Ishbaad mutters under his breath, catching his foot on a stirrup as he tries to hold on. As the ground falls away he leans hard, pulling on Onyx's reins while the oversized elk stumbles and skitters on wobbly legs. Miraculously both elk and rider find a way to shunt themselves to the side of the pit.
"Nice try foolish first worlder. Tell us how to shut the reality siphon down now so we can unshackle the hut, and we will spare your life." Ishbaad growls his demand. While he is confident he can back up his bluster, he is unsure if the dawn piper will listen, even if they are able to prove their thread of death.
Realizing where this strange creature gets its power, Ishbaad takes it upon himself to try to destroy the instrument of that power. Urging Onyx forward, Ishbaad closes the gap, bringing his greatsword down in a giant arc, aiming for not for the creature, but for his magnificent pipes.
Always war. So be it!
Hearing the piper's soft melody, Jorvik is lugged into overconfidence as the ground moves and shakes in rhythm beneath him. Behind him, he can hear Onyx and Ishbaad try to avoid this pit, while it open between he and his foe.
Falling into the pit, Jorvik tries his best to avoid the many spikes.
Rising to his feet he holsters Frostreaver and starts to climb up the walls.
Heafoc, seeing her master in peril, releases a shrill cry and dives for the menace before her.
What an odd way to make magic this one has...
Kuragin hopes Ishbaad's blow takes care of the fey's source of magic. Deciding to switch to his hexes. the witch slides closer to the fey. And then, being in range, he stares the fey with his evil eye to shatter the fey's resolve.
Amazingly, Heafoc manages to hit the dawn piper. With talons and beaks flying all about, he is most definitely shaken by the falcon's efforts.
Ice Melts Quietly in Sunlight's bomb strikes the blinded Ravathiel full in the chest. The flames join with the dawn piper's own, and leave him scarred and singed in their wake.
The dawn piper shakes off the odd feeling he is getting from Kuragin and his crazy eyes, though the effects will still linger a while longer.
Ishbaad leaps forwards from the pit that so suddenly appeared. He lashes out with his blade and strikes the pan pipes held by the piper. The flame-haired individual finally blinks the last of the stinging venom from his eyes in time to see his beloved musical instrument fall to pieces. He shoots a flaming look of pure hatred at the inquisitor and chant the words to a spell.
As tears for his shattered instrument stream down his face, the dawn piper screams, "Let you feel this loss as keenly as I do!"
Ishbaad does, for a moment, regret utterly his decision to smash the instrument. However, his righteous rage sets in an instant later and once again sees the world clearly.
"power down the reality siphon!" Ishbaad commands with a fire in his eyes. He does not wait for the fey creature to acknowledge, opting to back up the authority he claims with deadly force.
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Placing one bloody hand above the other, Jorvik does his best to avoid the many protruding spikes in the wall of the pit. Despite his concerted efforts it is mere moments before both hands are scraped and bloody. He continually wipes the slick blood from his hands on the back of his cloak to keep a firm grim. Winching in pain, he continues to extend one hand in front of the other, slowly making his way up the wall.
Without her master, Heafoc lashes out at the foe in front of her.
The mighty falcon bites down hard, before raking with her claws in her foes's face.
As Jorvik tries to clime out, he realizes that even a man of his skills cannot do so easily. He barely makes it a foot off the ground before the smooth sides and the remarkably slippery spikes stymie him... even as they slash at his flesh while he moves.
Ishbaad's sword carves a gash across the stunned dawn piper's chest. "Fools! If my font is destroyed, the others will know... and you will still not be able to pass. The reality siphon is stronger than any one of us!"
Heafoc's pecking and clawing brings Ravathiel to his knees and Ice Melt's Quietly in Sunlight's bomb knocks him onto his back, where he remains motionless... until the flame in his hair goes out and the only fire remaining is his clothing. Slowly, the dawn piper slides backwards off his stone shrine and his body slumps limply against it.
Hands shredding into meaty lumps, Jorvik swears under his breath.
I have to get out of this pit. I need to help my friends.
Gritting his teeth, each handhold sends jolts of pin through his body, be once again begins to climb. Steaks of blood drip down the walls of the pit like a waterfall.
Undeterred, Jorvik pushes off with his feet, while slapping his hand onto skies for a better grip.
He once again slides down the wall, howling in pain.
When I get out of here, I am going to brain that son of a ...
"Jorvik!" Ishbaad shouts, concern in his mind, perhaps not showing through as much in his words.
The Oread reaches for his rope in Onyx's saddlebags and quickly loops the middle portion of it three times around the saddlehorn. He then tosses one of the free ends down into the pit to crash down on his northern friend's shoulders.
"Wrap that around your shoulders and chest! Onyx will pull you out!" Ishbaad yells as he braces the other side of the rope, waiting anxiously to urge Onyx forward and bear the weight of Jorvik's ascent from the deadly pit.
"Ice Melt's Quietly in Sunlight, make sure the rope does not get sliced on the edge of the pit as we pull him up." Ishbaad quickly points to the rope's fulcrum point on the edge of the conjured hole.
Luckily for Jorvik, spikes aren't very good at cutting through rope. In a matter of moments he is out of the pit - and moreover manages to avoid any further puncture wounds.
"Ice Melts Quietly in Sunlight, check his body for anything useful. Perhaps the key to turning off this font is on his body somewhere." Ishbaad states once their friend is out of the pit.
The inquisitor immediatly begins to attend to Jorvik's wounds, working the curing wand to heal the numurous cuts on his hands.
When the group finishes securing the area and healing, Ishbaad swings his leg back over his majestic mount, and urges the elk north out of the clearing. "As long as that vortex is there, we either need to find a way to shut it off, or find a way around. This is as good as any..."
As Ravathiel takes his final breath, the ground shudders and shakes. The stone altar he was standing upon sinks back into the earth and looks once more like the regular paved streets of the Whitethrone market - albeit covered with roots and undergrowth.
"Jorvik, are you all right? Do you need healing?"
Kuragin descends slowly, taking out his healing wand to offer it's magic for the Ulfen. Luckily, he doesn't look badly wounded. I think the only thing hurt is his pride.
Whatever the dawn piper was doing, seems to have ceased now. Kuragin is uncertain how the fey's Reality Siphon works, but he feels confident they managed somehow to hinder the pipers plans.
"This font was earth, I assume. And we saw a dawn piper with a strange pool of water recently. Will there be fire and air somewhere as well? I suppose we have to deal with these fey to get to the hut..."
"I was beginning to think the same thing Kuragin, your voicing of the same opinion just strengthens my own assumption." Ishbaad says, just before he bumps his heels into Onyx's flank.
"It may just be that the key to shutting off the reality siphon is to shut down each of these elemental fonts. Perhaps the conflict with our friend at the entrance of this place is unavoidable."
Kuragin believes that their assumptions are indeed correct. Killing the pipers destroys their fonts. Destroying the fonts seems the best way to remove the reality siphon.
Ice Melts Quietly in Sunlight finds nothing of use on the dawn piper. His only equipment seems to be his (non-magical and now burnt) clothing and the pan pipes that Ishbaad smashed.
With little else to do - other than return to the water font and the other dawn piper - the companions push on northwards.
A a pair of buildings sit nestled within the trees here. A few patches of cobblestones still cover the ground outside, while a wooden street sign lies facedown in the snow. A large campfire burns within a cleared area in front of the houses. Several logs are arrayed around the fire as if to serve as seats. Empty wine bottles and charred, sharpened sticks for roasting food over the fire litter the ground.
A group of six individuals, three looking like merchants. The other three are beautiful, well dressed red-headed women. All seem to be reveling and enjoying the plentiful wine they have available.
"Come, have a seat and grab some wine!" calls the fattest of the three merchants, cold and alcohol combining to provide him with an exceptionally red nose.
"Yes, do come and enjoy our company," coos the youngest of the three red heads, freckles accentuating her pert nose.
"It is quite safe here," states another merchant, this one bald.
"Indeed, we are just passing the time until order is restored," adds another of the red headed women, this one wearing a low cut dress. Goose pimples cover her ample exposed bosom and she shivers before moving closer to the fire.
"Yes, whenever that might be!" laughs the third merchant, this one with short cropped hair and beard.
"Please, you look exhausted. Share our wine," the last red woman stands to offer an flask of seemingly high quality alcohol.
Onyx shuffles underneath his stony master as Ishbaad pulls on the reins to stop his progress.
"We do not have time for idle chatter, nor food and drink. Have you been here since the forest sprung up? Who are you?"
While Ishbaad does not normally allow any sort of emotion to show through, it is clear by his tone that his questions ring with impatience, however undeserved.
Must be jadwiga to be carousing about in a place and time such as this...
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Hauled up the pit like a lame goat. How embarrassing.
Stepping his way over the lip of the pit, he drops the rope and nods his thanks to his companions.
"Yes, Kuragin, I believe that I do need a bit of healing. If you will please." His hands curled into fists, rivulets of blood streaming from his hands, he cannot look his friend in the eye.
I lounge at the bottom of a pit with they deal with warriors from other planes.
Fully healed, Jorvik takes his place beside Ishbaad and Onyx; Heafoc alighting on his shoulder. Seeing the makeshift camp, Jorvik is as surprised as Ishbaad.
"Allologies if my friend's comments were curt, but it seems that we have stumbled into your gathering. Though we would love to stay and break our fast, we have pressing matters in front of us. We are here on orders of the Iron Guard to clear the forest; for the old has supplanted the new to reestablish the north. Be you friend or foe to this new development and would you care to assist us in this endeavor?"
That food and wine looks so good. How long is it since we are at the doorstep of the temple? How long have we fought these creatures of the north and the denizens of the elemental realms?
"Since the forest sprung up... yes, that is now long we've been here," says the bald merchant, "We were lucky enough that these ladies arrived shortly afterwards to keep us company. Since then, they've been finding enough wine..."
"More than enough wine!" the fat merchant interrupts.
"To keep us happy while the unpleasantness blows over."
The red head holding the wine give Ishbaad and the others a pleading look, "Oh, please won't you join us? We have plenty to go around and the more the merrier!" She seems rather frustrated that none of the companions have come forwards.
"Maybe you can convince them, Jemma?" she asks her generously bosomed friend who saunters over, accentuating her curves as she walks.
"Perhaps... will you perhaps join me?" asks Jemma. When the companions still refuse the youngest of the three stands to attempt to entice them. Her body is much more lithe than Jemma's, and the lack of curves is more than made up for by her nubile frame, visible even beneath her fur cloak.
"Not even for me?" she asks, eyes going impossibly wide.
All four companions feel an unnatural pull to obey and please these three women, but the feeling passes... leaving them to wonder how badly they really do wish to share in the warmth of the fire and to fill their bellies with some nice wine.
My for a rest with a pretty girl.
Eyelids drooping, adrenaline slowing, Jorvik can feel the weight of Frostreaver on his shoulder, feeling heavier than ever.
"It would be nice to stay and keep you company, but our path lies in a different direction. Another time, another place, hells another life. Fare you well pretty girl."
Jorvik moves towards the opening to the west.
I really am mad, giving up hot food, chilled wine, and beautiful women to free Baba Yaga in the north. How many times did I curse thee witch? Yet now I sacrifice all to free you to only torment us all the more. What a life.
Grinning at his silent ironic thoughts, Jorvik lets out a crazed laugh.
"To live, to die, all seems the same. Come brothers, let us end this madness." He ends with another cackle, a very un-Kurigan like cackle.
The allure of creature comforts is a strong pull to resist.
Just for a few minutes is all... The thought comes unbidden to Ishbaad's mind.
"We cannot tarry." The words act as a verbal declaration to his internal decision to just keep moving, despite the temptation. He had allowed himself to enjoy pleasures of the flesh all too recently, and the memory was fresh, along with the reminder of the benefits of stress relief.
But all of their efforts so far, sacrifices to this point would be wasted, should they lose themselves now. No. If Dragonslayer was ever going to be a part of his new identity, then they must finish the thing that slaying the dragon started, lest the deed be lost in a history that doesn't exist.
Not seeing a threat beyond temptation, Ishbaad urges Onyx to move past the revelry and see what is around the corner.
In three's they always come...
Kuragin eyes warily at the group of merchants and redheads. Strange moment to wine and dine, with two armies of present and former guards clashing together all around. Kuragin is not tempted by the offer of warmth, but the wine and rest would do well. But there is much to accomplish, no time for this.
"No..." he says prompty, but to himself and in response to the offer. There is some foul play here, Kuragin is sure of that. But since all his companions are determined to continue, he has no will to pay attention to the three women. The witch turns his feet away from the offered rest, and follows the inquisitor.
"If you won't stay..." begins the woman holding the wine.
"... we cannot let you go..." continues the one with her breasts on display.
"... so we must kill you!" finishes the freckled youngest of the three.
As they speak, a strange transformation overtakes the trio of women. Fangs spring out from their mouths and their eyes redden and begin to glow. Their long, lustrous nails turn into claws and their once soft breasts harden and turn to sinewy muscle. Flecks of spittle fly from their mouths as, as one, the scream in primal, bestial rage at those who have rebuffed them.
The merchants remain both unchanged in appearance and action. While their consorts turn to beasts, they calmly continue to drink wine and the portly one even gives a friendly pat on the log next to himself indicating that the companions should sit and revel. Even as those that once were women leap for the throats of the companions, they simply shrug and continue to imbibe.
After the shock of the initial transformation, the companions recover quickly. Perhaps they are used to being on edge, perhaps they sensed something. In any case, they spring into action before the animalistic women get a chance to show their prowess.
I should have know.
Jorvik alights Frostreaver from his shoulders and moves to the nearest one
"Foul creature, you know not what you are doing. Your death will be inglorious."
He Frostreaver with the might of the north, hoping to brain the beast and get to the hut. As he readies his hammer, Heafoc rises in the air to slowly circle the beast and attack from behind.
The streaking buff colored mass of feathers and muscles bites out from behind.
Jorvik and Heafoc lay into the young redhead with the freckles. The Bloodspeaker's hammer almost shatters her collarbone before a blast from Ice Melts Quietly in Sunlight's bomb washes over her.
Her companion takes the full-force of the blast, however, and looks around doubtfully - even enraged as she is - when the new arrivals show themselves to be far more capable than she expected.
"And now we see the truth of it all!" Ishbaad shouts, almost relieved, knowing that they won't leave an enemy at their back.
He wheels Onyx around from his original course to leave the clearing and brings him alongside Jorvik before closing the gap to melee with the morphed monsters.
Focus fire, bring this one down first...
Ishbaad brings his greatsword down in a mighty chop, hoping to thin the numbers of the deceiving tricksters before they have a chance to do anything.
for
All four of the adventurers come to the same conclusion: these redheaded women must be baccae, fey hand maidens of Baccus-Dionysus. These temptresses try to charm passers-by with their alluring gaze, and make them docile with their bespelled wine.
They are not usually so aggressive towards humanoids, but something clearly has this trio riled up.
This realization does nothing to hinder Ishbaad as he brings down his greatsword, removing the youngest baccae's arm at the shoulder. Blood sprays both Ishbaad and his mount and the other two cry out in unison with rage-filled voices, "Mari, no!!!"
The merchants continue to refill one another's glasses and regard the scene with calm dispassion.
"More fey... Is the whole forest crawling with your kind!?" Kuragin cannot say he was particularly surprised with this turn of events. At least explains the strangle lure for joining the merchants. But women's fury is unsettling, so the witch scurries behind Onyx in hopes the large mount would discourage the fey from closing in. And from this safer location, Kuragin points his hand towards a fey and invokes his hexes.
"Sleep, creature. Sleep and dream. And in sleep, be safe from the blades that will cut down your sisters."
The large-bosomed redhead falls over and begins snoring through her bestial teeth.
"Joliphetta! Wake the f$** up!" snarls the redhead with the wine. She drops the precious liquid and dives for the man who just killed her friend. Standing on Onyx, she rips and tears and bites at the oread for all she's worth.
After the onslaught, Ishbaad realizes that this particular baccae is far more powerful than legends have told.
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The first claw from the enraged, bestial woman tears deep into Ishbaad's side, catching a crease in the armor just right to dig into his stony flesh. It's the kind of wound that you know deep in your psyche that it is serious, perhaps even mortally serious, but the shock and adrenaline have yet to allow his brain to sense the searing pain.
Another blow comes in, followed by a snarl and a clamp down on one of his shoulders, but the inquisitor is already working through what he needs to do next.
Sorry Onyx, I know you hate this...
Ishbaad drops the reins and reaches for Onyx's antlers. Grabbing one of the knobs, he pulls back, twisting the animal's head awkwardly to the side. The reaction is exactly what the Oread expected, brutal, but necessary.
Onyx suddenly and violently twists his body to relieve the strain on his spine caused by his head being pulled back. Ishbaad found this trick the hard way early on when he thought it would be a good idea to use the antlers as a way to catch himself when he lost his balance. The violent spin of the massive elk's body launches both the wanted and unwanted rider into the air towards the fire.
The baccae screams briefly as she lands on the fire, but stops the instant the air in her lungs is blasted out by the weight of a fully armored oread inquisitor landing on top of her.
"Finish her!" he yells, rolling off of the woman-turned-beast, clutching his side as hammer and bomb crash in over his prone form.
From his knees, Ishbaad brings his blade deliberatly down on the sleeping baccae's neck with brutal and deadly force.
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Ice Melts Quietly in Sunlight watches in horror as the red-headed fey tears into Ishbaad. He moves next to the creature, pulling out his sling. "Me no waste bomb on someone who already dead from fire." He loads a cold iron bullet into the sling, and starts it spinning. "But me can help you on the way, so you no hurt my friends." The goblin's bullet strikes, but not hard... as if he is showing disdain for the creature with his weak attack.
He gently floats to the ground as his fly spell ends, but he doesn't as of yet restore it.
Feeling the resistance of flesh as he swings his hammer, Jorvik is relieved that he was able to resist the wiles of the baccae. Before he can even pull back his hammer for another strike a flaming bomb comes roaring in over his head.
Nice throw Ice he silently muses as he spins to see how his companions fare, smelling the charred flesh of the fey behind him.
He watches in silent horror as another fey tears into Ishbaad. Mouthing a silent scream, he bring Frostreaver low, towards his hip.
High stepping his way over, he sees Ishbaad slump in his make-shift saddle, tugging on Onyx's reins.
Quicking his pace, Jorvik arrives just as Ishbaad lands atop the fey.
Did he not resist like I thought? Is he trying to mount here? I must put an end to this.
Using the momentum of the short movement, he lifts Frostreaver high above his head and brings it crashing down.
Kuragin floats slowly downwards, until his feet are touching the ground. He keeps himself ready to cast a spell, but it looks like this fight will be done even without his powers. He relaxes, and nods approvingly at Ishbaad executing the sleeping fey.
It looks like the North is hardening them. Making them forget their soft southern ways. Good.
Ice Melts Quietly in Sunlight is disappointed to learn that the baccae have nothing of particular value on their persons. The magic of the wine fades as their life force departs this world, leaving it very ordinary in every way.
As some of their enhancements wear off, the companions make their way to the western edge of the clearing past the houses that found themselves suddenly nestled in the trees. Meanwhile, the drunk merchants continue to calmly survey the situation, but they are beginning to scratch their heads in bewilderment. Hangovers will be the least of their concerns on the morrow. Angry wives are hard to deal with at the best of times... an angry wife in Irrisen? Well, it doesn't bear thinking about.
The quartet ventures to the clearing and see an enormous dead beech tree towering above them, standing apart from the evergreen trees around it. Dead, dry leaves lift from piles around the tree to rustle and dance amid whorls of fine powdery snow.
Perhaps predictably, a third - female - dawn piper leans against the trunk of this tree from her perch in the branches some 10 feet in the air.
"You do not impress me," she calls down in a sing-song voice, her face bored but guarded, "Run along now. The forest and the Dancing Hut both are ours. I heard the deals you tried to make with Ravathiel and saw what you did to him. I will not be such an easy mark. Nevertheless, conflict is unnecessary and... boring. Just scuttle along little insects and enjoy the remainder of your brief, mortal lives."
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"Silly girly fey... why you wanna stop us? We no wanna kill you, just turn off the siphon, and take what is ours. Not yours. Ours," Ice Melts Quietly in Sunlight states, leaving no grounds for compromise.
"Really, you pretty with your fire hair, but me already do much me not happy about."
For the moment, he stands there, with a bomb in his hand.
"I suggest you tell us how to deactivate your wind portion of the vortex. We will not let your life stand in the way of what we intend to accomplish here, should you be foolish enough to choose to resist. What is a minor inconvenience such as losing this forest and the hut when compared to immortality? The fates stand ready to cut your thread, don't be stupid. Will you throw away your life for a lost cause?"
Ishbaad stands a little higher in his saddle, already trying to figure it how he will reach the fey.
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"Even if you manage to somehow kill me and shut down my portion," she scoffs, "You will then have to go through Auraenos. But I think you overestimate your abilities.
"Now, Silverthorn," she adds calmly and evenly.
A tiny, stick-like creature speeds out from a nearby thicket to maul Jorvik with its tiny twiggy claws. The knowledgable group easily recognize it as a twigjack.
He slices into Jorvik's armor and cuts the skin beneath. "I do good, Zephimere?" he asks.
The dawn piper just smiles and nods.
Chuffed by the approval he received, the twigjack opens up his mouth and sprays thorns and sharp splinters of wood forwards with great force. Much more wood than one would expect to come from such a tiny creature blasts out from its face to strike all but Kuragin who manages to escape the blast by hanging back.
Ishbaad and Onyx take the full brunt of the blast , but Jorvik and Ice Melts Quietly in Sunlight are only grazed by the passing shards of wood .
"You!" the dawnpiper known as Zephimere points directly at Ishbaad, "You destroyed a set of sacred pipes. Know the horror of your transgression and despair!"
Crushing sadness over what he has done overtakes the man and he slumps down on Onyx's back and sobs uncontrollably.
How many of these we must confront, before the way is open?
Just as Kuragin started to have hopes for Ishbaad, the inquisitor starts to weep over a set of pipes. Surely it's partly caused by the fey's powers, but Kuragin is sure it is the weak southern blood taking control. "Stop that whining, and focus," he snaps out, very annoyed.
And to follow his own advice, Kuragin tries to forget the crying Oread, and pays attention to their enemies. The twigjack is annoying, but shouldn't prove to be too dangerous - Jorvik can smite it down easily. But the strange powers of the dawn piper can turn the battle against them very quickly. Thus Kuragin turns his head towards Zephimere and opens his mouth to scream. But no sound is heard - save by the fey.
Kuragin gives an almighty shriek, but alas the magical energies do not seem to affect the dawn piper. She simply laughs a mellifluous laugh and favors Kuragin with a waggling finger and a "Tut tut."