The fallen Bralani drifts along swiftly and silently behind his foe, though if he notices a spot or two along the way that would be a good spot to hide one of the scrystones, he does so.
Eventually coming to where the creature is tunneling, he pauses and watches. After all, if necessary, he's fast enough to strike before it goes too far, or does something unpleasant.
Illia- jumps randomly, teleporting into six random buildings across the city. The first five are abandoned, some simply empty serfs' quarters, some little more than piles of rubble with warped bones inside. In one of these buildings, the illusory stone expands into a parchment scroll, whose words seem to burn their way into her memory, disappearing immediately after, reading a message as follows:
As the devil in our party, you are the most skilled at seduction and corruption. And in my stealth, I overheard one of the Voshgurvaghol Masters complaining about neglect by the rest of the council, and plotting to betray him. I believe that, in the worst case scenario, you could turn him to our cause—though fighting the aboleth is likely suicide, the Master of Illusions would be a powerful ally, and give us a slim chance of winning. He is the greatest and most illustrious sorcerer in the entire city, skilled at illusions, deceptions, invisibility and schemes, fond of spending time in all manner of primitive humanoid forms, and certainly worthy of your admiration and interest. So, your part in the plan is: seek out the “Master of Lies,” and use your infernal charm and wiles to convince him to turn traitor should a fight break out.
Finally, her sixth jump takes Illia-inside of a completely sealed, conical building of black basalt, something like a cross between a silo and a barn. While the inside is completely black, her dark-sight picks out a strange object curled up against one of the walls; it appears to be a mound of something black and oily, smeared from the floor up to the ceiling, and in a few seconds it begins to drip and ooze, flashing white eyes opening, blinking and disappearing across what would otherwise me a twenty-foot long smear.
You fool! comes the reply, nearly searing in its ferocity. You know I would never willingly return them; I would rather sell those secrets to the Masters of this city, wretched though they be, before allow them to return to your hands!
The creature keeps tunneling, but it remains invisible, filling in its tunnel with loosened rubble behind it; a few times, the path seems to intersect other such tunnels. Finally, it breaks through into open chamber about twenty feet wide and spherical. The creature materializes, appearing to be some sort of juvenile dragon; two Skum guards floating in the chamber nods, and the dragon swims upwards through an open hatch in the ceiling and disappears.
Back at the shark, Anaxian checked his control of the boat and the Belier, and scanned them for any magics that should not be on them.
As soon as the others have all left you alone at the well, your small message stone expands, displaying rows of cramped text that speak their words into your mind, with the spell almost immediately dissipating; additionally, Meredian's stone, lying on the ground nearby, does the same nearly afterwards. The two messages follow:
1. As a cleric of the same undead god the Architect worships, the aboleth will have already identified you as a capable necromancer. Your role in the plan, if you think hostilities are on the horizon, is to volunteer for the city’s reconstruction; the Mayor has more undead servants than he can easily control, and delegating management of some of them to another necromancer would ease his mind. Thus, you will approach the Mayor, and offer your services. Don’t worry too much about any spells he may cast on you, as it’s unlikely even someone of his unstoppable might could afford to control any more undead than he already does. If you really want to impress him, the mayor is a devout scholar of undeath, and would love to see a well-crafted phylactery, if you’ve brought one with you.
2. As the keeper of our most powerful magic items, and as a drow noble, you are clearly the most talented arcane spell caster in our party. So your part in the plan will be to destroy the aboleths’ arcane advantages. There is a network of tunnels below the city, leading to a great, dark, and open cavern covered in thousands of runes of all varieties. This may seem like merely a training ground where young aboleths over the millennia practice their runes and trap spells, but that is in fact a deception. Beneath these runes hide older runes of great power, which the Masters of Voshgurvaghol use to control their undead minions. Destroy enough of the runes, and their spell will be broken, causing the undead forces to disperse. You should prepare as many Erase, Dispel, and Greater Dispel spells as you can, even if it requires using your higher-level spell slots, then at the first sign of fighting ignore combat completely to swim deep below the city, where you will destroy every rune you see. Don’t worry too much about being careful; many of the “trap runes" are harmless, and only placed there to obfuscate.
Sure enough, the boat and belier have both been subjected to new necromancy magic, though there seem to be no obvious or currently noticeable effects of the new spells.
Additionally, as soon as Anaxian is several hundred feet away from the well, his small message stone expands to briefly display lines of cramped text, which almost immediately speak themselves into his memory, the spell quickly dissipating afterwards. The message reads as follows:
As a dracolich with adamantine claws and natural fire immunity, your part in the plan will be tunneling. Don’t even think of digging the Architect out; he will only cause trouble, and his “Palace” is sealed with a great number of deadly trap runes. Instead, in your expertise as a lich, you should search out and destroy the Mayor’s phylactery, which is located in an undersea volcano forty miles to the southwest; I’ve managed to turn one of the Mayor’s servants, who described an illusion spell on this volcano designed to protect the phylactery—it will appear as though a great tentacled lava beast lives in the volcano, once you’ve tunneled down into the molten center, but this is in fact simply an illusion, and you should swim straight towards it and not worry about being devoured by any strange and terrible beasts that live in fire and darkness this far below the sun. Still, the journey to the volcano is far; do not take it unless you plan to fight, because otherwise it might signal a threat to the aboleths here.
"Oh, you misunderstand. I don't just want to stay." Meridian says casually. "I am not some mere serf that would be satisfied simply being tolerated to exist. I want a position of power, access to secrets, and more."
Meredian makes a *tsk tsk* motion with her finger, indicating he should have known better then continues.
"Why would you allow me such a thing you ask? Well, I think the others are falling for your subversion, but I am Drow. I saw it for what it was immediately. You pegged Drisquar is the mastermind correctly enough. However, your agent really needs to work on his accent. Plus the illusion details were sloppy. The others aren't astute enough to notice such things, but I am Drow. Subterfuge is like fine wine to me. "
"But I digress. Long-story-short they've outlived their usefulness to me and I'm looking for more powerful allies. Of course we'll have to kill them. We can't risk any recompense. In exchange your assistance, I have information for you. I know what they're actually after for starters. Plus their weaknesses, Etc. Etc. Etc. Then of course after you've got me as an ally along with my considerable abilities and connections."
"Are you intrigues or am I wasting my breath?"
Anaxian stared for a time at the necromantic auras on his minions.
He had warned the stupid fish not to do this.
The priorities in his mind shifted. The fires in the backs of his eyes tightened and brightened, like flames under pressure.
First, a test.
No. replies Jiator flatly, but the word feels... strange, somehow, and you realize Jiator has been playing up his speech theatrically for one reason: he's been trying to convey that the aboleths can read his mind, but not yours.
And then he falls silent, and the Keeper's voice returns to your mind. The architect has grown agitated, the aboleth says telepathically, in a softer voice reminiscent of bubbling honey. You should leave him now. One of the Masters will be along to calm him, before he damages himself or the city, and for your safety I think they should speak to him alone. Where would you like me to lead you?
The goo replies, in a language Illia- has never heard before. Toothy mouths open and close in the black slime, nearly invisible in the darkness, disgorging streams of consonants and vowels that resemble words but hammer into her brain like hot corkscrews, twisting and gouging in bursts of synesthetic pain. It might be enough to drive a weaker-willed creature mad, but Illia- is completely unaffected by the words' twisting magic.
Seeing this, the greasy smear raises a pseudopod approximately the size and shape of a baseball bat, and waggles it threateningly in her direction.
"uhh... Thank you for that offer. I will consider it in due time. For the time being my weak and fragile elven body has served me well over these centuries. "
Changing the subject quickly,
"I didn't necessarily mean secrets from you specifically here and now. More I'd like to be considered a fully ally wherein if and when something is uncovered you keep me in the loop so that I can be most effective."
"You've intrigued me with two things. First, you speak as though you and the master of illusions are rivals. Is this the case? You've clearly got the larger and more impressive skill set. Don't get me wrong, illusions have their place, but there are so many many ways they are undone. Flesh, however, is another matter. Flesh is solid and can directly influence the world. I'd prefer that to... (she hesitates a moment looking for the word)...Lesser tricks. Anyway, if you are rivals i'd sooner side with you if it's all the same."
"Second, Am I to understand you are a flesh warper? I have no skill in it myself, but it's a well respected craft among my people. "
The creature seems to suddenly realize that Illia- is speaking into its mind, and not out loud, and replies in kind. it bellows, in a stream of unrestrained consciousness.
A hundred eyes open and shut in the darkness, and a dozen new mouths form and gnash together their teeth, as the creature begins to stretch forward from the wall in slow, ropey strings and begins to glow, radiating a dim blue light.
THE MASTER OF ILLUSIONS WALS THE WILDS OF VARISIA FOR THREE THOUSAND YEARS BEFORE RETURNING TO VOSHGURVAGHOL, replies the Master of Souls, carrying the same rumbling monotone—but this time, it is telepathic, and no sound shakes the walls of the tower. HE HAS FORGOTTEN WHAT IT WAS TO BE FOREVER A KING OF THE DEPTHS. "RIVAL" IS A PETTY HUMAN TERM, BUT HIS GAMES AND SCHEMES ARE MEANINGLESS AND UNINTERESTING IN THE LONG HISTORY, AND I HAVE NO INTEREST IN HEARING HIS BOASTS ABOUT THEM AT OUR MEETENGS.
And then the gigantic aboleth bunches up slightly, sending ripples streaming back and forth across its rubbery flesh like a shaken spring, and continues again out loud. YOUR PEOPLE WARP. MY PEOPLE CREATE, AND REBUILD, AND WILL DO SO FOR TEN THOUSAND YEARS BEFORE YOU WILL BE BORN FROM A SIDE EFFECT OF OUR GREATEST MISTAKE. I WAS CALLED "SOULS" BECAUSE I WILL DEAL IN CRAFTING AND REBUILDING THE LIVING AND DEAD ALIKE
Finally, he addresses Meredian's first question. YOU CANNOT SIT ON OUR COUNCIL. YOU WILL BE SMALL, AND POWERLESS, AND A THOUSAND YEARS TOO YOUNG. BUT IF YOU HAVE EXPLAINED AND DEMONSTRATED YOUR TALENTS AND SKILLS, I CAN OFFER YOU AN APPROPRIATE ROLE IN OUR GREAT WORK, AND SERVANTS TO MATCH.
"Sounds reasonable. I will be satiated with that for now. What do you need to make it official? "
"Also, as a matter of curiosity, what would you consider your greatest accomplishment here?"
Dris speeds past the dragon suddenly shifting form to his normal self, Shimsil at the ready, just in case. "Afternoon, friend. You seem to be in a hurry to leave"
"IF YOU DO NOT KNOW MY WORKS, WHY DID YOU SEEK *MY* COUNSEL?" rumbles the Master of Souls. "SURELY THE MAYOR HAS ALREADY TOLD YOU OF OUR CAUSE, THE MASTER OF KEEPING HAS ASKED FOR YOUR TRIBUTE, AND THE MASTER OF ILLUSIONS WILL HAVE MADE AN ENTREATY IN HIS OWN POINTLESS FASHION. BUT I HAVE HUMORED YOU. MY GREATEST ACCOMPLISHMENT WAS LEARNING WHAT THE ARCHITECT WOULD NOT TEACH. BEFORE, I WILL USE FLESH AND WATER AND THE BILE OF THE DEEP THINGS; NOW I USE BONE AN DEATH TO CREATE THE STRONGER, TIRELESS SERVANTS WHO BUILD AT OUR COMMAND."
"But," the Master of Souls whispers—or at least speaks more softly, turning his head to point all nine fixed-position red eyes at Meredian, "It is not you who must be satisfied; it will be I. What power will you demonstrate, that I have accepted your offer?"
The guards shiver backwards in surprise, clacking their teeth and growling, tridents held aloft. But the dragon makes no signal for them to attack. Instead, he smiles—as much as his toothy maw allows—and asks, in a beautiful and very human voice, "And what, exactly, are you doing intruding in my private quarters? Speak carefully."
The creature wails, a screech that continues for several minutes, oscillating between three different frequencies. Tentacles and clawed hands reach out towards Illia-, then are pulled back and slammed against the wall and ceiling of the silo, with a violent strength that fails to shake the structure at all; there seems to be some sort of protective barrier keeping the force or sound of the blows from escaping into the stone. After leaving Illia-'s ears ringing with a strength that would temporarily deafen a mortal creature, the ooze creature returns to gibbering madly, but thought-words slowly form underneath this gibbering, projected with the restraint of a child who's just discovered Roman candles.
shouts the creature.
The Keeper smiles. Maybe. It shows its teeth in a way that does not seem overtly threatening, and its tail writhes, dragging floating strands of mucus around it; but Sir John's been watching closely enough to have some sense of what might pass for its "mood" in a less alien creature. The Mayor was a busy and important master, replies the Keeper, But you will bring him such things, I am sure he has made the time. Give... oh, one of your surface hours for us to prepare, and then we will all meet together in the Palace; there is a room you will have waited in until the Mayor is ready to arbitrate.
OK, I will go there.
Dris also smiles, though his is rather condescending, as is his tone. "I wanted to meet the creature who had the audacity to think he could possibly impersonate me. Granted, you did a piss poor terrible job at it, but still, it took some skill to try and pull that off. I would be impressed if it wasn't so gods awful"
Illia- finds Anaxian at the stables, standing around and frowning angrily at his skeletons.
"I don't know what you are talking about," replies the dragon. "There are many aboleths in this city, many with skill at illusion magic; but I was told that your party would travel with the Keeper until you met the Architect, so I cannot any reason why you wouldn't have been there to stop an 'impersonation.' That said, why and how are you in my private chambers?"
The creature struggles to maintain control of its draconic form and smooth speech, and its emotions are clearly readable on the dragon's face. It's lying, and it's afraid (and, strangely, it's not leaking mucus into the water around it like the aboleths you've met so far).
Mer chuckles slightly at what she considers a silly question, but answers.
"Well, among other things I'm a powerful telekinetic. I can planes walk at will. I'm immortal in every sense of the word. Plus i'm a vast treasure trove of manipulation methodologies. My people have developed it into an art form over the centuries and we're fed intrigue from birth like mothers milk. If you want to get the master of illusions to cooperate I could be an invaluable resource in that alone. Of course your people can magically control some creatures. However, I always find it best if your enemies do your bidding thinking it's their own idea. "
After a brief pause
"What is it the architect couldn't teach? It sounds like necromancy, but isn't the architech a ridiculously powerful necromancer? He'd have to be in order to utilize the Artifact pieces."
"Be that is it may, I saw you hidden under a pile of rubble, clearly controlling that borderline insulting attempt to impersonate me. As to how I'm here, I just followed you. It was pretty easy, all things considered."
Hey, Anaxian, I found a really big monster thing that wants to kill all the fishies but is sealed up. Wanna help me free it? Illia makes sure she's within 120 feet to confirm its Anaxian.
Th Master of Souls shakes his head, without seeming to notice as it bangs into the walls of the tower, fifty-foot tentacles audibly slapping on impact and causing the whole structure to quiver slightly. ”NO!” he rumbles, his three central eyes beginning to glow a dull red. ”I CARE NOT FOR WORDS OR PROMISES. IF YOU WILL PLAY THOSE GAMES, SEEK OUT THE MASTER OF ILLUSIONS OR THE MASTER OF LOVE. I PRACTICE THE GREAT ARTS OF FLESHFORGE AND NECROCRAFT, NOT PEN OR SPEECH. IMMORTAL OR NOT, YOU ARE YOUNG, AND THAT IS WHY I HAVE FORGIVEN YOUR INABILITY TO LISTEN. NOW, IF YOU HAD POWERS OF PLANE-WALKING OR MAGIC, SHOW ME, OR YOU WILL BE GONE FROM MY PRESENCE.”
”No,” repeats the dragon, ”You did not. You are mistaken. Your outsider ways are primitive, and so I have forgiven their rudeness, but please leave my chambers.” The dragon’s eyes and nostrils begin to glow orange, brimming with a hint of orange fire, as Drisquar feels another three waves of attempted mind-control bounce harmlessly off of his protected thoughts.
Drisquar senses that the “dragon” is still, very clearly, both lying and afraid. And, while the two of them have been talking, another dozen skum guards have climbed silently through the hatch in the ceiling, pointing their spears at him in a shoulder-to-shoulder circle. As he turns away for a split-second to count the guards, he looks back, and notices that there are now three metallic dragons looking at him.
There are no guards in this room. When they moved, the light reflections gave them away; the “fourteen skum spearmen” are entirely illusory.
There is one dragon in this room. The other two are illusions, and you can tell which two.
Sir John heads off to look for Anaxian and the others, though it will take him a bit of time to reach the stables, giving Illia- and Anaxian the chance to talk first.
Merdian looks perplexed. She wonders if this creature is legitimately insane, but she plays along.
With a sigh and a roll of here eyes she glanced down at one of the many large rocks at the base of this structure and it begins to rise into the air.
Rock still hanging in the air, Meridian looks at the master of souls and says,
"I told you I was a telekineticist. Is that sufficient or shall I fetch you a trinket from the city of brass?"
Will
Shim Will 1, Save 2.
Dris grins wickedly "Nice trick, but we both know there's only one of you, not three. Which means I'm willing to bet that there's not all these extra guards here either. Even if there are, I will slay them all where they stand. Do not push me dragon."
"SO YOU HAVE MORE STRENGTH THAN A CHILD, BUT CAN USE FROM A DISTANCE," replies the Master of Souls, in a slightly higher tone. "WE COULD FIND USE FOR THAT SKILL IN CONSTRUCTION, BUT LITTLE ELSE. SO YES, YOU WILL FETCH ME A TRINKET FROM THE CITY OF BRASS, AND THEN I HAVE GIVEN YOU A... SPECIAL EMPLOYMENT, FOR ONE OF YOUR SPECIAL TALENTS."
The dragon shouts something out loud, in the bubbling, greasy tongue that you now recognize as the aboleth language, and breathes a line of glowing white fire directly at Drisquar. It boils the water, and disappears into the stone behind him with a strange ripple. With his new daemonic realignment, of course, Drisquar is completely unaffected by the heat.
His eyes widening in greater, fully obvious fear, the dragon shouts once again in Undercommon: "You fool! This room is an illusion!" and suddenly Drisquar finds himself in a slightly larger chamber, its walls plastered with trap symbols.
[dice=Symbol of Pain, "Dragon"]1d20+14[/dice]
[dice=Symbol of Mirroring, "Dragon"]2d4[/dice]
Naturally, this backfires spectacularly. The dragon doubles over, wracked with pain, from a spell that Drisquar ignores entirely. Explosive runes detonate around the room, and while the dragon is fast enough to dodge half of their damage, Drisquar's lighting reflexes allow him to ignore it entirely. The "guards," of course, disappear, blasted into illusory pieces by the runes.
Finally, two symbols of mirroring trigger, and there are now eight identical dragons and six identical Drisquars staring each other down, though the dragons appear to be somewhat injured. Debris and shattered rock fill the room, giving light concealment.
Meredian looks annoyed, but replies.
"Sure. Let me go fetch some supplies and I'll get right on that. "
With that Meredian floats out the "door"
Back at the "ship"
Meredian leaves the Master of Souls and heads to the undead shark ship thing.
She looks around for Anaxian.
Who all is at the ship?
Anaxian stared at his minions a moment longer. Breaking the enchantments now would likely alert the caster to what had happened. Patience was key. Illia's diversion would be a good one.
Yes I do. Show me.
At the ship
"Also, the master of souls needs to die. Like a lot. He expects me to give him something. Perhaps you can think of something creative and horrible?"
So far, the aboleths of this city have failed to know that Illia- can see through illusions, or that Drisquar can sneak around in wind form (they've called it "invisibility" and referred to him as an "angel." It's unlikely they have much experience with the outer planes, and there's a good chance their knowledge of the "City of Brass" ends with "a lot of things there are made out of brass."
Int
Dris is rattled a bit by the power of the explosion, and shakes his head to clear the ringing. Brushing off some debris and ash, he chuckles "Well, I'm going to guess that didn't go as planned, hmm? Too bad you turned out to be another one of the disgusting fishy-tentacly-things. Had you been an actual dragon, I was going to offer you an alliance. But, I hate seafood, so I'm going to have to kill you now"
"But... I am an actual dragon!" the dragon stammers. "My name is Calgushar the Bronze, and I am both wise and noble beyond my years! Cease your attacks against me and I will show you to my endless treasure horde of gold!"
No, he's not. This is really getting pathetic.
"Come on now, we both know that's not true. You're a slimy, icky, fish thingy. However, *IF* you have an actual treasure hoard of gold, we might be able to work out a deal."
Aright! Wanna use shenanigans to teleport with me, or shall I lead the way?