Darc grunts in acknowledgement of Besmarial's words. With a nod to the party he just says .... "Luck! Honour."
Back in another place the dwarf twiddled at his beard.
A trait he'd picked up since returning to the world.
He thought again of his friends lost.
Andrea. Lucrezia. Orsin. Even John the damned Hellknight, ever silent in his full plate.
Don't know what the Hells ye got in store fer me, True Axe. Trust yer Judgement an all but I don't get it.
He did not know how long it had been or what had become of his friends.
He had fallen to the Assasin Monks during the assault upon there temple. Damned b!tche$ had been hired by the Council to put down his little band. Duncan had not survived his bands counter attack.
Did not remember dying.
Had only fleeting glances of Waiting in line at a dark place with others like him.
ANGRADD collected him and sent him back.
But just where the hell he'd been dropped into he did not know. He was elsewhere.
Stuck in an old hut with food and water an nought a soul in sight.
One more day. After that I start walkin'. Gotta be a body round here somewhere. Ye'll send me a sign. Won't ye boss?
Imizael spent the majority of his voyage to Absalom testing out his theory that there is a exact level of inebriation that can counter-act the swaying of a ship at sea.
Which is to say, he spent the voyage clinging to a railing, and emptying his stomach into the sea.
"Well, it was worth a try. Y'know, for science." he said, wiping his mouth. Hops just regarded him with his non-committal, piggy expression. "Stop judging me, you walking bacon rasher."
Arriving in Absalom reminded Imizael that as little as he enjoyed a sea voyage, he enjoyed cities much, much less.
He sighed as he stepped onto the dock.
"Well, this Gallowsmith and his end of the world can't wait, can they?" he asked the pig before they trod off into the city.
Duncan stares quizzically at the bird.
Can't eat ye. Way too tiny an no meat on ye.
He actually did wave the Thrush off and sat down to begin his prayers agai n for a sign. He found himself starting but unable to truly focus with the constant chirps.
Oh, awright. I'm coming.....Ye better be me sign or somebody is gonna be the smallest jerky strip ever.
He gathers his gear and starts to follow. ...
At the bottom, you pick yourself up and make sure all of your gear is still with you (it is). The first thing you notice is the sound...or sounds. Unlike the oppressive and blanketing silence of the place you had found yourself in, you can hear people's voices, a lot of them, and the cries of seabirds. Then you take a deep breath, of air redolent with the fragrance of the seashore (mostly rotting fish, bird droppings, kelp, and salt)...again, a stark contrast to where you were. You realize that you are now in a narrow, deeply-shadowed alley between two buildings.
Following the side of the alley, you eventually emerge onto a crowded street. From rumor alone you recognize this place; you are in Absalom. It is hot; one of the Great Rifts, the largest and most stable openings between worlds, looms over the city, and a pair of suns shine through it. (Even though you were killed before the rifts began to open, somehow you know of them without being told.) It is at this point that a human wearing the swallowtail symbol of Desna's clergy accosts you. "Ye...aye, ye have th' look of one who's come far, and would go far and farther yet. If ye'd know what's to be done about th' state of th' world, seek th' house of Prester Gallowsmith in the Wise Quarter." And the stranger walks off into the crowd.
Duncan crosses his arms and searches for some chew.
Filty habit he'd picked up from a Barbarian cleric of...Ragathiel was it?
Now there was a god of vengeance. A risen devil who charged his followers to bring fast judgment upon evil.
Fast and Final.
Angradd had a healthy respect for the Emperyal Lord. Duncan's own god was the patron of Dwarven Warfare. His inquisitors, were not too dissimilar to battle clerics. Though thier calling made them much better for Scouting and front line fighting alongside the fighters, while the clergy kept as many dwarfs standing as they could.
Don't know why ye bought me back, boss. This be concerning ye. ..nae ALL o' the gods. But ye got better'n me in yer service surely.....
Unable to find his chew, the dwarf stalked off to find a crier or someone who could point him to this gallowsmith fellow.
|
Berbas thinks on what the man said. This whole affair with the rifts, was a bit odd and while personally he could care less, maybe there was ome easy money to be made here. Afteralll city life in Absalomon got a bit boring after a time so the broad shouldered man maneuvered his ways through Absalomon's busy streets cursing those who dared to get in his way as he sought out the house of this man Gallowsmith.
"Talking walls, eh? These city-folk." Imizael says, grinning at Hops.
They enter, and take a seat, and Imizael picks away at the proffered food, splitting it evenly with his porcine companion.
On a table at the side of the large room past the entrance hall is a serving plate of fruit, a stack of smaller plates, a stack of cups, and a pair of pitchers. One of the pitchers is dewed with condensation. There are three used plates set on the side of the table. In the center of the room, the flagstones of the floor give way to a tiled mosaic, depicting the legend of the drowning of Old Azlant. (The mosaic is so skillfully made that the water almost seems to move.) When you look back at the table, the dirty plates are gone, and there are a couple more platters of food--cheese, bread, and hard-cooked eggs.
The colder pitcher contains ice water, and the other contains a reasonably decent merlot at something slightly cooler than room temperature. As you and Hops eat, someone else comes to the door. There is still no sign of Gallowsmith.
The entrance hall is modestly well-appointed, and opens into a larger room. On a table at the side of the large room are serving plates of fruit, bread, cheese, and hard-cooked eggs; a stack of smaller plates, a stack of cups, and a pair of pitchers. One of the pitchers is dewed with condensation. In the center of the room, the flagstones of the floor give way to a tiled mosaic, depicting the legend of the drowning of Old Azlant. (The mosaic is so skillfully made that the water almost seems to move.)
A gnome sits at the table, accompanied by a large pig.
Imizael finds a glass, and pours his most recent brew into it. He raises it and nods to the newcomer.
"Well met, friend!" he drinks deeply and lets out a contented sigh.
"Food for eating, drink for drinking, seats for sitting! What more could you ask for?" He idly begins to throw hard boiled eggs at Hops, who catches them out of the air happily.
|
|
Berbas enters the manse and eyes the Gnome sceptically.
Well met... the half-orc replies in a gruff voice as he grabs himself apiece of bread and a large chunk of cheese. He casually seats himself in one of the armchairs and stares down the Gnome for a few moments before taking a large bite.
Berbas Huber my name!
At Versey's ship:
After Darc's reaction, Besmarial continues in Gallowsmith's voice, "I lack the strength to open a rift to you at this time. One of my fellows tells me that the motive force that moves the sky ships of Verces may be adapted to that use, though. I have imparted the necessary information to Besmarial, and he can accompany Versey to the place where this can be done. Darc and Sami, you guard this entrance. The rest of you, carry out the rest of the mission before the hostile plants in the area attack."
Lum groans. "You mean I have to remember all of those stupid models and drawings Versey made? All right, I guess."
"Imizael Borlavor," he nods, then indicates the pig, who is currently lapping away at Imizael's beer. "Hops. Mind his business end." What exactly constitutes the warthog's business end is unclear. One hopes it is in reference to the tusks jutting from its maw, considering what the other end's business is.
The entrance hall is modestly well-appointed, and opens into a larger room. On a table at the side of the large room are serving plates of fruit, bread, cheese, and hard-cooked eggs; a stack of smaller plates, a stack of cups, and a pair of pitchers. One of the pitchers is dewed with condensation. In the center of the room, the flagstones of the floor give way to a tiled mosaic, depicting the legend of the drowning of Old Azlant. (The mosaic is so skillfully made that the water almost seems to move.)
A well-dressed half-orc and a gnome sit at the table, accompanied by a large pig.
|
|
Well it seems our company is getting ever more fantastic. Gnomes, Dwarves, warthogs and talking rocks... the half orc offers with a wry smile as he lounges in his armchair with a piece of bread in his hand as he studies the Dwarf.
Oh and of course the most sophisticated Half-Orc ina ll of Absalomon...myself...Berbas Huber!
The dwarf, harumphs but moves towards the table.
Not bothering to arm himself despite the Half-Orc at the table.
He'd met one or two decent ones and though this one appeared as dense as his kin, he seemed friendly enough.
He did nod to the Gnome. Had plenty o'time fer the crazy folk.
All mad of course, but insane genius when they bothered to apply to something. An this one smelled of brew!
He reached for the mug carrying the ale. Not really considering if it was poisoned, such things rarely bothered him anyway.
Duncan be me name. You two know what's going on or ye as clueless as me right now?
"Not a clue, really." Imizael said with a shrug, passing Duncan the mug of his brew.
"Imizael Borlavor," The warthog waddles over to the dwarf, easily eye level. It sniffs at him for a moment as it stares with its beady little eyes.
"And, Hops. Don't mind him, he just likes Dwarves."
"Fine food and drink dull any perceived impoliteness on your part, good sir. Please, tell us what it was you summoned us for exactly."
"Not a clue, really." Imizael said with a shrug, passing Duncan the mug of his brew.
"Imizael Borlavor," The warthog waddles over to the dwarf, easily eye level. It sniffs at him for a moment as it stares with its beady little eyes.
"And, Hops. Don't mind him, he just likes Dwarves."
An I like pigs, either roasted or saddled as a War pig if they be big enough. Ye ride 'im, or gonna eat 'im?
The dwarf straightens when the wizard makes his appearance.
Not complainin fer the drink or company. Some idea o what this is about would be great
"I am a member of a brotherhood of men who study the planes and the stars and the space between. For many years we have met quietly to share our insights and to speak of the knowledge that we have gathered. The death of Aroden changed everything. Suddenly all the omens and prophecies ceased to function, and even basic divinations could not be trusted. It was in that moment that a brother of mine observed a strange occurrence heretofore unknown to us. During a simple teleportation effect, he observed that the Golarion of his destination was not the Golarion of his departure. Fortunately he was not stranded on that strange shore and was able to return to us with his findings. From that moment, we were able to make several discoveries. Bear with me; the path ahead is not a clean one."
He pauses, gathering his thoughts. "We have discerned that every major event in the history of our world holds a certain temporal energy. It permeates the planar boundaries and as we found out, alters them. You see, every major event or keystone moment creates a potential for an equal and opposite outcome. The very energy that causes history to hinge upon that moment creates its opposition. When this occurs, a new Golarion is produced, divergent from our Golarion in that moment. If the event is strong enough, that Golarion continues, evolving in its new path separate from our path, spawning its own alternates. If it is weak, it will die, usually within a few days, but we have seen such realities persist for longer before fading. Indeed, in Pharasma's Boneyard, there may well be a graveyard of such realities. But I digress. In this garden of forking paths, there is always a prime path, a Golarion from which all others sprang. I first believed that our world must be that world, but of late I am reconsidering that conclusion. That does not change the basic point: it seems as if the weight of these other realities is becoming too much for this world to bear. The rifts are the result of this stress. They are the tears where one reality intersects with another, and if they are allowed to continue, they will eventually cause all realities to collapse in upon each other, destroying them all. We know not why or where this threat comes from, but we believe we may have a way to stop the collapse."
Gallowsmith pauses and the mosaic tiles composing him rearrange to form a sort of network of roots. His voice continues, though, seeming to come from all around you. "In each reality, we have identified a keystone, a place or person or thing upon which that reality rests. Some aspect of these things has become lacking in some way and must be rectified if that reality is to be shored up against the collapse." A portion of one root lights up, and as it glows, you see an island in the midst of a vast oval lake, surrounded by scorched and blasted rock. It is night. There is a circle of stones on the island, and from the center of the circle a faint line reaches skyward; the line is a black so intense it stands out against the night sky.
"This is the Dark Road, a tangle in the fabric of reality that, when combined with the rest of what is happening, threatens to tear all apart if it is not destroyed. Break the terminus before the Road is strengthened by the next conjunction with Aucturn, and this reality shall be strengthened and the threat against all of us is lessened by the weight of a single grain of sand. Minor, perhaps, but taken in total with others and it may be enough to save us all. What troubles me now, though, is that there may be those who would see all cast down....
"You must have questions. Ask, and I shall answer as best I may."
I dinnae know how ye come ta know me or seek me out. But THIS ain't my world. I died fightin a mess o' crazy monks assasins in Westcrown. Felt the breath leave me chest and...somethin'... coming after. I ain't even sure why but for some reason I am back and got plonked here. These rifts ain't right an if who I think decided I ain't done yet wants me here, ye'll have all the axe swingin' I can give ye.
|
|
Berbas clearly has trouble wrapping his head around all of what mister Gallowssmith has just laid out before them. He scratches his chin as the Dwarf speaks of dying in Westcrown. a town which to the best of his knowledge is quite a ways away from here.
So let me get this straight! the half orc begins You want me a pig a Dwarf and a Gnome to go to this island that is located on a parallel plain and hosts the Dark Road he clearly exaggerates his voice a bit at the mention Then we somehow destroy this dark road to save the world from collapsing all the while not getting lost in that parallel universe? he looks at all with a smirk and then goes on.Sounds like this ain't such an easy assignment so I must ask what's in it for me. Besides not dying horribly with all other things in existence on this plane?
"So we get to play at being... reality-hopping heroes, and save the universe from utter annihilation?" Imizael plays at scratching his chin, an exaggerated expression of deep thought on his face.
Hops snorts, and plops down onto the floor.
"Sounds like a laugh!" he says, leaping to his feet and assuming a heroic pose. "I'm in! So's Hops."
The pig, paying no attention to much of anything, lets out an excruciatingly loud belch.
Imizael grins manically. "That's Warthog for Yes."
|
|
Berbas smirks at the old man's words wondering if he's insane or the world really is going to an end. The Dwarf doesn't seem all that crazy however. The Half Orc goes into himself then begins to think about what might happen if the world really were going to an end and he'd save it. Oh boy that would be great...thus he remains seated and continues enjoying the quite excellent cheese and sees where this will take him.
I dinnae presume ta speak fer Angradd. I died and he I am. I chose ta believe that fer whatever reason I'm here te help. So when're we off? Ye got a means ta send us ta this place I take it? I got no reason ta hang about. A good meal and some tack and send us on our way, eh?
The Dwarf considers something. A memory.
Faelyn's Familiar. Right Handy it was. A little airborne scout would be just the thing for a mission like this and it felt good to hold onto a moment of his last life.
Actually, afore we go I got some shopping ta do. This bein' a Big City full o wizards an whatnot, I wanna buy one o them Pseudodragon lizards. Mischievous and flighty but a handy creature to have about when ye need a scout or ta see something what's invisible. If I can grab one and some feed for it, would help alot.
The sage nods. "That's a good thought. You could probably find one in The Coins. There should be time...the group in the other world should be working on something that would let me open a rift directly to their location, but it may take them some time."
At the sky ship:
Lum enters the ship and heads off in one direction from the small chamber just inside the entrance, dragging the bundle behind him. Versey and Besmarial head in and go the opposite direction. Time passes. The party soon finds its hands full with trimming back the vines covering the ship, which although they don't have the mobility of vampire ivy or assassin vines (nor their militant tendencies) still grow with remarkable rapidity. More disturbingly, there are several moonflowers stalking the landscape; it is only a matter of time before one comes close enough to detect the party.
After some forty minutes, the party's luck seems to run out. A passing moonflower suddenly changes direction and speed, moving toward the sky ship entrance with deliberate intent. You're preparing to retreat into the ship to avoid the malignant plant when all of you hear a soft thud from somewhere deep inside the vessel, followed by a low, nearly subsonic hum. Eretria and Krolmnite can feel something odd in the air, something with the familiar taste of magic...almost, but not quite. All of the moonflowers you can see stop where they are, then move towards the stern of the ship. Once there, they stand still in ordered rows. The vines on the ship itself stop their rapid growth; the prairie grass waves as though a breeze were blowing it, but the air is still. The grass is instead being disturbed by the passage of multiple assassin vines and vampire ivy, which also move to the area around the stern and stop, draped over the moonflowers like some exotic cloak or necklace.
Another twenty minutes pass before Versey and Besmarial return. The alien nods in satisfaction at the spectacle of the returning plants. "Thank you for your help. I have also done what the flying helmet wanted, so your new allies will arrive soon; then there is enough power in the ship that I can carry you a little ways north in a very short time. Where is Lum?" Realizing that the cranky gnome hasn't yet returned, Versey goes in after him. Eventually he comes back out alone. "The poison light had almost killed him; I put him into a healing box, which will fix him in three or four days. While he is being cured I will take you as far north as I can. Prepare to leave." He heads back into the ship.
Meanwhile, in Absalom:
Duncan, you find your way to The Coins, and are able to find a pseudodragon for sale. The merchant, an immaculately-groomed Qadiran, has clipped its wings so it won't fly off and keeps it on a chain. He advised you not to release it no matter how much it begs, and after some haggling agrees to sell it and some food for 250 gp. The creature takes to you quite well, given your alignment.
On returning to Gallowsmith's house you find the other two waiting for you. The sage motions you in. "Quickly! They have done what they needed to, and now I can send you to them. Take this sack; it has some items they are in dire need of. Good luck!" With that, the mosaic man shifts shape to a twisted column of tiles, which untwists and opens in the middle. Through the opening all can see the great trees of the Verduran Forest; Gallowsmith's voice comes from all around, urging you on. "In and through! I will open the rift once you are in position; I must not leave it open any longer than is absolutely necessary."
Once on the other side, the opening vanishes behind you, only to be replaced by something else. There is no border, but suddenly a small part of the ground looks different. Through the air above that can be seen an area where the trees are quite different--in fact, there is only a swath of second-growth forest on the other side of a hill, and other than that there are grasslands and a mammoth assemblage of peculiar plants. Two figures rush out of the area, a limping half-orc and an unarmored nagaji. You go through where they came from and find yourself elsewhere with no particular feeling of transit, and as you look back the vision of the Verduran climax forest shrinks away to nothing and is gone.
Back in the other world:
The party is together. Please introduce yourselves.
At the wizard shop:
Not wanting to ruin a sale before he had the goods, Duncan keeps quiet about the treatment of the Pseudragon. He picks the creature up reverently.
The PseudoDragon is shy at first but the friendly dwarf and bribes of freedom and coin, considering his current predicament sounded wonderful.
Duncan hands over the coin.
Damn right ye'll come wit me then. An we'll even stop at a fine armorers on the way back an buy ye a MASTERWORK leather Lamellar armor. Will protect ye heaps and won't slow ye down or nothing. It'll do till we can get ye a MITHRAL set in future eh? An if ye got know name, how about I call ye Silf? That's Dwarven fer silver if the name pleases ye.
When the creature telepathically agrees, Duncan heads to a reputable smiths shop and pays the 210 gold for the smith to stitch together a fine set of the expertly boiled and cut leather pieces. It took a bit, more so to find and place the strips just right im such a position to allow full movement and keep his clipped wings free. SILF was pleased at the sudden turn of good fortune and sat and moddelled which ever way the smith asked as he custom fitted the armor. It was rare that a PseudoDragon found such treatment so he did not wish to waster the opportunity.
Duncan scoops up his newly Armored friend and sits the creature on his pauldron.
Ye can ride there till yer wings are healed buddy. Now to the start o yer hoard. This here be 20gold coins and yer own pouch. I'll keep it separate in me pack so yer know it's safe when we travel. We'll be adding ta this as we go and when it's full we can switch ta platinum instead. Ye'll soon be the richest pseudo dragon this side o the world. Now let's go meet the others we be traveling with. Seem like good sorts. Oh, forgot to tell ye we're off ta save to world. Yer gonna be a hero.
The pseudodragon is, as noted, much happier with Duncan, particularly after getting the armor (and, presumably, a quick CLW).
The little dragon sat on the Dwarfs armored shoulder, his claws digging into the leather covered pauldrons and tail wrapped in a single loop around his owners armored collar.
The tiny dragon puffs up at his proclamation. A bit eager perhaps.
The dwarf pats the dragon on the head, his silver Cestus matching the companions coloration.
Easy lil Buddy.
He looks at the assembled group.
Well, what he said. Gettin the introductions outta the way, I be Duncan, Inquisitor o Angradd. Dwarf god o war. I'm a warrior first, Witchunter second, got a bit o Divine Magic and a decent sneak when need be. Yer wizard buddy said ye needed help, an I already Died once, so whatever crazy plan ye got is fine so long as it is a chance o workin. Now, who're ye, whatre we doin?
Tact is obviously NOT his strong suit.
I stare at the strange behaviour of the plants, "This is strange magic but, as long as it's on our side, I'm happy enough."
Then I tread gingerly into the craft, "Why are we going North?"
Selveshanea coils around my legs and I can feel the tension in his muscles so I reach down and stroke him casually "It's okay. Won't be long." I mutter reassuringly, either to the cat or myself.
Besmarial replies, "The source of the Dark Road is north and slightly west from here, about 250 miles. We could continue to follow the river, or take Versey up on his offer."
"I'm guessing this is quicker, maybe safer too. Let's get going."
Versey leads the group into the sky ship, through a winding series of dimly-lit hallways, to a small circular room with soft bench-type seating along the wall. There's barely enough room for the party and hangers-on, but luckily two of your number are not large. (Even so, there is a bad moment when Hops plants a large-size trotter on Selveshanea's tail.) Once everyone is settled, Versey does something involving (apparently nonmagical) gestures and speech. The skin of his torso also changes color in bewildering patterns. Duncan and Berbas can feel that the pressure in the room has changed slightly. After a few minutes, Versey says (through Besmarial), "This is as far as I can take you, if I want to be able to get the boat back in one piece. I think this is where those dwarves came from a few years back."
With that, the door to the room opens to reveal a very different scene from the metal hallway you entered through. You're outside--on a hill, with a river some twenty miles distant. Leaving the room, it can be seen to actually be a flattened metal disc from the outside. Duncan, you recognize the area. This is Five Kings Mountains, and you're near the main gate to the city of Elistia. Somehow you've traveled over one hundred miles in a matter of minutes.
Versey waves goodbye and enters his disc, the door sliding shut behind him. The disc rises soundlessly into the air, then rapidly accelerates south, soon disappearing in the distance. A crack as of thunder echoes in its wake.
From the party's vantage point, the gnomes and Elesandira can also see a veritable horde of moonflowers and other plants to the south, all moving away from the party as fast as they can go.
Where to now?
Angradd's Arse. That musta been fast. This is or looks like Five Kings Mountains near the gate to Elistia. I guess I ain't never been here though since this ain't my...our version o the world. I could be called somethin different.
The dwarf pulls his magic axe and his shield.
Keep yer eyes peeled. Oi, Besma, ye know the way from here do ye?
The dwarf takes a slow turn to get his bearings.
Krol nods taking this all in and trying to understand and process it all.
"It's nice to meet you all. My name is Krolmnite Underhill and this is Ava." he points to the woman in the group who has her hood up and under a cloak. She seems distance and remains silent. "She and I are partners. She has many talents."
When he says this she nods and begins to sniff the air.
"New scents." she states in a odd way. She pulls her hood back to reveal the scaled parts of her body and the long ears. She gives a smile and reveals fangs of hers. "I serve my master. Are any of you Scholars too?"
"Now that, that was extraordinary."
I pat Selveshanea's flank reassuringly and make it clear that, although the hog looks and smells like food, it isn't to be eaten. Not even a little bit.
"So, err, Duncan... do you know the area? What's Elistia like?"
I gaze about with satisfaction and suck in lungfuls of air, "It's good to be back in the mountains. Even if they're not our mountains."
Elistia is actually a small elven fortified city, and was one of a few places in the mountains where elves and dwarves would formally trade.
Don't actually know a ton about the place. On my world it was one of the few places my people traded wit them skinny elfs. They needed steel and gems and we needed access to wizards. Got some of our own but rarely. Most dwarves either become tradesman and fighters or tradesmen and clergy.
I did both. So's if this be similar to tha place I knew, it been a place o commerce. Now. Again. Who does what here. I be an Inquisitor o Angradd. That be a dwarf o faith with a bit more skill and sense and magic than a paladin an without the stick up the qoit. So in front is where I go. Not a bad sneak either and Silf here is good at it.