night as you partake in prayer, preparation, interacting with those you saved and those that fearfully take cover behind the perceived safety of their ancient keep. Sharp-eyed villagers man their newly-rebuilt walls, having been backed into a corner and sharing that same fatalistic sense of purpose: to a man they will push back the onrush of the horde, for there is no other place to fall back to.
Nagrish disappears for a time. When you find him again he is festooned with a bow tied around his head, and there is jam preserves that has been pet into his fur by little hands, and some more jam near his mouth. Maybe he ate the infant jam monster and has donned her bow as a trophy of the kill.
Large bundles of dried branches are lit, making Stronghold Keep stand out against the backdrop of the night as a stark contrast, but there is little choice in the matter, since the other option is for the bowmen to fumble around in the black.
You imagine that those upon the walls of Muaem have not the same problem. The smouldering embers of their farms provide a meagre source of illumination for their archers' eyes.
"That is rather grim news," Grendel says, half to himself, half to the others. "Unfortunately, we are going to have to make the trek. We believe our next lead to be in Muaem. To be honest, it isn't the greatest of all leads," the half-orc pauses. "But if it helps us get closer to a way to get rid of the Darkness, Or Umbral Lands as it being called, we have to give it a try." The druid shakes his head. "The longer this blight feeds on the land, the more danger we are all in. It seeks to consume everything. I'm fairly certain it will feed off the things it draws to it once everything else is gone."
Grendel asks if Corros knew of anyone who was familiar with the lands in between Stormhold and Muaem. And if he could arrange for them to speak with Grendel later in the evening. The druid wanted to get a better idea of the land. Changing his form to that of a bird of prey would probably give a decent clue of what was around, but locals would have better information. Plus, flying around mentally mapping out the area would take a day or two longer than he wanted to stay in Stormhold.
Since the druid had a few more healing rituals that he could cast, he mentions where he be helping out at. 'Might as well use those, help save some bandages,' he thinks with a slight grin. Walking back to where the healers where set up, Grendel reflects upon the lunch with Corros and his aid.
A few hour later find Grendel sitting outside someones house, sunning himself in the light. Although tired, drained from channeling such a great deal of natural energy, he felt good. With the sudden annihilation of so much life, helping to save a few lives helped a little to restore some sense of balance. If only a little. The sound of shuffling feet refocused his thoughts off the sun hitting him.
Opening his mis-matched eyes, Grendel spies one of the seven children awkwardly carrying a bundle of clothes tied together. He couldn't help but chuckle at the sight of the little girl delivering the gift. Thanking the serious looking little child, Grendel reaches out and tousles her hair earning a pout. Thanking her for the gift, Grendel watches as she joins several other of the children and run off. Smiling at the sight, looks over the clothes. The smell of strawberries comes to his noise, and his fingers touch something wet and sticky.
Looking at the red jam on fingers, Grendel laughs, licking his linger clean. Looking the clothes over, the druid is surprised as to just how much jam hit the clothes. 'Ah well, could be worse,' Grendel thinks with a grin.
After cleaning the jam off, Grendel changed into the gifted clothes exits the house they were staying in. Meeting some well wishers, the druid cheerfully excepts a few drinks. Not to mention a few more and a some snacks. It was nice to be free of responsibilities, even for a few hours. It was while he was talking, sipping a cup of wine, Grendel realizes he hadn't seem Nagrish for.., awhile now. Politely excusing himself, Grendel heads off to find the desert cougar. A little tipsy, he didn't have as much luck as he was hoping. Then the cougar showed up, complete with bow tie around his head, and jam pet into his fur.
Laughing, he dampens a rag and begins to clean the jam out of Nagrish's fur. At least the spots the cat would be able to easily reach.
"Just what trouble did you get yourself into, hmmm?" he asks the big cat with a grin.
Utilzing the lay of the land provided by the villagers within the Stormhold Keep makes dodging disorganized patrols of unruly monsters child’s play.
Until it isn’t.
A mixture of simply standing still and waiting for creatures to pass, backtracking, making adjustments to the party’s course, and hiding, are effective in making headway back to the shores of Lake Ibey. The pitch black of the deepest part of night is the party’s ally as their perfect vision affords them a distinct advantage over any of the “lesser” races.
It is scant miles to the lake.
Calvoric and Grendel conspire to find dry leaves and branches to stomp upon, which attracts the attention of one of the last creatures you would ever wish to meet. This lumbering giant has short stumpy legs and powerful, muscular arms. Its hair and beard seem to be made of fire.
Hearing the noises the fire giant races to find you, its greatsword casually wielded in one hand, despite its weapon being much taller than any member of the party. Casually elbowing a fully-grown tree aside it glances down at you its hair and beard illuminating the space around its eyes. In its off hand it wields a giant boulder, which turns magma-hot in its hand as the weapon is cocked back to end your existence.
Its voice booms across the expanse, “ORCS?“ It speaks in distaste and disappointment as it simply wanders away. Orcs were made of gristle, and tasted like they had previously been spoiled, everyone knew that.
Lake Ibey reveals its secret hours later after the sun has crested the horizon. The dive is more than 25’ down into the frigid lake water, and your ears scream under the pressure, as your eyes play across a submerged steel gate, no rust bedecks the steel, though algae clings to the rocks that houses it, it is locked with a runed lock that shows no signs of rust. You observe no weakness in the portal, or the stones that house it, especially this deep under water.
Ancient tunnels, filled with deadly traps and guardian golems, reputedly await should one get past this magical gate.
Dandelion tries to move quietly, like a cat, but is marginally successful at it. However, Grendel and Cal are much worse, drawing the attention of an incredibly huge and frightening giant.
Before entering the water of the lake, Dandelion confers on his skin a Bark-like toughness, using a spell which should last beyond a long mealtime (for him). He offers it to the others as well.
He also tells the others he can make them all deathly silent, but it will prevent them from casting spells requiring words, and it will alert any hearing people within three person-lengths of the spell's target, as they suddenly will be like Dandelion and unable to hear their own breathing, even. It lasts a short time, but might be useful. He would cast it on a dagger or somesuch, which could then be thrown away, or at a spell caster, for instance.
As they reach the gate, Dandelion points at the lock and then at himself. He first motions a small twisting motion with his hand, as if turning a wheel, and any traps nearby that might exist become a bit more obvious to him. He searches the bars and lock for them, not expecting to find any. Then he reaches out to the iron the lock is looped into and touches it, letting the power of nature's touch erode the iron preternaturally, so that it turns mostly to rust.
He looks down the tunnel, with his enhanced trap-sensing vision.
"Orc blood for the win," Grendel mutters to himself as the fire giant wanders off. He was suddenly very glad that the three of them were not of the prettier humanoid races.
When they reached the lakes edge, Grendel cocks an eyebrow, looking over Lake Ibey. When talk about the tunnel and traps and golems kicks up, the druid realizes that the tunnel was to the City of Spires, not Stormhold. That puts a slight crinkle in his day. Not so much as the water does, the lake looks like it might have thawed a day or two ago.
"I suppose now is a bad time to mention I swim about as well as a drunk dog?" Grendel grins at the the other two. "I'll be shifting into something a little better suited for water life. After I take care of Nagrish, that is. I'll wait until one of you two make sure this is the right place."
"Umm, skin of bark sounds good, but I'll pass on the silence, as I'll still be able to cast spells in another form," Grendel says to the larger half-orc.
Once the tunnel had been confirmed, Grendel kneels down next to Nagrish and speaks softly to the desert cougar. Some form of negioation takes place between the druid and his warder. After completing a some what complex druid ritual, he pets Nagrish's head. The tawny cougar yawns mightily and curls up to sun himself. And then, Nagrish disappears from view.
Standing up and walking back to the others, Grendel puts a small stone carving of a sleeping cat in small pouch and places that in an inner vest pocket.
"So, I might have done a fair bit of drinking and forgot," Grendel says to the others as they where checking gear and tying down straps. "But, why are we taken the dangerous and trapped tunnel into Muaem? Ive had enough of tunnels since I almost buried us alive with a vampire to keep us company. That's just me though." The druid pauses for a moment or two. "Oh, and I'll be turning myself into a fresh water dolphin, it's like a fish only with bones, and warmer blood. I should be able to help you two once we get down there. Anybody have any idea as to how much of this tunnel is underwater?"
"I trust Cal's knowledge. I gather it is the safest way in... Silence is for later, and only if necessary, do not worry." Dandelion had replied, up in the air.
Casting spells underwater is almost as easy as it is above, for Dandelion.
While a casual encounter at night with a creature without darkvision might give the impression that the group is made up of orcs, anyone that gets a good look at them will immediately recognize their human ancestry. It is fortunate that fire giants cannot see very well in the pitch of night. Being a halfbreed has you betwixt two worlds. You are barely tolerated among men, and just as likely to be decapitated as greeted by the races of monsters.
Lake Ibey lies a quarter mile from the besieged city of Muaem, which to its credit still holds strong against the vicious hoard at its gates. You imagine the underground tunnel to be at least that long.
Some monsters simply wander off, while in-fighting is constant.
Each half-orc feels their skin magically harden.
Equipment and the statuette of Nagrish meld into the druid's sleek delphine form. Grendel's echolocation provides a unique perspective of the lake's shape, the chill of its depths, and the denizens within. Your streamlined nature carves through the water with effortless ease, and your expansive lungs are suited to holding your breath for an hour or more.
Dandelion submerges himself beneath the lake's calm surface and pulls himself to the grate whilst magically divining for traps. He is well-conditioned, which aids in him holding his breath for a couple minutes and more. He is confident that there are no traps within the short range of his underwater vision.
The runed locking mechanism reacts poorly to the oracle's touch. An eruption of electrical energy explodes forth to blacken flesh and viciously contract his musculature. Dandelion has never been hit so hard in his nearly 2 decades walking the world. It is amazing that he held any of his breath through the experience, and it take a moment to reorient himself, remember his name, and remind his twitching muscles that he was the one in charge.
Glancing back at his handiwork reveals a lock that looks as if it had been under salt water for a century or six. It is rusted through and crumbles without any additional assistance, leaving the portal wide open.
Dandelion sees no traps within the darkness beyond, though he is dubious that he can consistently be aware of the traps.
He sees a rusted iron ladder 15' within leading up.
Cal shakes his head after the giant stomped away in dispointment, at least Cal was glad the giant had mistaken the three of them for works.
Looking at the Lake, Calvoric was glad that he had paid so much attention to the thief, he never would have been able to find the gate anytime soon.
Calvoric shook his head at the offer of silence, he needed the ability to hear to cast his spells. Looking at the water, the bard let's out a sigh, while he wasn't bad at swimming he didn't do it often.
The water was just as cold as one expected to be, besides long-term exposure would lead to drowning and death. Still focusing on following Dandelion, giving the larger half-orc some more space.
After seeing the effects of the lock touching base with Dandelion and giving him an electric discharge that froze Dandelion in place while his limbs danced. Calvoric almost whistled at the lock's effectiveness.
With an inward groan Cal looks at the ladder wondering if it was going to last long enough for the three of them to use it.
Despite a sheathing of rust the ladder bears your free of the clutches of the icy waters below.
It is strange that the waters do not encroach upon the area above and flood the tunnel. Perhaps magic is involved in maintaining what the dwarven engineers referred to as a "moon pool".
Dandelion senses no danger, though he is neither confident in his ability to locate the traps, or to survive another one being triggered in close proximity to him, but he sees the same mechanical trap that the rest of the group does. It is a scythe trap, edged with a purple powder that you deduce to be a rather potent poison, which has been sprung and stopped from resetting itself due to a perfectly placed piece of scrap metal.
Blue bloods and their toys.
Calvoric and Grendel gets their first look at the oracle's injuries. It is horrific and amazing that he still draws breath. His tunic has been burned and has melded with his melting flesh leaving patches of burned skin interspaced by painful red patches of his musculature peeking out through a sheen of pus.
"Deadly traps" indeed. A misstep here could easily be fatal.
A scant few steps leads the party to a closed door, which is unlocked. Upon opening you feel a strange onrush of air and see another door a few steps beyond. The second door is impossible to open until the first door is closed, which is much more difficult than you would expect from a door, even one as perfectly hewn as this one is.
An iron ladder, showing no signs of rusting, leads downward far beyond the range of your vision. You had previous observed Muaem from the vantage point of a high outcropping of rock near Lake Ibey. In order to enter the city from below you will need to descend a long way indeed.
With no discernible pattern the area below is momentarily illuminated by flames. The ladder looks to descend about 200'.
You hear echoes of strange noises from far far below, suggestive of a long journey down the ladder and signs of life below. Many dull footfalls and voices can be heard, as well as sharper ones that of heavy metal upon stone.
All passages are about 4' wide and twice that tall.
Dandelion, feeling like he had been hit by lightning, because, well, he had, cures himself some so as to keep himself going. The skin situation improves some, but he wonders if he should down another of those magical potions. He walks along in pain, his head awash in a crazy kind of mental noise, very loud. He remembers noise.
There is no cure for wetness, though, and he is completely soaked, as is Cal.
Now, they have made it to a long shaft going down. It is strange that it is down rather than up, but if these last several days have taught him anything it is that the unusual is not so uncommon. The whole place reminds him of Dwarves, though he has little experience with them. Perhaps there are more of them deep below the ground. He whispers to the others, "If it is Dwarves, they will not like us. We should stay hidden."
Grendel had a slight problem. He had dived into the water, letting his form shift as he fell, splitting the near frozen waters in his borrowed form. The water was exhilarating, crisp and clean, and with a few powerful strokes of his tail he was flying through the depths. The borrowed senses of the water mammal were simply incredible. The druid had swum near the bottom and then rocket straight up, shooting out of the water. Spinning himself in the air, Grendel cuts back into the surface, lips of the dolphin pulled back in a crazy looking grin.
While zipping past Dandelion, he hear/sees the explosion of underwater lightning. A few moments later a faint buzzing sensation passes through his form. With a few pumps of his tail, Grendel floated near Dandelion. First off, he pushed the larger half-orc to the surface. Secondly, the druid gathers a bit of natural energy and preforms a quite ritual of moderate strength healing to help.
After getting Dandelion tended, the two half-orcs aided a little by the shape changed Grendel made their way out of the moon pool. Eyeing the ceiling, Grendel turns, swimming back down. Turning around, he rockets up wards. Jumping from the water with surprising little splashing, the druid flows back into his own form, landing upon the ground on his hands and knees. Standing up, Grendel rubs his shins and mouths the word, "ouch."
Self satisfied grin stretching almost ear to ear, the druid looked like the cat that got the cream and the mouse drinking from the cream bowl. He was about to open his mouth when the sounds from below echo up.
"Well, shit," Grendel whispers back to the others. "Dwarves aren't so bad, get 'em drunk roll 'em into a bed, and spirits! Talk about your races with stamina." Grendel whispers back, a lop-sided grin on his face, and memories dancing in his mis-matched eyes.
"I'm a touch more concerned about the fact that one trap looked like someone had already spotted and locked it up," Grendel whispers, looking up from the shaft that leads to the depths. He looks at the ladder itself, noting how sturdy it looked. "Oh, yeah, I'm pretty worried about the golem as well, actually." The druid whispers to the other two.
Peeling clothing back from the site of the burn is not a pleasant procedure, but with the aid of healing magics the oracle is feeling much better. Pain and discomfort lingers, but it is nothing like the agony he was in a few moments prior. Much more healing will be required to heal the entire scope of the injury.
The ladder looks to be stable.
Calvoric starts looking around tapping a finger against one of his teeth, trying to recall more about the thief's story. Debating in his head if the ladder was the path that he had took.
Idly Cal brings a spell searching for more signs of magic, looking for surprises from the room itself. Briefly wondering if dwarves did live in the passageways or, if it was more of the siege party. The spell was a minor one allowing one to see magical auras, along with how powerful those auras were.
Calvoric has remembered as much as the thief had revealed to him. It was a story opined by a braggart lubricated by drink. If truth be told you expected it to be more fiction than fact.
No magical auras are detected within the short range of the spell, which corroborates the sharp-eyed, and highly-augmented, oracle's conclusion.
Each rung of the ladder holds up incredibly well, without causing any worries within you.
The noises and occasional burst of flames grow more intense as you descend 200' further underground.
As you descend the last few rungs you get your first glimpse of 20 paces of tunnel, which is suddenly illuminated by a gout of flame that sprays up the wall perhaps 150' from your position.
Illumination permits you to see the guardian as it walks away from you 100' from your position.
This jagged construct of glass has a human’s shape, save that one arm ends in a jagged hammer and another in a spike of glass.
It appears that it has not seen you yet.
Dandelion feels there is something untrustworthy about a section of the wall about 10' in front of the group. Paying closer attention to it reveals a number of slits that could hold all manner of slicing implements.
Spying the what Grendel was willing to bet gold on, was the golem, the druid swallows nervously. The had been beating to near death by the vampire. A creature obviously made of magic and glass, Grendel would be well protected from blows. 'More than likely from magics as well,' he thinks with a frown.
Green and gold orbs scanning their surroundings, Grendel looks for some place they could move to, or at the very least, hide from the glass-work golem. The prince was seriously beginning to wonder if trying to go over the besieged walls of Muaem wouldn't be easier.
Dandelion had looked very .., shocked, to say the least when he had triggered the lock's trap. Not to mention badly burned and twitchy. The healing that had been poured into the larger half-orc looked like it helped a great deal. He looked like he could use some more, however Grendel wan't able to channel nearly as much energy as Dandelion could.
At 4' wide and twice that high the tunnel provides few options to hide from the construct, save retreating back up the ladder.
Mentally cursing at the lack of hiding spots, not that he was particularly skill at being sneaky,but it beat standing in the open. The only then they had going for them was they could scurry back up the ladder.
Grendel quickly looks away from the glass guardian to check the opposite direction it was walking. At this point, the only thing the druid could think of was to follow the walking glass statue as stealthily as possible. He whispers this to the other two as a possible plan of action.
Dandelion looks at the construct, to judge how large it is compared to them. It is made of glass - how strong could it be?
He whispers, "That wall there," pointing at the suspect portion with the slits, "probably contains traps. Maybe we can entice the glass man to come and set it off on itself?" It worked before, with the vampire, so perhaps it could work again. "What if we shoot things at it, from here? If the traps don't kill it, we could climb up the ladder. Or, instead, we could be at the top and entice it up, and then drop something very heavy on it. And rub oil on the ladder."
Again whispering, "Cal, what do you know about glass men such as these"? He touches him with divine Guidance to help him remember.
You pick out the occasional voice coming from far ahead, its words muted by distance, and dull footfalls coming louder to your ears. Every noise you make appears to be greatly amplified in this place, which makes even your breathing sound impossibly loud.
A single tunnel has wound from the lake up, across, down 200', and now continues toward Muaem. Its strong stone walls are so perfectly wrought that you figure magic, dwarves, or magical dwarves are involved.
The creature walks away from your position, its heavy hobnailed footfalls echoing forth from the darkness left by the fire's departure, though you can no longer see it as it is beyond the range of your darkvision. There is a scrape of hardened glass and metal upon stone, and its footfalls grow louder.
Standing over 7' and weighing over 1900 pounds, the guardian construct cuts an imposing figure.
Calvoric conveys that glass golems are fashioned by powerful spell casters to mindlessly serve their purposes. They are almost completely immune to magics and extremely resistant to physical attacks as well.
Stepping into the range of your vision is the monster, who quickens its pace to a sprint, covering the distance surprisingly fast for something so massive. You will exchange ranged blows, or escape up the ladder, before it gets to launch its own attacks, of that you are sure.
It surprises you by slowing its pace and standing still, an inhuman voice, like fragments of glass scraping against one another booms, "WHEN IS A STORK LIKE A DUCK LIKE A CROW?"
A moment later it speaks again, "SENTETTF, what comes next?"
You are left with the decision to attack, flee, or lose your opportunity to launch the first blow and answer the construct's riddles.
Dandelion whispers, even though the glass man knows they are here. "What is it doing? It just stopped."
By this point in the group's travels the others have become accustomed to mouth words for Dandelion that he is unable to read on his own.
Cal thinks about the hidden meaning behind the riddle, the only thing two thoughts about what the meaning of the riddle would be fall into two ideas: One, they are all birds, two: They are see the world from a distance while in flight. Calvoric mouths the golem's riddle so Dandelion can understand the question, Cal also thinks about the the puzzle of the riddle. Glancing at Grendal, the bard can only think of they fly, not believing that the golem would have that as the answer to the riddle, the bard frowns.
Surprised at the glass guardian closing the distance so face, the druid blinks in confusion when it speaks. When the being speaks its riddle, all Grendel can do it blink as his mind stopsppreparing to run. As it finishes its riddle, Grendel was back on the same trail.
Considering the riddle, the druid thinks for a few moments. Then only answer that really popped for him was, "In the dark". The druid whispers his guess to the other two as quietly as he could. Unless they had something better, that was to be his answer.
Grendel was curious as to what it meant when it spoke a second time.
It is hard not to jump out of one's skin as the creature's voice booms across the expanse, "CORRECT, all birds at night are black." Apparently it has better hearing than one might expect, though the chamber conveys sound so well that a whisper is much louder than one might expect.
It stands impassively, blocking your pass, staring at you like a statue.