"What conner?"
Hoots chuckles, slaps Groog affectionately on the back, and climbs up onto the orc's shoulders (a little protective of his place after seeing Thisstle riding there).
"He means that Wizard we've been trying to help. Y'know, the one whose tavern we live in?
"Anyway, I agree! Well done, Hellions. Well done!"
With their task complete at last, the group pack up all of the new loot they’ve found, including having Groog gather up and drag around a veritable hoard of weapons and armor from the fallen cultists, and head back out of the complex. Their way out is far easier than their way in, for they find a hallway leading directly from the engineering deck all the way past the dome and into the Black Hill Caverns, specifically to what used to be the gremlins’ lair. The door to the hallway had been previously jury-rigged shut by the cultists and is quite obviously the route they took to get to the engineering deck itself, having been able to avoid all of the horrors in the rest of the complex. With just a short bit of work from Groog, they break open the doors and have an easy route to and from the complex.
As they make their way out of the caverns, through the toxic, murky water (Groog having much fun dragging the loot behind him through the water), they emerge to find a large portion of the town seemingly waiting for them to arrive, and are met with cheers. Behind them, the Torch atop the Black Hill is a vortex of violet flame shooting up into the sky as far as the eye can see.
In front of the crowd stands Councilor Dolga Freddert, Councilor Joram Kyte and the slightly-drooling Councilor Khonnir Baine, all eager to greet and congratulate the group. Before they can get around to a debriefing, however, Thisstle explains that, on top of them fixing the Torch, they’ve also found a way to cure Baine’s condition.
The group wastes no time in taking Baine to the decontamination room found within the structure and, with a simple tap of a button, they find themselves subject to numerous scanning machines that examine them then engulf them in a fine white mist that almost seems to move of its own accord. Before they know it, the mist is gone and Khonnir’s condition has faded, his mind back to its original state.
Not long afterwards, the Council calls a meeting and invites the Hellions to attend as part as debriefing, to award them their money, and to personally thank them for what they’ve done for the town. As Groog, Dahlia, Thisstle and Hoots enter the town hall where they first got the job, they find the entire council in attendance; Dolga, Khonnir Baine, Joram Kyte are all there, as well as two councilmembers the group had yet to meet. The first is Bazlundi Otterbie, the granddaughter of Orm Otterbie, a former Mendev Crusader, sits at the end of the line of councilors, her well-muscled physique matching her status as owner of the Smithy’s Guild. The second is Serantha Olandir, the charismatic and influential leader of the town council. She seems to be still suffering from the chronic headaches that have been plaguing her since this debacle started, but nevertheless, they’ve apparently lessened enough for her to resume her duties on the council.
Curiously enough, already at the town hall before the rest of the group arrives is their previous member, Vallan, who glares at Thisstle when he spots her. He doesn’t give the rest of a group a particularly warm welcome either, considering how they failed to help him with the screaming little goblin when he got into a tussle with her. However, he doesn’t get a chance to say anything before Olandir rises, followed by the rest of the council, and addresses the group.
”Hoots’ Hellions,” she says, ”I did not have the honor of meeting you earlier this week, but I want to thank you on the behalf of our town for rekindling our hope and livelyhood. As promised, here is your reward.” She motions with her hand and a nearby assistant hauls over a small, albeit bulging sack filled with four-hundred silver disks, each worth ten gold. ”I have no doubt the rest of the town will be eager to thank you for your actions as well. “
Khonnir coughs and chimes in, ”Certainly! The Hellions will always be welcome at the Foundry Tavern, not only for saving the town, but also for saving my life, my sanity, and from what I’ve heard from Val, my daughter. If you ever need use of my forge, you’re free to do so; I can also help with identifying any last technological items you’ve gathered from the ruins, if you have any to be identified. Since you’ve cleared the place of its dangers, I’m personally quite eager to examine it in further detail, but thats for another time and place. Oh, and of course, I’ll throw in free drinks any time you visit!”
”Hm yes, well, “ Olandir continues, ”Before we can let you go enjoy yourselves on what is likely going to be an exciting night of alcohol-induced revelry, I’d like to speak more about what specifically was causing this entire debacle so that we might be able to avoid a repeat occurrence in the future.”
At that, the five councilmembers eagerly await the Hellions' story of what happened down there.
"Hill is actually buried space ship. Hellion cult live in there, steal power from ship to run tech. No power go to ships's bum, ship no shit torch. We reattach power to ship's bum, now torch back," Thisstle explains. "Duh."
Groog listened quietly and as politely as he could, which was a testament to Groog's patience during the speeches. There were lots of big words being used that he did not understand, like "bee haf" and "dee bok el." He nodded along as if he knew, but he really was more concerned over his empty belly.
That is, until the shinies were given. So many of them! Groog had never seen so many shinies in one place before, and they were giving them to him!
Groog knew he had to give something important back to the people being so nice. He...he knew what he had to do, even though he didn't want to. It was his most prized possession...but, it was too many shinies, he had nothing else that could even come close to what they must have been worth. He tried to do the math in his head, but he figured there was at least enough shinies there to buy him TWO whole meals later!
Yep, there was no other option. Groog walked forward to the man everybody was referring to as "Connor," and lifted his head necklace off of his neck. He looked at it sadly, wishing there was another way, then shook his head and put it around the man's head. He then took the man by both shoulders and looked him in the eye before giving him a solemn nod and then returning to the group, a single tear forming in his eye.
Hoots' feathered chest puffs with pride as recognition is heaped on the Hellions.
He's about to answer Olandir's questions when Thisstle speaks up. He starts to say "Ya, when she says Hellion cult, we dunno who exactly they worship, no relation I'm..."
...And then he bursts out laughing as he sees Groog drape his necklace over a horrified Khonnir.
Regaining his composure (briefly and with much effort) the owlish gunslinger says, "On second thought, Ah reckon I don't have much to add to that." and then bends over laughing again.
As Dahlia brainstorms, trying to remember the exact order of events, Groog does what he does best. Ruins everything. "By the... What the... F&$$ING HELLS GROOG!" she says, then storms off back to Khonnir's house, Snow trailing along behind.
As the scene unfolds with Groog and Khonnir, it is Dolga who bursts out laughing uncontrollably for a few minutes while Khonnir accepts the ‘gift’ as graciously as possible, all things considered. The other three councilors are just left speechless for a few minutes while Dolga regains control of herself.
After everyone calms down, Khonnir still bearing the weight of the ‘necklace’, is when Joram Kyte speaks up. Although quite clearly disgusted by the necklace of heads, the priest of Brigh is examining it closely and recognizes one of the heads. ”Is that Sanvil Trett?!”
A murmur of realization spreads throughout the councilors as they realize that the well-known travelling merchant is among the heads given to Khonnir. Before they can accuse the group of murdering the poor merchant, however, Hoots steps in and explains how Trett ambushed them while they were leaving the ruins the other day, hoping to claim the ruins and technology within for himself. Although quite obviously unhappy at the turn of events, the council accepts the explanation and moves on.
Joram speaks up again when the meeting moves onto this cult’s leader. From the information the group provides, this ‘Meyanda’ was the high priestess of something named ‘Hellion’ (No relation to the Hellions, of course) and that from one of the minions, the cult was part of something called ‘The Lords of Rust’. Joram, being knowledgeable on religious matters, confirms that he has never heard of any sort of deific figure that goes by the name ‘Hellion’.
The Lords of Rust, however, are confirmed by Olandir as a known gang from the notorious bandit haven of Scrapwall to the northeast.
Book II: Lords of Rust
Part 0: Preparation
”Scrapwall, located 105 miles to the north east, is a notorious bandit and outlaw haven located on the eastern side of the Sellen River. “ Olandir says, ”And apparently this ‘Hellion’ has an interest in our town and our buried ship. You had said this Meyanda was bleeding power from the reactor that powers our namesake? But for what purpose?”
Khonnor speaks up at this question, ”Whatever her purpose was, it was certainly not for our benefit. That being said, this ‘Hellion’ might still harbor an interest in our town, even after his.. high priestess, you said? Was taken out and the transmitter shut down. As a result, for all we know, Torch is still in very real danger.”
Olandir picks up where Khonnir leaves off. ”Hoots’ Hellions. The help you have given our town so far has been tremendous. You’ve brought back our livelyhood and saved us from what would have been not only the loss of our economy, but also our destruction. However, as Khonnir mentioned, it is likely this isn’t over yet. Meyanda’s master might not rest until his plan has succeeded. I would like to ask you if you will help us one more time and seek out this ‘Hellion’ and ensure no more threat exists to Torch.”
”Of course, “ Dolga adds, ”We’ll reward you for the effort, ain’t that right Serantha?” The old dwarf winks at the Hellions, knowing full well they’d prefer it this way.
Olandir nods, ”Certainly, I wouldn’t expect them to do so without as much. If you do this for us, and ensure Torch is in no more danger, we’ll reward you with another eight-thousand gold pieces when the job’s completed. What do you say?”
Relieved that the council handled his crews eccentricities as well as they did--not to mention the revelation that Trett was a (ahem) trettor--Hoots replies as smoothly as he's able "Well, Ah can't speak for everyone, but Ah'm happy to continue to be of service to Torch, especially under terms like those."
"No. Thisstle no want to work for town," Thisstle says petulantly. She crosses her arms over her chest. "|Thisstle only go under hill to help Khonnir and show she is better than stoopid dwarf. Now Thisstle rich, maybe she go wandering. Been in Torch for long time...now know secret. Is boring."
Dahlia eventually reconsiders storming off, and returns to the reception. She learns of what the council wants them to do and considers a while. She's fairly happy in town but running with the Hellions is mostly fun. When she learns that the damned goblin won't be joining them, she immediately decides to join the expedition. "Snow and I'd be honored to help the city, Councilors." she says.
Hoots motions for Groog to lift him onto the orc's massive shoulders. Once up there he pats Groog on the head.
"Groog is honored to serve as well.
"Thisstle...Ah was dubious about ya at first, but ya proved me wrong. Thanks mightily fer yer help in that mess and best of luck ta ya! If'n ya ever feel like it, the Hellions'll always have a spot fer ya.
"Fer now though, Ah reckon we oughta head over to Khonnir's tavern to wet our beaks. Ah know Ah'm right thirsty!"
"I second that, Hoots." Dahlia says, accompanying the small bird-man to Khonnir's place.
Groog nodded at Hoots' plan. His own beak was fairly dry, and his belly was grumbly. When he realized that Little Groog wasn't going with them, he picks her up and gives her a big squeeze, saying "Bye bye, Little Groog."
He then turns and walks out the door, picking up Hoots as he heads to the food place. Once there, he lets Hoots order them food as usual. The fish they caught for tonight's supper weren't your average fish; if you didn't live in Numeria. For numeria fish, they were relatively normal, with some sporting two heads, others having extra eyeballs here or there, missing scales, odd bones sticking out from wierd places, etc etc. In fact, the catch was good, with relatively few fish that were so tainted as to be unedible. They were served with a side of dried carrots.
Groog's own plate was comparatively fortunate. His own fish had one head and two bodies, but the head sported five eyes. Groog enjoyed the way the eyes rolled around in his mouth as he tried to chew them. It was like the time he had eaten the bag of marbles, only more slippy. Despite eating a full helping, Groog was still hungry. As the barmaid passed him by, he looked up at her and said, "Meat?" pointing at his plate. She smiled politely back and nodded, but continued on with her tray filled with tankards to another table.
Groog's face scowled in frustration. He stood and headed to the bar. He looked at the bartender and said again, "Meat."
The man looked confusedly at Groog and shook his head, motioning towards the barmaid. "If'n ye want somethin', Susie'll get it fer ya when she gets to yer table," he said before turning back to the conversation he was having with another patron.
Groog didn't like being ignored. He slammed his left fist down on the bar and leaned over, reaching out with his right and grasping the man by the shirt and pulling him across the bar and up into the air. "GROOG WANT MEAT!" the orc bellows, his voice ringing out over the din of the bar, which promptly goes dead quiet.
"Groogie. Put him down." Dahlia says, still sitting and merely arching her left eyebrow at the big orc. "You'll get meat in a minute, and if you can't wait, you have dried meat in your pack."
After a lengthy night of putting up with Groog’s shenanigans at the Foundry Tavern, culminating in Groog getting a fish thrown at him by Val Baine (Which he promptly ate raw and was satisfied by), the group is ready to head out in the morning to Scrapwall.
Before they leave in the morning, the trio are met by Khonnir, Dolga, and and Joram Kyte, the three councilors who assembled to see the group off. It is more than just that, however - Joram has a personal request for them.
”Old friend and colleague of mine, goes by the name of Dinvaya, is in Scrapwall - or at least, the last I heard of her she was. She ran there after gettin’ on the wrong side o’ Technic League justice, and I’ve gotten information lately that they no longer care about persecutin’ her. If ya could contact her while yer in Scrapwall and let her know as much, tell her she’s got a place welcome here in Torch if she wants it. Or, at the very least, if you could get me information about if she’s still alive even, or just not livin’ in Scrapwall, that’d be close enough.” At that, he hands Dahlia his personal Holy Symbol of Brigh, a brass, bronze, and iron creation appearing to be that of a beautiful mechanical woman. ”If ya find her, give her this and tell her Joram Kyte sent ya. If ya do this for me, I’ll throw ya my Rod of Extend Magic as a thanks. With another priest of Brigh in town I won’t need it.”
After the old geezer’s done, Dolga steps in and adds her own bit of advice. ”Best way ta Scrapwall is ta leave by boat along tha’ Sev’n Tears, pass through Hajoth Hakados, then ‘ead up tha’ Sellen River till ya get to Aldronard’s Grave. Its an ol’ crusader fort meant ta resupply and recouperate all them crusaders headin’ north ta die fightin’ demons. Mostly abandoned nowadays, except fer a token force. Its practic’lly righ’ across tha’ river from Scrapwall. Hakados itself is a bigger town than’ lil’ ol’ Torch, so i’s a good spo’ ta supply, spend all o’ tha’ money we gave ya, an’ per’aps find more ‘elp, unless ya three plan o’ takin’ Scrapwall on all by yerselves.”
”You three take care now.” Khonnir smiles and gives Dahlia a hug goodbye (And expects to get one from Groog whether he wants one or not). ”You’ve already done our town a great service - I have no doubt you can do so again. I look forward to seeing if you find anything interesting in Scrapwall as well! Don’t hesitate to contact me if you need anything identified.”
And with that and the goodbyes, Hoots’ Hellions leave Torch and hop on a ferry to begin their journey to Scrapwall.
Groog isn't so sure exactly what all is being said, though he is accustomed to that. These tiny people used such big words. But there was thing he did understand.
Seeing Khonnir hug Dahlia, he indeed does take two large strides, a smile beaming across his face, as he scoops the man up in a large hug that pins the man's arms down at his side. After holding him there for a few seconds too long, he turns and looks at Dolga, and begins walking her direction as well. He shifts Khonnir to his left shoulder, holding him like a sack of flour, as he scoops up the dwarf woman in a one armed embrace as well.
He then looks side to side at them both, confused. Who to take with? Hoots get mad if Groog take both. Dorfy and Little Groog not coming. Groog need new pet...
He begins lifting them both up and down in his arms, as if judging their weight. Eventually, he sighs and sets Khonnir down, and begins hoisting Dolga up to where the man had previously been. He then turns to Hoots and Lady and says, "Groog ready!" with a beaming smile on his face.
He then begins to walk out of town with his three friends.
Late in the afternoon of a clear Desnan day in the city of Hajoth Hakados, a ferryman yells above the din of activity while a trio of misfits try to make it to the ferry in time. Nearly two weeks since they solved Torch’s problems, the group has finally found themselves ready to depart for the notorious bandit haven and junkyard that is Scrapwall.
”Groog! Hurry up or we’re going to miss the ferry! ….Groog?” Dahlia, with Snow right on her heels, pushes past a crowd of people gawking at a merchant displaying an odd assortment of faux-technobaubles and other oddities. When she realizes Groog isn’t behind her, she turns around, swears loudly, and goes back to look for him, having to push through the crowd again.
Hoots, meanwhile, is well ahead of the group, currently standing on a crate watching for his compatriots, waiting for them to arrive so they can get on the ferry - a ferry, Hoots notes, is about to leave, crowded as it is with low-templars, crusaders, and others headed towards Chesed on their way to Mendev, likely all fated to end up dying fighting the demons of the Worldwound - right after the merchants in Chesed milk the crusaders for all their worth.
Damnit, where are -” Dahlia shoves past the crowd to find Groog catching up with her, a big grin on his face. Clutched beneath one arm appears to be a terrified street urchin half the age of Dahlia herself, his dirty, unkempt face horrified at being taken by the large brute to an unknown and likely unthinkable fate. ”Groog?! What?! No! Put it back! You can’t just take a child off the streets!”
”But he is Groog’s new pet! Groog found him!” Groog takes the terrified child from beneath his smelly, unkempt arm and holds him up to Dahlia to show her his new friend/pet. The child’s eyes are wide as he looks pleadingly at Dahlia, his mouth soundlessly wording “Help me” to her.
”No! Groog, you can barely take care of yourself, how do you think you will take care of a child? No, put him back!” Dahlia puts her hands on her hips and glares at the orc thats easily twice her size as she scolds him like a child.
”But.. Groog will bathe him and feed him and..” Groog pouts, but gives up at seeing Dahlia’s frown deepen and her eyes get bigger as she glares at him. He turns the child around in his arms and pouts. ”Goodbye pet! Groog will come back for you!” He then promptly throws the child over his shoulder and grins at Dahlia, waiting for her to say something.
Dahlia sighs and rolls her eyes, then shakes her head and turns and begins to head back to the ferry. ”Lets go Groog, hopefully you didn’t make us miss the boat.”
Almost as if called, Hoots shows up, arms crossed with a disappointed look, staring at both Groog and Dahlia. ”Missed tha ferry. I reckon we’re gunna have ta walk the two-hunnerd miles or so there now.” He spits out some of his tobacco chew and shrugs.
Groog, this is all your fault!” In a furious rage, not unlike Groog’s own rages, Dahlia turns around and begins hitting the orc with her fists, unleashing her spent up teenage angst against him, screaming and cursing at the oaf. Groog, for his part, just laughs as his pet tickles him and makes funny squeaking noises.
Numerous townsfolk stop to gawk at the scene, while others give the trio a wide berth, likely fearing some sort of outburst by Groog at the tiny (in comparison) lady punching him, hitting him, and swearing at him.
However, the scene is soon interrupted by a grizzled old one-eyed dwarf with a peg-leg that walks up to them plain as day and examines the trio. ”I hear you folk need a boat up north?” He grins, showing a smile mostly devoid of teeth, what few remain being grey and yellow.
Book II: Lords of Rust
Part 1: Aldronard's Grave
The next morning, the Hellions find themselves boarding a rickety old steam-powered barge hailing from far-away Alkenstar named The River Queen, crewed by a trio of dwarves. Old Horgen, the peg-legged dwarf was named, leads the trio and his barge hauls cargo to faraway Chesed up the Sellen river; occasionally, he brings along passengers, much like he has now. The offer he had made the Hellions was simple; In return for Horgen providing them with free passage up north, as far as Aldronard’s Grave, the group act as hired bodyguards for the barge.
Needless to say, it was a deal they couldn’t turn down.
As they approach the vessel to board it for their journey, Horgen greets them smelling like old leather, copious amounts of alcohol, coal, body odor and tobacco; the latter smell is contributed by the lit cigar sticking from the dwarf’s dirty mouth. The dwarf casually leans upon the barge’s topdeck rail as he addresses them with his grizzled old voice, ”Welcome aboard Tha River Queen! Don’t mind tha smell, my crew haven’t bathed in weeks. Afraid o’tha’ water they are, and rightly so! Anyhow, make yerselves comfertable. Quarters are tight, so I’m afraid yer goin’ ta sleep on deck durin’ tha trip. Anywheres fine, so long as yer outa the way - topdeck er tha’ foredeck’s as good as any, or if’n ye don’ mind tha smell, the uncovered cargo deck’s not got much thar.” The dwarf momentarily ceases his quick introduction as he begins to cough up a lung, finally spitting out a large wad of flem half a minute later when he recomposes himself.
”Anyway, yer not tha’ only ones I’m takin’ on fer this trip. Got two others who’re headed up north as well. They’re ah.. well, I fergot their names. Why don’tcha two introduce yerselves?” He looks down from the topdeck to two additional passengers, already lounging about on the deck; the first is a deeply tanned Kellid with bits of metal jutting out from his body in weird places, armored with what appears to be some sort of plant-armor, and the other is a beardless gnome whose head is topped with brilliant blue hair and is outfitted with numerous gadgets and tools that nearly overburden his small frame. ”Or not, I dun’ care. Lets get movin’!” Not giving either of them a chance to introduce themselves just yet, Horgen begins to bellow at his two crewmates to get a move on as the Hellions board the barge. With a few jarring clunks, a screeching whistle and a few muffled yells down below deck, the paddle wheel begins to churn just as the engine begins to spew out pitch-black smoke and the River Queen finally departs.
___________________________________________
Tenzokul has his copy of Logic of Design open to his favorite passage but he reads the same page over and over again; it's impossible to concentrate aboard this bucket of bolts. Brigh must've been busy the day they slapped this slag together. It's noisy and with every noise he's worried the boat will sink.
The biggest distraction of all shared the deck space. Tenzokul looks up at kellid man with the strange attachments in his skin. He had a few ideas but Tenzokul wasn't quite sure what was going on with the kellid. Question. Propose. Test.
Tenzokul's just a bit shy, doesn't quite want to approach the man directly. Question. Propose. Test. But...nah, it would be awkward to bring it up; it looks like it was painful to put those things on his skin. Wouldn't want to...
Finally, Tenzokul can't hold it in anymore. Tenzokul blurts out at the Kellid. Tenz covers his own mouth afterwards.
Well...that went well.
Jingham is indeed a strange sight. He's tall like many Kellid men, but thin as a whip. His sun darkened skin is as wind and sun worn as old leather, and he looks much older than he must be. His hair is black as raven's feathers and straight, hanging down his back in braids that reach to his backside. He be handsome in a savage way if it weren't for the metal plates, rivets and wiring running through his face and the other parts of his exposed flesh.
On his back is the skull of some kind of large reptile with a metal blade jutting from its mouth, a klar shield from the distant Shoanti tribes of Varisia. His armor consists of layers of darkwood bark plates woven together with black fibers and leaves into overlapping rows. From the way he moves in it, it looks as light as clothing. Surprisingly, the fierce looking man carries no weapon other than the shield.
"I am Jingham Stormwielder," he says, gazing at Tenzokul. "What are you, gnome?"
What am I? Now there's a question I have never asked myself. What am I? What am I?
"I am..." But what is one really? A collection of parts similar to a machine but not quite, although this one is clearly closer to a machine than most. But you don't really introduce yourself that way. Hi, I'm a collection of parts. No, obviously that's not the way to do it.
Come now, you've introduced yourself to people before. Get it together.
"...a Tenzokul." Ugh, now you sound like an idiot. Try again. "No, I mean...my name is Tenzokul." Well, at least he knows your name now but you still sound like an idiot.
But now back to his original question, which I suppose was my original question. What am I? I can't say a gnome, because, well, he's already got that clearly figured out.
"I'm an archaeologist and..." Tenz manages to say. Very good, you managed to answer that vexing question but had to tack on that buggering AND so now you've got to come up with something else to say about yourself you twit.
"...I'm a collection of parts."
Wow. Just wow.
"It's nice to meet you, Jingham. I hope you can tell me the story behind your..." What to call it? What to call it? What to call it? "...body modifications at some point during the trip."
Tenzokul looks back down at his book and continues pretending to read the page he will never actually finish.
Groog was upset as he plodded along with Hoots, Lady, and Kitty. Lady was a bad pet for scolding Groog. Groog just wanted to bring his tiny friend along. He disheartedly kicked at stones as they walked for what must have been years towards the moving water snake.
It was then, that Groog gasped and clapped his hands over his mouth. There, standing with his back to him, was another tiny! This one was way better than the last one, it had pretty hair!
As Hoots and Lady are listening to whatever New Dwarfy had to say, he quickly strode over to the little blue haired tiny, who was talking to some ugly man. Without a word he snatched up his prize and turned it around, seeing it's strange metal eye parts. He quickly turned the blue haired tiny to and fro, upside down and back again, looking him over at every angle with his usual silly childlike grin on his face.
Eventually, he gives it a stern nod and says, "Groog call you...call you...OOH! Groog call you Little Blue!"
Without paying heed to the ugly man, he turns back and heads towards his other pets. He holds Little Blue out with both hands in front of him and calls out, "Look! Little Blue!" He then remembers Lady yelling at him over his other new pet, and he pulls Little Blue close and adds defiantly, "Groog KEEP Little Blue!"
Tenzokul has imagined scenarios where he's forced into slavery, but the way the orc speaks it seems that this bondage will not include an ankle-chain and a pick ax. Though it could be something much worse.
"He—hello. Pleasure to make your acquaintance," Tenz says. Good start, I think, let's keep it going. "I am Little Bl..." Nope. Nope. Nope. You went astray there.
"I am Tenzokul." Tenz looks around and evaluates his situation. While he doesn't necessarily mind temporarily losing control of his own bodily position, it wasn't comfortable either.
Tenzokul tried to remember what to do in certain survival situations with large creatures. Should I curl up into a ball? Or play dead? Or was it growl and act intimidating? Tenzokul looks down and sees how high off the ground that Groog holds him. Probably can't intimidate this one.
"Mister...Groog? Listen, now I am amenable to most any arrangement regarding my being kept but it would be nice to be on the ground." What next? What next? What next? "If you put me down then maybe I can make you something you like. What kind of things do you like, Mister Groog?"
"Groog! Put him down! People are not pets!" Dahlia says, her voice rising to a shrill shriek as she speaks. She turns her attention to the gnome takes control of her voice and says, "I'm so sorry, he's mostly harmless, well, until he draws his blade anyway. Tenzokul was it?"
Jingham chuckles as he watches the dim witted orc play with the Tenzokul. He crosses his arms over his chest and makes no move to intervene. The kellid just grins like this is the most entertaining thing he's seen in some time. Weird lot them. What the f&%# is that thing, a talking owl?
The owlish gunslinger busts out laughing at Groog's latest 'acquisition'. A bit of chewing tobacco sprays from his mouth before he manages to control his laughter.
He hollers to the gnome "As our lil blossom ovah there says," He nods at Dahlia, "He don' mean any hahm. Groog heah's a friendly sort.
"Groog, put'm on your shoulders why don'tcha? There's a good boy. It ain't a bad way to get around now is it Tenzo, all things considahd"
Seeing the kellid enjoying the sight as well, Hoots saunters over tips his hat back, scratches his cloaca under his poncho, and says, "Ah reckon we'll be on this heah boat for a while now. Groog heah's the best entertainment Ah expect to see for some weeks. Best to make the most of it."
He takes a swig from a bottle of whiskey and then offers it to the barbarian. "They call me Straight Shootin' Hoots Magaw, and these two're my Hellions...or what's left of'm. Damned if they don't keep quittin' on me." Taking another slug--and continuing to watch the little gnome sweat uncomfortably in Groog's embrace--the gunslinger continues, "What in tarnation are you doing, heading up this river? And where'd you get all o' them bits stuck inta ya?"
"Them bits aren't something I like to discuss," Jingham says. He doesn't seem to be offended at their mention, just quiet about where they came from. "Are you lot some kind of traveling circus?"
Groog snaps his head around to the skinny man, eyes wide with excitement.
He returns back to him in two huge strides, setting Little Blue down in Lady's arms as he does so.
He looks around over the edge of the boat and asks gleefully, "Circus?!? Where?"
"We," Hoots' feathered chest puffs up with pride as he drawls, "Are the heroes of Torch, the intrepid adventurahs who rescued Khonnir, returned him to his senses, and rekindled the blazin' Torch ya can see from leagues away. Hoots' Hellions.
"And now we're off on another--rathah lucrative--mission to scrapwall to root out the varmits behind the whole mess back there."
“Torch? What is the flame’s mechanism? I’ve always wondered that,” Jingham says. “I am a tech scavenger myself.”
Tenzokul nods at the kellid woman who now holds him in his arms. "Yes, yes, yes. Tenzokul it is. You can call me Tenz if you are short of breath. Tenzo's fine as well. Little Blue is not one I've heard before but I can get used to it." Tenzokul shimmies his way out of Dahlia's arms and back onto his own two feet.
No way this rickety boat makes it to where we're going while a group calling themselves the Hellions rides aboard. Tenzokul considers some of the objects aboard that would have the best buoyancy in the event he would need to abandon ship.
"The flame is, esentially, the exhaust port of a ship buried under the hill. Some Technic League bastards were down there tampering with it, and the ship would have eventually exploded, along with the entire city, since the exhaust of the engine wasn't being released." Dahlia explains, sounding more like a scholar than an annoyed teenager while speaking about her field of study.
Unsure what would happen if she told Groog there is no circus, she ignores the orc and turns back to the gnome, "Just assume Groogie is a very large child, with the mental capacity of a human five to seven year old. I can generally keep him in check, I haven't had to resort to magic to do so yet. He is, however, rather terrifying in battle."
”Did’ya lads say Scrapwall?” Horgen appears from the pilot house’s window, somehow still holding on, if barely, to the ship’s wheel as he does so, having apparently been listening in on the group’s conversation. ”If’n ye were me, I wouldn’ want ta step one foot in tha’ foul pit o’ ratfolk, orcs, cannibals an’ worse. I’s tha’ place where all the riff-raff go tha’ ain’t welcome anyplace’s else. I’ve ‘eard stories comin’ from tha’ place; Even ‘eard abou’ these ‘Lords’o’Rust’ ye mention’d. I ‘ear they’re tha’ effective masta’s o’ Scrapwall as of late; Some big ol’ gang tha’ took charge o’ tha place ain’t too long ago.”
The dwarf coughs a moment before spitting something out of the window, over Dahlia’s head, and into the river, licking his lips as if a bad taste permeated them afterwards. ”Anyhow, yer all nuts for wantin’ ta go there - though if’n these Lords o’ Rust were tha’ cause o’ tha’ problem with Torch, then I can’ blame ye. Been ta tha’ town a few times in me life, nice place.”
Tenzoku's dealt with thugs and the like before across Numeria. They're usually after similar treasures as Tenzo but never appreciate the intrinsic value. They just want gold. Gold! Can gold progress civilization beyond the stars?
I guess it can if you can pay someone to take you there.
"Suppose I should see how these Hellions can handle themselves and maybe stop Big Green from harming any Brigh destroying creations."
"I don't care about Torch one way or another. Is there tech to be found in Scrapwall?" Jingham asks Horgen.
"There's tech to be found everywhere in Numeria," Dahlia replies to Jingham, shrugging. "Should be no different in Scrapwall. As to the Hellions, we handle ourselves alright, room for improvement, like anything." Dahlia's not really sure what to make of the gnome wanting to accompany them, but anyone would be better than that damned goblin.
"I am currently looking for some paying work as well. I am an alchemist, engineer and...stormwielder." Jingham holds up his hands, and bolts of electricity arc up the metallic pieces in his arms. His hands crackle and surge with roping bands of energy. He brings them together and sends a bolt of lightning into the water alongside the ship. "So yeah, I can do that."
Trying to look a bit less impressed with the lightning wielding Stormwielder than he is, Hoots says "Well this would be provisional of course but Ah reckon we can give you a trial.
"And you wanna come along too, Tenzo? You know being Groog's new pet isn't enough ta getcha a share in the loot, don't ya? You bring any skills to the table or you mostly offerin' hugs and squeezes?"
Groog's jaw goes slack with wonder at the demonstration the metal man performed. He begins striding towards him, his arms outstretched in a manner the Hellions have grown all too accustomed to, and says, "HOOTSY! LOOK! HE SPARKLES!"
"Careful, Groog. You'll get shocked!" Jingham warns, his body still crackling with energy.
"Let Jingham be, Groogie," Dahlia says, though without the commanding tone she sometimes takes with the orc. "As to them joining, assuming Tenzo can do something useful, the more the merrier."
In time, after Tenzo explained his own abilities to the group, including his technical expertise, the gnome was accepted into the group, much to the delight of Groog, who would randomly pick up his “Little Blue” and hoist him on his shoulders, regardless of whether or not Tenzo agreed.
The ten-day trip was, thankfully and surprisingly, devoid of any real action. That isn’t to say there weren’t close encounters, however. At one point during the trip, the River Queen had to out-run a group of bloodthirsty Blood Gar Kellids, the dozen or so raiders trying their best to catch up to the steam-boat in their little flat-bottomed boats. In the end, their attempts were in vain, for Horgen was able to coerce more power from his boat’s engine, speeding them along away from the raiders, who spewed obscenities in their native Kellid tongue at the group. This was, in turn, thrown right back at them as the Hellions threw their own jeers and hoots at the barbarians, stopped only when they became preoccupied by having to keep Groog from jumping into the water to go ‘play with his new friends’.
Three days later, well beyond Blood Gar territory, the group had a close encounter with a trio of River Drakes that, thankfully, kept their distance and only ended up examining the boat from the air. After a few warning shots from Hoots and Jingham, the trio of drakes decided it wasn’t worth their time, and left the boat unmolested, instead diving back into the river and were not seen again.
The remainder of the trip proved to be more or less uneventful until they finally reached their destination: Aldronard’s Grave.
”Alright ye sods, be careful now! Aldronard’s Grave’s been known for its bit of bad luck for anyone to stay there; They say tha’ place’s haunted or some such; neva’tha’less, ye should be able ta find shelta’ there ‘till yer ready ta hit up Scrapwall. Don’ say I didn’ warn ye about tha’ lunatics, cannibals, an’ worse in tha’ junkyard!” After Horgen lets the Hellions off on the shore a half-mile from the fort, which resides inland upon a defensive rocky outcropping, he and his two crewmates wave goodbye to the Hellions before Horgen begins yelling at them to get back below deck so they can get a move on to Chesed. As the boat begins to move, Horgen yells at the group a final message; ”Oh, by tha’ way, I’ll be headin’ back this way in abou’ two weeks’ time if ye need a ride down back ta Hajoth Hakados. I’ll wait a day or so ‘ere for ye on me way back down south!”
-------
The trek to the Sarenraean crusader fort of Aldronard’s Grave is a short one through the rocky hills of the Sellen Hills. The fort is seen first thanks to the numerous tendrils of black smoke rising from within the fort; The fort itself, when it comes into view, is an old, half-ruined thing that can barely be called a fort. Roughly two-hundred feet long at its widest, the keep has certainly seen better days. Both the keep and what appears to have been a chapel are both long-ruined, with the latter’s stained glass windows barely remaining intact, while smoke continues to rise from a building on the southern side of the fort. A series of smaller tendrils of smoke rise from nearer to the keep on the north side, and the smell of cooking meat can be smelt wafting from the fort.
As the Hellion’s approach, they take note (and are taken note of by) a pair of helmed guardsmen standing atop the western watchtower. The two guards look at each other before addressing the group. ”Halt! Dest youz keed heading udri-ee-er, the ‘horts deen in’hected dy a drague, ‘ouldn’t ‘ant youz gettin’ in’hected too!” The man speaks with an extremely hard-to-understand accent, where he apparently is unable to vocalize certain sounds. As he speaks, he waves one of his hands in a ‘keep on moving’ gesture; his arm appears to be clothed in mis-matched hides and scrap. Besides his head, covered in a full-helm as it is, the rest of him is hidden behind one of the crenelations. The other guard is the same way.
_______________________________________________________
"What in the nine hells and abyss did he say?" Dahlia asks, clearly having trouble translating from her Kellid accent to his whatever the hells accent.
"Why would they place a man with a bad speech impediment on guard duty? Also, where is his uniform?" Jingham asks, feeling those questions are more important than the man's accent. "He said we can't go in because there's a plague, Dahlia."
Tenzokul shakes his head and speaks in a hushed tone so that the guard can't hear so easily, "No plague here. The guard's defective tongue speaks falsely in more ways than one." Tenzo waits a second, looks at Groog, and remembers that some things are best said efficiently. "He lies to us, Groog. But why?" Even if there is no plague, no doubt something else is wrong.
It must have been interesting to be the first liar. I wonder who invented lying? Perhaps the creation of a god rather than a mortal. Or perhaps not. There are old gods of trickery and such but perhaps only the desperation of a mortal could inspire an instrument of falsehood.
"Give me a moment, Hellions. I will try to swim in this...man's mind."
"I think we in Torch would have heard about a plague, that sort of news spreads quickly in cities," Dahlia says. She ponders a moment before asking, "Groogie, do you think you can knock that gate down?"
DAMN, HERE I THOUGHT THERE WERES NOT SUPPOSED TO BE MORE OF THEM CRUSADERS HERE FOR ANOTHER WEEK. SHIT, STAY CALM, BET THEY BELIEVED ME HAH! WHY IS THAT GNOME MAKING FUNNY GESTURES? is the thought process coming out of the first guard, the one who spoke to the group in his odd speech. His thoughts are thankfully devoid of the speech impediment, despite their percieved 'yelling'.
Meanwhile, the second one appears to be thinking of something entirely different than trying to maintain his disguise. DAMN I'M HUNGRY. IS THAT A F*$$ING OWL? HOLY SHIT I BET ITS GOT DELICIOUS DRUMSTICKS. GOD DAMN HATCHET HAND'S COOKING IS MAKING ME HUNGRY. KINDA HOPED WE COULD KILL THESE GUYS SO THERE'D BE MORE FOOD, THOSE CRUSADERS WERE SCRAWNY. Apparently, he's hungry.. for Hoots in particular.
(Failure)
(Failure)