Borodin moves up to engage the spider and strikes out with Augur. The treacherous footing caused by Elsir's spell causes him to slip, throwing his attack wide. Cursing under his breath, he steadies himself and looks for another opportunity to strike.
The size of the beast inspires Nikolai to urgency. Stepping up to, and under, the massive vermin, the barbarian strikes out against one leg near the carcass. As it leans forward for its clumsy bite, Nikolai realizes it can't see him and places Dragonsbreath to intercept its next attack.
The mindless beast darts in as predicted, catching the flaming blade full in its face. When it pulls away, its thick wiry hairs burn like candlewicks and several of its eyes are shattered.
Nikolai calmly stand his ground for the spider's next attempt.
Elsir offers a smirk of satisfaction as the sleet that he summoned pelts the water around the aquatic spider. He can see that its injuries have become dire already, and that patience is the only resource he must expend at this point.
Elsir steps up, now almost as tall as the spider itself. He raises his sword and thrusts it forward at the blinded arachnid, which is badly wounded by the attacks of the others. He plants his boots and thrusts forward as hard as he can, driving his enlarged blade directly in its mouth. The spider's snapping mandibles try to pierce his wrist, but it is to no avail. Akiros drags the blade downward and backwards, splitting the front of the giant spider nearly in half. It collapses, bleeding a reddish-black ichor over the ground. The slope of the room carries the blood into the pool of stagnant water.
"Well. I'm glad I was so useful in that encounter." Borodin chuckles. "I think I'll see if there is anything of interest below."
He waits for Elsir to dismiss his spell and casts detect magic focusing his attention primarily on the pool of water but also scanning the rest of the room, walls, and ceiling.
The water ripples with the summoned sleet as Elsir allows the spell to terminate. Borodin opens up his vision to magical auras, finding the room to be glowing with the same type of stray power as in the other rooms of the fortress. The elves who built this place must have been capable of great arcane feats to weave spells so effortlessly into the architecture. The spells are likely responsible for its continued existence, even though it has sunk in parts into the mud of the swamp.
Meanwhile, Elsir gazes through time to discern what he can about the room. He sees brief visions, snippets of times long gone. He sees high elves discussing war, making decisions, and going into battle. He sees the fortress becoming abandoned, and then a multitude of creatures inhabiting the ruins. A thousand generations of spiders made this wing of the fortress into their lair, and no one bothered to check its contents. He sees further back as elven warriors retrieve armor from a room on the other side. He points to the spot, across the pool of water to the dry mound on the other side. "There. There is a hidden door."
Borodin steps in front of the oozing corpse of the giant arachnid. He gets a running start and jumps onto the spider, takes a few steps using its height as a ramp. It's a good forty feet from the edge of top of the spider to the mound that Elsir pointed out. He clears more than half the distance before hitting the water. He quickly swims, ignoring the floating spider eggs that cling to the surface and to the vegetation underwater. He emerges on the other side and pulls out his blade, waiting for a mate of the spider or another swarm of its spawn to come out. When no such target comes, he turns to check for the door.
Borodin finds the door after a few minutes of searching. Even with his canny sight and paranoid mind, the markings of the door are profoundly subtle. Barely a crease, unnoticeable to almost anyone looking for it, is all that he finds. He searches for a minute more and finds a latch in the relief. The door silently swings open inwardly, revealing a darkened room unmolested since the abandonment of the fortress. Borodin checks for traps, but finds none - which would have been unlikely because of how difficult the hidden room would have been to find. He beckons for the others to come when he sees what the door kept hidden.
Inside is an elven armory from a bygone era. The armor and weaponry inside shows not a spot of rust or time. Three suits of exquisite elven chainmail hang on racks, while a full complement of elven blades, arrows, and bows stand on display. A full set of gear, neatly folded and displayed, sits on a pedastal in the center room. This set of gear - an open-faced helm, cloak, bracers, chainmail, scabbard, gloves, and boots - is of extraordinary quality, made of green-stained hardened leather with golden leaves and vines in adornment. Dozens of empty leather scroll tubes rest in a bookcase, but a half-dozen of the tubes are still sealed with scrolls inside. A single wand, beautifully carved from ancient wood, sits amid the tubes.
"This is a mighty wealthy armory, could you tell why this place was forsaken by elves in the first place?" Jemini asks Elsir.
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Standing before the rows of dust covered statues, draped in the wealth of centuries of fine elven craftsmanship, Elsir stiffles a gasp. To the uneducated, the room before the group of founders represened a trove of treasure or perhaps an armory of bygone times. To the wizard however the room represented so very much more. The armor, scabbard and acroutments would have been carried by a warrior of renowned. His or her name would have been eched in the wall of hero's. It was possible that the sword that had been previously found here had come from the same collection. For all of this to have been left behind sent a chill up the wizards spine. His people would have died to protect such relics. Whatever had caused this fortress to be abaonded troubled the elf deeply.
Instinctively, Elsir felt for the pull of fates that hung upon the ancient structure. Then, perhaps in remberance of what had happened on the shores of the Tuskwater, Elsir let the silvery motes slip from his grasp. Turning to the queen, Elsir shook his head. No.. he said, sighing apologetically. But I will say that I'm deeply troubled by implication. These relics would not have been abandoned by my people without dire cause. I considered conducting a reading of the fortress, to better gleam its past, but I worry what might happen should I do so. This is an old place with tightly kept secrets. Part me feels as if it would fight to keep them hidden, as odd as that is to say.
"Is... is it old enough to predate the earthfall? Were these lands part of the elven empire before the age of darkness?" Jemini shakes her head disbelief, "It couldn't be, could it? This place looks too... whole... to be that ancient."
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Nodding softly in a scholarly manner, Elsir swept his hands out to encompass the ancient structure. Not only is it old enough, it's actually quite possible. The history of these lands has been long forgotten, and few remember that the land encompassing much of the River Kingdoms was a type of hunting reserve for the elves of Kyonin, known as Telvurin. Nodding more to himself than the others, Elsir reaches into the brown, unadorned satchel at his side and withdraws a grey leather tooled book before flipping through it with nimble sure flicks. Much my library was left back at the lodge, but I did bring my copy of Jelrins, "History of the River Kingdoms". Pointing to a particular passage and drawing the queens eyes to it, Elsir traces a finger under a woodblock print of a way fortress. A number of structures were constructed, all pre-earthfall by the elves. What I believe, though this is only conjecture is that this fortress was one such location. I believe the sodden land would account for the sinking, but the craftsmanship of the location speaks to the level of expertise displayed by its builders and their intent to create something as timeless as my people.
"It does indeed. A marvelous wonder, one that should be claimed back from the dark maw of these disheveled wilds and restored to its former beauty, even if only in part for a time." Verik moves around the armory with a careful reverence, making sure in his heavy armor that he does not stumble into the racks or disturb what is on the table.
Since the hallway with the spiders, Verik has taken a wary stance with Elsir, only looking at him askance and not speaking to him directly. Clearly the recent castings of evocation have made him uncomfortable for some reason, though he does not say why or make an overt show of it. In the armory, however, the Banker of Abadar is so caught up in the wonderment of the place and its contents that he has momentarily forgotten his demeanor of wariness.
An aura-reading of magical dweomers is displayed by Verik as he slowly scans the room, nodding and confirming what both Borodin and Elsir had discovered previously. His gauntleted hands briefly brush the mithril chain links of one of the three elven hauberks on racks, breathing in sharply and murmuring to himself of its profound quality. As Elsir confers with Jemini over the lore and potential age of the elven ruins, Verik moves over to the elven blades, peering and studying each for sigils or marks of their crafter. He chimes in after a moment, though the sound of his voice suggests he is not at full attention to their words. "Perhaps this place served not only as a protectorate for the 'reserve' as you call it, but served as vigil and watch against the depravity of the Koloran cyclops-kin and their minions to the south and east...after all the dark tower at Candlemere could well have been active back in that time before the event known as Earthfall." He shrugs, still examining one of the blades. "Not that your ancestral kin and these foul cyclops were ever in contest or contact with one another during that time, but that tower of Hask-Ukrakana is the only other engineered structure infused with magic that has withstood the passing of ten millennia or more."
Sighing, he steps back from the weapon racks, looking to the others. "Needless to say, this is far beyond my jurisdiction as Banker of Sanctuary and Newhaven. Master Tel'ran would seem to be the only one qualified to speak on the protocols and etiquette of disturbing these ruins. Yet if I may say so, it is a travesty to leave such a find like this open to the powers of Chaos and Woe. As it is not a burial site or tomb we have discovered, I would propose we secure these treasures directly and deliberately."
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Reflecting in the light from Nikolai's massive flaming sword, Elsir quietly looked up towards the wall of the armory as the four sets of remaining mithril armor caused a flash of silvery light to reflect along the walls in a pantomime of the same tiny lines of fate that were etched deep into the structure. The room was in the most literal sense of the word a treasure trove. Internally, Elsir soured at the idea of relics being dispersed so casually, and yet as an archivist he had done the very same thing countless times as dusty relics and cultural icons would make their way across his desk in the Grand Lodge.
At the mention of protocol as well as the possible implications surrounding the structure, Elsir nodded emphatically. In his wonder the Elf had not noticed the wary stance Verik had shown him since his display of raw power, though had the elf done so, he would not have faulted the man. It was always easier to destroy then it was to create and during the months between the breaking of ground for the new Lodge and it's eventual creation the pair had spent many hours together in study and discussion. But until now, Elsir had never displayed his power so brazenly. Yes.. Elsir murmered again glancing at the scrolls before him. What you suggest has merit, the Koloran empire did represent a threat to the region, the other concern would have been fey influence. Gesturing to recovered arrows that had next to the few remaining longbows, Elsir pointed. The arrows as well as the sword both contain potent enchants against creatures of the First World. Furthermore there have been indications that this area is somehow connected with the fey though the extent has not been identified. Regardless, Elsir sighed before frowning apologeticly. I have wandered away from the issue at hand. Gesturing towards the armor and regalia of a once strong empire Elsir sighed stoically. My people would likely try to claim cultural precedence of ownership over the relics, but the point is moot. It could raise troubles in the future, but for now, I think we would be using the relics for its intended purpose; to drive an evil out of this once respected place. Shrugging Elsir turned towards the banker in seeking support. As I understand it, no nation holds a claim to this land. In fact, though my people would be galled at the suggestion, the fortress itself would fall under the laws goverening adverse possession, yes?
The group begins to distribute the gear from the armory, based on their needs and strengths. Borodin continues the search for weapons and armor hidden away in this time-forgotten vault. At the bottom of the bookcase, he finds a hidden panel and pries it away (carefully, at Elsir's insistence). He pulls out a small chest hidden inside and opens it. Inside, a dozen or more small vials rest. Several of them glow brightly and dully, and none are marked. Verik spots the treasure and goes over to investigate, eyes going wide when he recognizes the items. Stardust, ethereal essence, crushed dragon scales, crystallized mithril... He begins to mentally catalog the items that he could create with the items at hand. The sheer potential of the contents of the chest are staggering.
A gleam of potential comes up in Jemini's eyes. While listening to Elsir she realizes there may be a greater treasure, for Newhaven, but it would take time. Time and careful footwork. "Elsir, do you think there is a chance we, that is Newhaven, can convince Queen Telandia Edasseril to establish a form of elven embassy here? My education on Kyonin made mention that she is pushing against the traditional policies of isolationism. If we can conquer this place there are a number of reasons to expand around this fortress as a settlement - but the expertise to properly renovate and maintain a structure such as this... it would be difficult with what we have available right now. It obviously needs to be brought before the council - and I can already see the swell of objections from Brevoy (and that is almost enough reason to do it by itself) - but I am in favor of establishing a presence of elves here - perhaps even grant them a certain degree of autonomy." And it would secure another ally, strengthen the bulwark against the coming of Choral.
As the party sorts through the incredible treasure trove, and determines which items will go to whom, Akiros reorders his equipment and tries out his new belongings.
As he places the exquisitely crafted helm upon his head, he feels a ripple of divine energy course through him and he knows he has just been blessed by the Gods of luck and protection. Grateful for the blessing, he knows it will serve him well in the moments ahead.
Replacing his trusted bow, he tries out the new, Elvish one, greatly admiring its craftsmanship and significantly harder pull. He envisions sending an arrow through the eye of the Hag, and a grim smile pulls of the corners of his mouth.
Finally, he straps on the elaborate and clearly enchanted scabbard. Sliding in his broadsword, he speaks the command word as it was explained to him, and redraws his blade. From the metalling shiinnng! to the way the light glints of the weapons edge, the Aldori Sword Lord can tell that his magical sword is even sharper now than it had been before.
Kneeling down on one knee, heedless of who's watching him or what they may think, he holds the weapon before him, hilt to forehead and blade tip sinking slightly into the ground and speaks a quick prayer of thanks to Iomeade. He as well reaffirms his oath to destroy the hag and any other evil which infests this place.
Finished, he stands and waits for the others, eager to continue on with their mission. While they ready themselves, Akiros moves out into the corridor and uses the time to cast a simple orison to mend his damaged mace.
Verik nods slowly after a moment of regarding Elsir, a slight wry smile appearing on his face as he does so. "A Pathfinder asking for precedence on adverse possession, or usucapio as the Taldans would call it in their laws...for an ancient ruins and treasure rediscovered? I am not sure how to take that, Elsir, but I shall play along." He clears his throat and takes on a more formal tone as if reciting from a tome in the Founder's Hall. "In the Taldan tradition concerning property, a claim by usucapio where no conflict of claimants existed would be either seven to ten years, depending on rights to the land either above ground or beneath. Absalom followed similar lines, though the practicality of those laws would never really come to pass in such a city with no "open" lands and records dating back millenia. But for the frontier? Perhaps one to two years would be the proper period of claim."
Verik kneels to pull out his own broken warhammer, studying it for damage beyond the obvious even as he continues to deliberate. "Of course Elsir, we could interpret the laws from its nearest human neighbors still existing today, that being the so-called "River Kingdoms" and its Six Freedoms - "You Have What You Hold" would be the logical application here. That River Freedom bears no period of time, only that the prior claimants be addressed directly and boldly. I suppose you could say we are doing just that right now...assuming we can find the foul one that runs this establishment!"
Borodin pulls on his "new" ancient bracers and stows the elven chainmail in his pack. Closing his eyes, he concentrates on some of the magical forms he learned from his master. Although novice in nature, the exercises are quite good at preparing the mind for channeling arcane energies. Almost immediately, he can feel the bracers adding its power to his abilities. "Amazing."
He looks around at his companions and realizing Verik is on one of his self aggrandizing speeches, Borodin merely sits down and cleans his blade until the party is ready to move on.
This could take a while...
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Returning the wry smile, Elsir shrugs his shoulders at the banker. Your right of course, and your logic follows my own thinking. However, I thought it best to seek a second opinion, though your policy's are in lockstep with the same as regarded by the Society. As to the second matter... Elsir trailed off cocking his head to the right and clicking his tongue in thought while regarding the queen. What your suggesting is an interesting thought. I don't claim to be an expert among the current political atmosphere among my people, as I have spent the last sixty years living abroad, but I do know that Queen Edasseril has expressed an interest in the region before, with the specific intent to reclaim elven sites. Sevenarches, is the first that comes to mind, but it is not the only example to date. Hymbria, is considered by most to be extremely withdrawn and intolerant of outsiders and is not inline with the queens stated policys. Raising his hand in a motion as if mimicking a set of scales the wizard regards his hands. It would complicate the balance of power in the region, but is it possible? Growing solemn, Elsir closes his eyes considering the possibliltys and probabiltys of the question at hand, finally after several long moments the elf opens his large eyes and stares the queen dead in the face. Yes.. Yes it is possible. Claim this fortress, offered it up to Kyonin as a measure of good faith, and there exsists a very real possibility for settlement.
Nodding to Elsir and looking meaningfully over to Jemini, he says, "Not a bad idea truly, though it should be supported by the full Council of Founders of course. From a purely Abadarian perspective it does not matter if the site is ours or not, as long as the location and surrounding lands are properly tamed and brought into the prosperity of civilization."
As an afterthought he adds, "Politically, it would give us the presence we have long needed to keep a watch on our borders with Pitax on this side of the Sellen, something that Hal has long cautioned us on. If the request should be denied by the elves, we should still look to take hold of this place and settle a corridor between here and the farmsteads west of Sanctuary."
Patience, thinks Nikolai. Let them do their talking. The wizard doesn't need another excuse to hate you.
The other perspective echoes in his mind, an older version of himself offering an older perspective. Verik will talk forever. There will be no end of it. We could fight spiders, stautes, those damnable cursed things outside. We could find the tarrasque or the Mother of Monsters herself beyond the next door. But we will all die listening as Verik talks.
That last bit makes him chuckle to himself. But the Nikolai of the last few months has the last word.
Let them talk. The more you hear men like them talk, the more you'll see their hand when they try to play you.
Nikolai sits. And listens.
Finished mending his weapon, and eager to see to the death of the hag, Akiros pops his head back in the room and growls "Alright you clacking hens, enough is enough! You can debate what to do with this pile of stones until you're blue in the face for all I care, but lest you forget, we're still in this den of evil, and we have a mission to rescue some imprisoned souls and destroy the one responsible for it! So let's GO!"
And, nodding to Nikolai and Borodin to accompany him, he starts moving forward towards the next exit.
For the last few minutes, he had been studying his companions, listening to their plans of the future. He can actually see it take place in his mind. Then his eyes fall upon the giant in the room. Hmm. Very hard to read that one. Borodin could see different emotions roiling beneath the surface. Anger, impatience, concentration. Wait, was that mirth? Must not be. He just looks angry again.
Then, Akiros comes in and scolds them all for wasting the day away.
Finally Borodin puts away his polishing kit and makes for the door.
Judging the efficacy of his work to repair his prized warhammer, Verik's face locks into a stony grimace as he eyes the growling grumbling Akiros leaving the armory for the water-logged war-room, the Marshal's gains of bow, helm and scabbard already girded on. "Yes, yes you are quite right Akiros. We shouldn't tarry longer than need requires. We are right behind you..." Once the Marshal is out of sight however, Verik mutters mostly to himself, "...perhaps you can loosen that helm of yours a bit more then, for there must be a pinching of the neck or ears that sours your countenance even more than usual..." He doesn't finish the rest other than to make a pinched up facial expression, before giving a deep breath and turning back to business.
"Elsir, Borodin, I can strap the bows upon my back and pack, but for this lovely chest and the eight blades and the armor for Zander, may I ask for the aid of your packs?" Verik works to stow the rest of the unclaimed works securely but with haste, even as some of the others leave to make the journey back out into the flooded chamber beyond. His eyes light up with almost childlike enthusiasm as he marvels once again at the dweomercrafting materials, remarking to Elsir that the pair of them could be very busy in the weeks after returning to Sanctuary.
As the ancient blades of quality are stowed one-by-one, Verik notes that each has been crafted with decoration upon the hilt, guard and pommel that depicts an identity different from each other - a further sign of the great amount of time, care and artistry of the elves in each sword's making. Most of them are highly sculpted and inlaid with precious metals and small gems here and there, engraved in elvish runes and fashioned often in motifs of the forest-realm they once protected or the starry sky they once laid under. Verik almost blanches at one with the pommel shaped like the canopy of a tree, its guard sculpted to look like a gnarled branch with three spiked thorns at each end - Verik wraps the guard's ends with spare kerchiefs before stowing it.
Upon grasping the next to last blade, however, he stops to look at its design - a motif of engraved water instead of trees and flowers, its hilt and pommel inlaid with silver instead of gold, narrower and sleek with less elaborate decoration, with tatters of faded blue leather wrappings that further emphasized the water. A single blue spinel gem lay inset at the crux of hilt and blade, the base of the blade itself lightly engraved with the design of flowing water. Verik pursed his lips in casual appreciation of the design, but then stopped short as he turned the blade over, for the light engraving on the other side was that of a slender elven woman with flowing hair, hinting at the garb of a huntress with etched eyes that could only be described as sorrowful. Verik's breathing momentarily halts as he stares at the etching upon the blade, his mind conjuring up an image of a woman that he can never truly dismiss from his heart. It looks like...her. I know it is not, of course it is not, not exactly like her, but the hair and those eyes...she'd be with us now fighting this darkness if she could...I bet she would have marveled at what we have discovered... After a long moment he startles and grips the blade tighter, feeling its balance and swinging it in careful motions to each side as first Bertram and then Berrin had taught him. It felt good, felt right. The chosen weapon of Iomedae he had always thought, yet this clearly predated that by tens of centuries, so could not be an affront to the Master in his mind. It needs a name, yet to have a name it has to be wielded, has to have a story crafted from its use....
With precision Verik brings the blade's hilt to the level of his eyes in a warrior's salute to the room, performed just as Berrin had taught him once. The scabbards remaining were mostly rotted and brittle, but Verik finds one that is serviceable enough to put through his belt on his right hip, shifting his remaining throwing hammer farther back as he adjusts. Quickly then the last of the eight blades is stowed and he dons his backpack with a slight clatter of bows strapped to either side, ready to exit the armory for what waits beyond.
Spurred on by Akiros's call to action, the group stows the contents of the armory. They equip themselves with the fine armor and weaponry hidden within the cache for dozens of centuries. They wade back through the water as quickly as they can, avoiding the corpse of the massive spider and its pulsing eggs that remain in the water. Leaving trails of water in the corridor of burned and still spiders, they make their way quickly back to the center room. Elsir is the only one not soaking, as his magic dries his clothing immediately after he steps out of the water. The elf seems lost in thought, exploring the vagaries of time past and future even as he walks with the others in the present.
Immediately as they re-enter the the corridor, danger beckons to them: the carved wooden door that they entered through is closed. A faint sound can be heard behind it: music from a string orchestra. As they creep closer to the closed door, the music becomes clearer - it is an ancient elven tune by the composer Maernel Lithsume, a dirge related to the departure of the elves. The elves passed the melody down each generation of the vigilant watchers who remained after Earthfall, leaving it intact without alteration. Elsir recognizes it immediately, along with the emotional power the tune had to his people. Jemini instinctively recalls learning the tune as a child; her mother had insisted upon being tutored in a wide variety of subjects, including music. Similarly, Nikolai recalls hearing a rendition from an elven emissary visiting from Kyonin in his father's throne room. Verik and Akiros both recall Tandlara humming the tune to herself in times of her melancholy. Only Borodin has no frame of reference for the music, but he can appreciate its beauty.
In addition to the music, they can hear a shuffling sound. It sounds like a large group of people walking over the tiles and grass in the main courtyard. The six adventurers stop at the doorway, ready to decide how to proceed with this strange occurrence.
His brow scrunched in thought as he ponders what new dangers or discoveries this strange occurrence might bring, Akiros turns and whispers to his companions "Some remnant of the once living, perhaps? Jemeni, are you able to sense any evil beyond this door?"
Verik, who stands towards the rear of the group at this point in the wide corridor, cranes his neck to listen to the eerie music, even as he readies his shield. His left hand flexes briefly towards his newly claimed longsword, but instead moves to the opposite side of his belt and draws forth a tasseled wand of his own crafting.
The former Stag cranes his neck until the stress of the morning pops away with an audible crack. Eyeing the ancient elven armor, he raises an eyebrow.
He knows sometimes magic makes things fit more snugly, or makes a blade sharper. Still the idea of pulling an elven shirt over his tunic seems absurd. Nodding to the gleaming silver as if sharing a cup with it, he finally pushes aside his disbelief. Very well. If it can be done, let's see it done.
He takes his own armor off. There's nothing shameful about the well-crafted chain, but the chance to gain magical protection is worth the frustration of teasing it over his shoulders.
When the chain comes off, the dirty tunic he wears under it tears and rises a little. The scars revealed are deep, and wide. Though he has suffered no grievous wounds since the worg leapt at him, the tissue around and between the scars is rough and discolored, like bruises that never fade. They ripple and wave as the muscles under his skin turn. His shoulders seem absurd in their size, but then they are red and scarred as well.
Stretching his arms behind his back, he clasps hands and pulls against his own strength. The crack of bones sounds painful, but when it is over, Nikolai closes his eyes and enjoys the stretch. He lifts out the edge of the shirt to let it fall, nods again at the elven armor before scooping it up and pulling it over his head.
It won't fit.
His head obscured by the chain mail, Nikolai allows himself an irritated expression. He hears elves and fey laughing at the ridiculous picture. A part of him wonders whether they fey delivered this moment for their own amusement.
To hells with that, he thinks. I'll not be one of those that sees shadows in every corner. Careful, yes. But I'll be thrice damned if I'll be their laughing stock.
He pulls, stretching the mail over his head. It resists. The seems are silver metal threads, stretched until it seems they would burst. But true to legend, the chain shirt drags taut over his shoulders and stretches until it fits. It's tight, but the bottom hem of the silver chains falls free.
Nikolai looks down and grunts to himself.
It appears to fit him perfectly.
He stuff his old armor in his backpack and slides Dragonsbreath into its red-scaled scabbard.
"That's enough talk. Akiros is right. We move."
Jemini's eyes glow blue as she gazes through the wooden door. Fortunately, the portal is not so thick that it prevents usage of her magic. Expecting evil's distinct hue to appear, she instead sees nothing. Surprised by the negative reaction, she shakes her head to Verik's querying look. Nikolai steps forward and opens the door, ready to pull Dragonsbreath back out to bring fiery ruin down upon whatever shuffles on the other side.
Almost twenty humans - mostly male, but a few female - shuffle listlessly in circles. All of them bear bleeding, oozing wounds indicative of horrific torture. Some are missing toes, fingers, even arms and legs. Most of them are barely dressed, wearing hardly more than tattered rags. The work their way in a slow circle, dancing in a macabre display. Their eyes glaze over, with no recognition of anything at all. Not a single one of them responds to the opening of the door.
It is with some dread that they look down to the center of the room. The listless dancers seem to be keeping their distance from the cloudkill trap marked by Borodin's chalk. However, they all take a step closer in when the music - coming from an unknown source - begins a new verse. Standing at the top of the winding staircase, on the third and final landing, is a solitary figure. They recognize her instantly, for such a hideous visage lingers in the memory. Her onyx skin now has a blue tinge to it, and she wears a cloak rendered from leathered human skin rather than just a mask. She claps her hands slowly. "Welcome, welcome, to my humble home," she taunts with her rasping voice. "I see that you received my message. The boy's friends were delicious, and he cried with fear when I made him watch. It was a pity to set him free, but I needed you here."
As the six begin to step in the room, Ghorraneaux raises a hand. "I am enjoying the dance. Do not interrupt them! Else I will order them to do a jig in the center of the room." The trap lingers in the center of the room, capable of killing all of her mind-addled hostages nearly instantly. "I told Hargulka that I would kill you all, but I will have my pleasure first. Dance for me."
Sense Motive:
Intimidate:
He has assumed it was her, he had hoped it was her, but until this moment, he had not known for certain. Trusting to Verik and Elsir and perhaps Jemeni to help the dancers, Akiros attention is fully riveted on their foe.
The oracle closes his eyes and whispers a quick prayer of protection to Iomeade, imploring that She allow him to be a vessel of Her divine will and justice. Opening his eyes, their milky white gaze forged of steel and promising death, he points his newly magiked bastard sword at the hag and roars "YOU! You speak as if you have options, yet I tell you now, your only option is death, for I have already sworn yours. Though the Gods know you do not deserve it, allow these people to go and I promise you a swift one. Know this though, no matter what, this is the day you die."
As the grisly scene of the dance unfolds before him, Verik cannot directly behold the dreadful hag Ghorraneaux that occupies the top landing of the stairwell, yet he knows her terrible voice well from their last encounter with the Nomen Clans. Aside from Hargulka, the ebon-skinned hag was the only other one that conveyed a to him a true level of cunning and intellect superior to that of a typical troll or similar brutish beast of malevolence. Further, it is clear to him that she is the Troll King’s unholy conduit, be it priestess, oracle, witch or shaman to some fell power of the dark. Lamashtu? Perhaps. Gyronna? More likely, given the resurgence of that festering brand of hatred in Sanctuary this year...
Cogs! Think blast you! Knowing nothing on how to specifically counter those faiths of Woe, Verik focuses on what he does know. Ghorraneaux has powers of enchantment and compulsion, and other powers besides strength that would favor her here. She probably has minions nearby to help seal the “trap” that she thinks she has put them in, planning like a black spider at the center of her web. Cunning and patient as much as cruel, insightful even as she is evil. Yet filled with arrogance and belief that she is superior. She wants to gloat at the cleverness of her trap! She thinks she knows humans because she captures and tortures and eats them…we are just weak prey to her to be fooled. But how to turn the tide, without killing these poor souls that we came to save?
To his left, Akiros brandishes his sword and issues his defiant challenge, blessedly noble and righteous but predictable. Verik sees Nikolai flex his massive muscles underneath the gleaming mithril hauberk, setting his stance to take that familiar gleeful charge to blood and burning death that he has witnessed several times before. Verik hears Ghorraneaux’s words in his mind, uttered just moments before. ”I am enjoying the dance. Do not interrupt them! Else I will order them to do a jig in the center of the room…I will have my pleasure first. Dance for me.” A thought takes hold in his mind. He is neither the cunning thinker like his cousin Taisper, nor the tactician of manipulating outcomes as Elsir is, but faced with desperation for those in the courtyard Verik must try something to change this predictable outcome of miserable, senseless carnage.
With Jemini right in front of him, he leans in and whispers urgently to her ”We hem it off by the dance!” and then shoves the wand back into his belt even as he gathers all of his courage to do the absurdly unexpected.
”NO AKIROS NO! SHE HAS THE ADVANTAGE AND WILL KILL THEM ALL IF YOU RESIST!”
Stepping forward to where the hag can clearly see him, Verik draws the elvish longsword from his belt but in a manner that clearly shows no desire to attack, the blade held downwards and held flimsily in his left hand. He takes on a tone that gushes with all the sorrow and bitterness that he can muster. ”I TOLD you ALL that she was the true FOE back with the centaurs! Now she PROVES it by her treacherous tricks! But our OWN were taken! By HER! And now she holds their LIVES with a word, and we have no answer to it! We cannot let our own die…you know this as our code! Sheathe your weapons! Do what she demands and…and spare our beloved people from death!”
With a noisy clatter Verik lets the blade fall to the ancient tiled floor. Can this work? Will they see…will she? Oh get on with it! He dares to look up at Ghorraneaux, to show anger and bitterness in the face of one defeated. Defeat and fear and hopelessness is what she craves as much as flesh… ”Hag! You have lured us here most unfairly! You may have won this round with our poor people, but we have more that will carry the fight on! Know that I submit to your demand but not for your pleasure of it!”
With that utterance, Verik begins to dance reluctantly, shuffling his feet in a Taldan waltz in measured steps out of the corridor, off and away from the hag’s landing and not directly towards the center of the room. Verik concentrates on his face to be dejected and bitter, yet in his mind furiously estimates the distance to the center and Borodin’s chalk outlines that would trigger the trap, something that must be prevented with all possible effort.
"...The only dance you'll see this day hag is the dance of my blade as it lops off your ugly head!"
The hag claps delightedly at Verik's apparent surrender to her wicked ways. "Most excellent! You there!" One of the listless mental slaves peers up at her, waiting for her order. "Dance with him!" The female prisoner slowly stumbles towards Verik, moving in jerks and spasms in macabre time to the music. Her eyes cross over his face, but don't seem to register it at all. She grips the sides of his armor, sliding off the plate like overdone noodles from a fork. She twirls with him once, then spins into her own world ten feet away. Ghorraneaux laughs horribly, sounding like leeches inside the earways and teeth breaking as they bite on rocks. The prisoners start to laugh themselves, a mirthless sound of mimicry.
The hag's sinister voice fills the room. "Hargulka knew that you would be unable to resist riding to the rescue of the prisoners. If only he knew you would have to watch them die! I doubt the king would care. He has so many human slaves. I think I might let you live, cleric, to be his slave as well. He has such dark appetites. Would anyone else care to dance, or should I call my own partner to do a spin? Tahngruun!" When she speaks, the prisoners crane their heads to the closed door directly below her.
The barbarian feels the urgency of combat rising in his gut. The familiar flush begins to take him as he surveys the arrogant hag and her slave hostages. Dragonsbreath flames burn orang, then yellow, then blue as Nikolai begins to commit himself to savage violence.
His peripheral vision catches Verik pushing his way through the doorway. Nikolai thinks he knows his mind. At last, his friends are learning to fight together, and the hag will burn the faster for it.
"Verik, some spell that will take my blade to her gut. A good call—"
His sentence stops short as Verik pushes into the room, surrenders, and begins to dance.
He looks on in dismay while the hag shrieks in delight. When she summons her aid, and the pounding begins on the other side of the far door, Nikolai angles his head to look down at Jemini.
"If any of these people die..."
Nikolai levels an angry gaze at the Abadarian, and then looks past the threatening cloud to the large door. [i]Dragonsbreath flares with white-hot tongues.
”We hem it off by the dance!” Borodin is confused at first, until Verik walks out openly into the courtyard. He can see him dancing closer to the center of the room and the trap, and realizes Verik's intentions.
Sighing to himself, he sheathes his sword and joins Verik in his best pantomime waltz. As he passes Jemini he whispers "This had better work, or we're all dead."
The hag stretches her lips behind sharp teeth into a grotesque smile of delight. "Good! More dancers! And you, Akiros Ismort? I had you dancing to my tune with Malgorzata's intrigue and the least of my covenmates. I walked in your city, spreading fear and distrust. When I have eaten your hearts. I will return there to crush the wills of your citizens, just as I have crushed yours, and King Hargulka will raze the so-called Sanctuary." She laughs again, echoed by the hostages.
The door below her remains closed. The minotaur has yet to make his appearance.
Jemini nods internally, she's at a loss for how to approach this situation without endangering the lives of so many innocents. Verik's suggestion is as good as any she can thing of. With an audible she stomps her boots to the floor to a rhythm nobody else hears - but from her poise and steely eyes it is clear that she's imitating the dance certain plays use to hint at a duel between Aldori swordlords. Her head is held high and although her body twists and turns with the moves, she faces the hag with a cold hard stare - her body language an open invitation, a challenge.
When Jemini glides onto the "dance floor" Borodin instantly recognizes her footwork. He dances into close proximity, bows, and assumes the counterpoint. Every so often when the dance movement hides his intentions, he glances at the hag from the corner of his eyes to confirm her position and demeanor.
Moving to the tune of Ghorraneaux's music and trying hard to keep the visage of one defeated, Verik sees first Borodin and then Jemini take to the floor in their own dance of despair. Yes they understand! Praise be...unless this just puts us more at a disadvantage...too late now...we need another to try and hold the ground when it comes to it...please please Master I pray for quickness in the battle that is to come to deny this hag!
Moving in a circle of steps he sees Jemini and Borodin moving together now, a couple that could make a dash when the time comes. Please! Should I speak? No no, she enjoys herself and something said now could snap her back to scrutiny. Closer...closer...not too hasty now...she gloats over her own cleverness and that shall be...who is this Tahngruun? Tahngruun's horns? The bull? That is her enforcer then...a match for Nikolai...clearly he is too dull to see it...Akiros defiant to the last stand...maybe Elsir will join or have some avenue to aid that I cannot fathom.
Verik continues his sorrowful, pitiful dance, taking a semicircle arc to try and bring himself ever closer to where he could make a dash to the far side of the trap's border...
Jemini's childhood training in dancing comes back to her. Her tutors had been excellent dancers from all corners of the Inner Sea. She briefly recalls her debutante ball, when she nearly tripped over her dress during her entry. The tutors tried to instill grace in her movement, but to no avail. Similarly, the weapon masters who trained her in swordplay often lamented her graceless footwork during her practices. It was only during the frenzy of battle that she moved with fluid precision. Thus, it comes as little surprise when she tries to sidestep poorly and collides with one of the prisoners.
The man looks at her with blank eyes. His torso bears bloody marks of torture with long claw marks gouging chunks of skin out. He wears little more than a soiled loincloth. He is utterly forgettable except for his piteous condition. However, the visage begins to peel away in her mind's eye. Jemini keeps her face stone still as the illusion drops away. The horrid face lingering underneath the magical mask is that of an annis hag, with grotesque features and slimy lips under a bulbous nose. Jemini spins away, confident that her discovery has not been uncovered by the hag.
Meanwhile, Ghorraneaux appears quite pleased with herself. However, the door does not open and the minotaur does not appear to gouge them with his massive horns. She taps a foot impatiently, seemingly worried that things are not going quite to plan.
Ghorraneaux looks genuinely worried by Tahngruun's absence. She glances down at one of the female prisoners on the far side of the room for a moment, seemingly looking for guidance.
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Carefully packing the last of the reagents away Elsir marveled to himself, mentally categorizing each of the rare and unique components. Three grams, mote of starlight. Two vials of love unbound. One essence of a death's last gasp. Five scales from an ice linnorm. Three petrified eyes of a basalisk. The tongue of a sphinx. Seven strands of untouched fate... And a single precious Aevum. Elsir shook his head at the last component. As one who had dabbled in the pulling and pushing of bits of time, sometimes nearly to disaster, the Wizard had been shocked at the discovery of a bit of Aevum in the ancient fortress armory. Aevum... Elsir thought to himself almost in wonder. Aevum, a crucial instance when something important was supposed to happen. From his studies Elsir knew that aevum could be used as a focus for more major manipulations of time. It would warrent intense study when the group returned to Sanctuary.
Breaking away from his wonder, Elsir glances up as the others begin to file out of the room. Mentally the elf blinks, realizing that he had momentarily lost himself in time. Shaking his head, the elf fixes himself in the moment. He would have time later to consider such things. Time to unbundle himself and float free of this stream and it's constant consciousness. But now was not the correct time. Acting quickly the wizard glances about the room. Several ancient scrolls still resting in their tubes as well as a set of white leather gloves stitched with each school of magic in blue thread and a beautful heartwood grey wand with a black tip as if scorched had been left for the man. Shaking his head at the haste of the young lived races, the wizard quickly gathered up the objects of power, before donning the leather gloves and stowing the wand next to his other, before hurrying out of the room.
Jemini's mind races, are all covered in illusion? Just a few, enough for a coven? Did Irori encourage this chance collision to expose the one true trap? If one is fake, then we cannot trust anything we see, even Ghorraneaux herself... I must risk it, the others need to know...
Her eyes are still fixed at the hag above them, her feet beat a steady drum - with Borodin an occasional counterpoint - her voice speaks firmly: "Ghorraneaux! You believe you have us dancing to your tune. But looks can deceive - we are all in this together, some more, some less; you may enjoy it now, but eventually you will have to face the music!"
Borodin continues his dance around the room. When Jemini addresses the Hag he could sense a double meaning in her words. He was about to look to Jemini for a clue but notices Ghorraneaux seems nervous. He wonders why since she apparently has the group where she wants them but then he sees it. Ghorraneaux keeps looking at someone in the crowd. Yes, she looks to one of the prisoners almost waiting for orders.
He tries to make out exactly who but there is so much commotion with the other captives that he can't pick them out.
He breaks away from Jemini, closer to the opposite side of the room to see if he can discern who else is among them.
Sense Motive Hag:
Sense Motive Jem:
Will Save:
Akiros, with a corner of his attention, grasped the tactics of Verik, but was not, at first, able to tear enough of his focus and attention away from his hated enemy to pay proper attention to the Abadraian priest. When Jemini and Borodin join in the dance charade however, more of is attention is drawn to the centre of the room. It is at that moment that he catches the worried and queried glance from Ghorraneaux to one of the dancers.
"Does my true enemy hide herself over there, amongst the dancers. Quite possibly, as that is exactly the kind of sneaky, cowardly, underhanded tactic I would expect from her."
It being one of the hardest things he has ever done, with an angry glare up on the figure on the balcony, Akiros james his sword back into it's scabbard and begins to dance, slowly moving towards the back of the room, where he suspected his true for may lie. The entire time, his gaze barely leaves the Ghorraneaux on the balcony above. Pure hatred still flows out of his eyes. "It seems my allies are more prone to your trickey and coercion that I would have imagined possible. So, fine, for now we dance. Think not that you have gained some victory here, witch. |For your death is still assured. If I do only one thing before I die, it will be to end your wretched life."
Nikolai is full-on glowering at Verik when his friends join in the dance. With no desire or ability to dance on his, own, he looks to Jemini and closes his eyes for a second. If this goes poorly, may I die here and not have to hear of it again.
He forces out the words, hoping the small bit of truth in them hides the fact he has no gift for deception.
"If we must dance, I must have a partner. I have not danced at all, that I remember."
He sheathes his big sword and clumsily moves toward Jemini, reaching for her hand. "May I?"
Verik ponders Jemini's veiled words as he dances closer to a chosen spot on the floor, a gift she has long held that has served them well in "diplomatic" discussions with the Pitaxians and Brevians. "looks can deceive...we are all in this together, some more, some less..." The meaning is clear, and he fights his natural urge to start looking around the room for disguised enemies.
Of course that makes more sense, and answers where her allies are to face us so boldly! Are they all foes? That one? What about THAT one? Maybe the one that touched me when I first danced...blast I cannot see the deception! Are they ALL foes? No no, that would invalidate the threat of the trap...unless she knew we would try to play along for the sake of the captives...no I refuse to believe she is that clever. So some real and some not, but Borodin said the trap was real enough, and I must trust his judgment. Hem the trap then...and poke the pride of the true hag? Hmmm...
Verik sees all now but Elsir out in the courtyard, steps closer to stopping the trap than what they were back beyond the door. He summons once again a tone of abject misery and bitterness, hoping to draw out the pride of Ghorraneaux while distracting her with words.
"OH foul Ghorraneaux you have us in the fish barrel, but for all of your careful planning and superior mind it did not help you in the conclave of the Nomen Clans, did it? Where was your mastery of mind then, that you were so BEATEN by us weak humans! Eh? Troll-king got your tongue?"
Ghorraneaux hesitates at Verik's challenge for just a moment before spitting venom back at him. "King Hargulka commanded it. I--" She hesitates again, looking down at the assembled dancers. Her gaze rests on a hostage for a lingering moment while she doesn't speak. The Founders get closer to the center as they dance, with Verik and Jemini closest. All of them are well within a sprint's distance, capable of making it to the trap before the hostages - if they can determine when to spring into action.
They have no time to make that choice, as Ghorraneaux points to the center and shrieks, "Dance in the middle! You'll not fool me!" Forunately, the heroes feel the shift in the tension of the room a split moment before she starts shouting, and burst into action.
Jemini is of the first to act - her dance naturally accelerates into a swift few steps that bring her just south of the trigger facing Ghorraneaux. A bluish shimmer radiates softly from her and her sword that is stretched up to the lofty hag. "Come."
Ghorraneaux doesn’t realize it, but she has been ineffective in hiding her agenda. Before she shrieks her command, Borodin has already acted. He sprints between two disfigured captives and takes up a position just South of the Cloudkill trigger. With a few gestures and a single word five identical copies of him pop into existence. They all wave their swords around trying to intimidate the captives from coming to close.
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Standing at the edge of the circular stone room, Elsir watched the dance unfold with silent, studying eyes. The music called to him. Maernel Lithsume's, Dirge called upon the sorrow of Elsir's heart. Unchanged from when it was first created, passed through timeless generation to timeless generation the song spoke of a world abandoned, of ceaseless time ever moving forward while the elves had to watch and wait as the world that they had claimed was given over to fire and destruction. Even now, after sixty years of being away from his homeland, Elsir felt a longing, deep and melancholy. He had felt it since he first walked into this ancient stone walls, but the sound of the music only heightened it.
As the others danced and followed the commands of the hag. Elsir remained mutely standing on the ledge. The music entranced him. It made him remember.. it was painful. Time had taken so much from him. It had made Ashandra wither before his eyes. It had changed him from one of the true people to a forlorn who had associated with the young lived races. It had marched on, even while Elsir had remained a witness to it. Lost in the music, Elsir thought perhaps that was why he had first become so enamored by chronomancy. Time was, Elsir believe the most powerful of all forces. It was not that water that caused a stone to shatter. It was the time spent, freezing and thawing inside of that rock that did so. It was time that allowed trees to grow and the earth to move. Time..
Time..
"Dance in the middle! You'll not fool me!" The words shattered his perfect, silent moment. Elsir instantly reacted. Even as his wandering mind had been lost, the studious mind had remained focused.
Snapping back into the correct moment, the right moment, Elsir glanced at the room taking it all into effect. The trap in the middle. That is the most dangerous aspect. The wizard decided. The others can deal with the hag, but none must be allowed to trigger it.
Springing into a flurry of motion, Elsir's newly clothed hands, wrapped in white leather fly into a complex series of gestures. He calls upon a simple spell, one of the first that he learned as an apprentice, but useful even now. As he does so, he focuses, splitting his mind and seeking out the currents of fate, proverbially testing the waters to see how fortunate this moment was. Slightly better then average. The wizard thinks, frowning.
As the spell comes into completion, Elsir thinks of a steel cage, five feet tall and five feet wide, materializing over the stone block that held the deadly trap. Its bars were thick. So thick that not even the reborn staglord could have bent them. He smiled and opened his mouth to speak, and then paused.
::Three seconds before: Opening his mouth, Elsir pointed to the magically conjured cage. He had just completed his spell and the incantation had been successful. He shouted to the others. Ware the cage! Only to raise looks of confusion as the others glanced at the wizard.::
No! The wrong moment! Elsir thought, pausing for a half second. As the others moved to take defensive placement around the structure, Elsir nodded to himself and pointed to the cage. Excellent! The wizard cried out. This will work just as well as the spell I unleashed upon the deadfall dweller.
The cage is an illusion.
As Ghorraneaux shrieks her words of realization, Verik grimly smiles and moves into action, breaking out of his dance more nimbly than one would suspect wearing heavy plate and wielding a shield. He points at the pitiful woman captive on the far side of the courtyard and says, "You skulker you! The true mistress while your puppet plays at the top or something else entirely? Beware that one there!"
Even as he sees Jemini and Borodin reach the borders of the trap before him and take up their own defenses, a large cage suddenly occupies the area that he was prepared to defend. The confusion lasts only a heartbeat as Elsir utters his veiled message, realizing the clever ploy. With three more steps he arrives at his chosen spot and stands with his back to the cage and a good foot or more away from it, uttering the prepared plea for Abadar's herald to bless this battle in the name of the Master.
"Oh Lawgiver! Blessed be the allies of justice and right against these glamored beasts of destruction! Steady steel and spell so that we may lay them low!" A familiar push of soft golden light pushes out from the key upon Verik's enchanted shield, covering his friends with a slight warmth that steadies their nerves and gives them focus and clarity, reaching all throughout the chamber and even into the hallway beyond.
A strange thing happens then as he prepares to bash any with his shield who come too close to the trap. The golden light of Abadar's Blessing seems to slow time down, giving his vision focus upon the hag at the top of the balcony, her skin-fashioned mask a symbol of outrage to the Banker, mocking all that he holds dear with his people of Newhaven. He snarls and points his hand at Ghorraneaux and pronounces with a hollow tone of command, "The Lawgiver blinds thee wretch! Look no more upon those that you bade to suffer!"
For a moment it appeared to Verik that the pure white light would erupt from both her eyes and take hold, but at the last moment she snarls and jerks her masked-head to and fro, and seemingly finds the power to block his divine curse of blindness.
As always, with virtually any battle, everything happens almost at once as chaos and violence erupt. Although he feel the warmth that spreads through him, bolstering his focus and clarity, Akiros pays almost no heed whatsoever to the illusion of Elsir. His focus is almost entirely on his enemies. Thus, for him, not being sure at the moment who his truest foe is, Akiros concentrates on the one closest to him.
Stepping forward, Akiros whips his sword out of its scabbard almost faster than the eye can follow. In grim silence the former Ronin then brings his magically keen blade sweeping down in a powerful stroke on the neck and shoulder of the disguised hag, nearly hacking off her arm in the process. As he does, he head turns slightly upwards, to catch what he can of the reaction of the Ghorraneaux up above, as well.
Power attack vs AC21:
Damage:
Crit Confirm:
Crit Damage:
Total Damage: 36-5=31