Nelly finds herself sinking into oblivion, then drawn back, coming and going...but eventually seems to be able to stay awake, shrugging the tentacles off each time they come, but unwilling to leave.
When the assault eventually stops, Nelly curls up around Túrion protectively, not allowing anybody to get close...except Mel.
If she steps forward, Nelly will gently nudge her satchel, then Túrion, looking at her with expectation and hope.
Thanks to Kelian's bravery, you manage to survive the last struggling thrashes of the tentacles. Finally, the hallway is quiet, giving you time to recover.
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As soon as the tentacles slither back to whatever horrific pocket dimension they call home, Mel emerges cautiously once again.
The wizard's body lies on the floor, covered with the wounds of their fight: burns, cuts, arrow wounds, and finally the constriction of the tentacles he himself conjured.
She looks down upon him, feelings tumbling through her head and heart:
Relief, to be alive.
Sorrow, at Túrion's fate.
Thankfulness, for Ostara's blessing during the fight.
And that is all. She puzzles over this. It feels as though she is missing something. Something she should be feeling and is not; but it evades her, and after a moment she shakes her head, dismissing the concern.
"Kelian, help me take him into the null magic zone, please," Mel says, gesturing to the wizard. "If the Council checks in on him with divination magics, I want those to fail. Let them wonder what became of him. Or even better, let them waste resources on an expedition to discover his fate, after we are long gone."
Together, they haul him into the hallway where magic holds no sway, and leave him there for later inspection.
Returning to the main chamber, Mel says "Laeg nél,Throid tú go cróga. Lig dom tú a leigheas ..."
Approaching the great wolf, she takes out her healing supplies and begins binding her wounds, chanting a quiet prayer of thanks to Ostara under breath as she works, hands aglow with pale green foxfire.
The wolf keeps nudging at her as she works. "What's this?" Mel asks. She finishes, and reaches for the satchel Nelly was so persistently nudging at, opening it and examining its contents.
"Thank you all the same"
Weary to the bone Fyrtor moves to check Turion, but when Nelly prevents him he doesn't push it. He knows that hurt animals can be unpredictable, and he saw what happened to Turion. There's nothing to be done now that can't wait. The dead are in no hurry. With a shake of his head Fyrtor moves away and painfully sits down leaning up against the wall.
Bruised, battered, and burned the shepherd turned warrior is too tired to feel much of anything. There is no joy in this victory. Fatigue is the only thing holding back the guilt that so often has been his companion. He closes his eyes and wishes that for the moment he could just sleep. Sleep and forget.
"Oh," Mel says, realizing what Nelly wants. She glances down at Túrion. She lays a hand alongside the great wolf's head. "Tá brón an domhain orm, Laeg nél," she says softly. "Ba mhaith liom dá bhféadfainn, ach ... tá sé seo thar mo cheann. Tá sé imithe."
Kazador walked in and lowered his head when he saw Turion’s body. He glanced over at Algric, who was sitting against a wall, staring blankly into the distance. He felt...weary. There was no joy at a battle won, no thrill from surviving. Just an aching sense of sadness. Losses were expected in war, but that did not make it easy. He wished that he could bring the elf back, but such power was beyond his hammer in it’s current state. Finally he stated ”Without him, and Nelly, we would all be dead.” He wanted to add more, but couldn’t think of anything which didn’t sound hollow.
You take some time to heal the most urgent of your wounds. Then you decide to take a look down the hallway where you have not yet traveled. Around the corner is a large open room with a solid stone lever set in the wall. You use torches as you still cannot see here with your darkvision magic.
Seeing Nelly's unchanged stare, Mel relents. "Déanfaidh mé iarracht," she says.
"Kelian, give me a hand, please?" She gently eases Túrion's battered body out from under Nelly's protective bulk. He is scorched and torn, bloody and mangled. A wash of sorrow crosses her gaze.
She pauses a moment for prayer. "Ostara, jos se on sinun tahtoasi, lainaa minulle armo auttaa tätä miestä. Tai jos ei, ohjaa hänen sielunsa hellästi syvään metsään, joka kasvaa ikuisen vihreänä. Olkaa se tahtosi mukaan."
She gently cleans his wounds and binds them, humming a quiet hymn -- The Spring's Embrace -- as she does so.
Mel determines that Turion's injuries, now very severe and almost grotesque from the tentacles, are far above her ability to heal. His neck is clearly broken from squeezing tentacles and many of his internal organs have been crushed. But she rights his neck and does a few things to help.
Mel shakes her head. "Tá brón orm, Laeg nél," she says again. "Tá sé marbh."
Mel shakes her head. "Tá brón orm, Laeg nél," she says again. "Tá sé marbh."
Fyrtor, his eye still closed, winces as he hears Mel's words. The others wouldn't understand, but he knew the tongue of nature's kind. As his breath returned the guilt and shame that he'd been trying to ignore began to apply their crushing weight. If he'd not rushed in like a fool Turion would still be alive. True or not, Fyrtor was sure of it. He'd not known the elf long, only a few days really, but even in that short time he felt as though he'd come to know him and counted him as a friend. Once again he'd failed to save those he cared for. Despite his faith, he wasn't sure that he was worthy of the forgiveness he preached.
But there was nothing to do now but keep moving. More people would die if they didn't. Purpose was the only panecea he'd ever found for his shame. It helped him forget as long as he kept busy. So aching, his burns protetesting the motion, he stands up.
"Mel, let me help." he says as he pulls a wand from his sack. With a word Fyrtor feels a slight change. He then speaks to Nelly and says, "I'm sorry Nelly, Turion is dead. Please let us do what we can. Speak your mind. I will understand"
The others were mourning, which was their right. Kazador looked down the hallway and saw the level. He said, somewhat awkwardly ”Take yer time. I see a level down there. Going to check it out. Probably not a trap.”
He walked off, feeling the weight of his armor on his shoulders. When he got there he carefully explored the room, looking for any indication of a trap. Once satisfied, he planned to pull it.
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"Without him, and Nelly, we would all be dead," Kazador states, weary. Muse wonders how the dwarf must feel, forced to watch helplessly from the antimagic field while battle raged just in front of him.
Pride cometh before the fall, it's said, and if you've a sin it's Pride. There's a lesson to be learned here, and it's standing right in front of you. Muse raises his eyes to look Kazador over. You learned something unpleasant about yourself today, self. How will you respond to it? Not by gambling or drinking irresponsibly; you're lucky enough to have a support net, people like Tiyeri and Torval who'd look out for you. You'd never end up alone and hungry on the streets, especially considering that you can conjure food out of thin air. But does this shatter your resolve, your confidence? Is this where you head back to your ship and do things you know you're good at?
"You're quiet. What're you thinking?" he whispers to Legacy.
"I think that you are growing into your role," the vast being rumbles.
Muse considers that for a long minute. "I don't follow," he says at last.
"Kazad Gavr is secure. Your mission here nearly done. Yet in your private thoughts you frame returning to the sea as something to be avoided, a personal failing."
A cold shiver runs down Muse's back. Thinking, he's right, I'm done, crisis averted we beat the Council to the weapon and now I'm done and how does he know what I'm thinking?
"Most are defined by their Age," Legacy muses, "live the life they are given and cannot see outside of it. Cannot see the past and the future. You walk a road that leads to becoming one who defines their Age, and commands Time and Destiny itself. The choices you make, the company you keep, these will change the course of history forever."
That isn't remotely true, Muse thinks, hopes. I'm a bit player. Aloud, he whispers, "I need to heal myself, and then I need Omit to cast false life for me, and then it's Scabb's turn. So I'll talk to you later."
As Mel attempts to fix Tùrions body - if not to heal, then to make sure he'll stay in one piece, Nelly carefully watches her every move.
The work seems...strange, not just for the atmosphere - as she shifts bones into place and organs back where they belong, they seem to stay where they should be.
As she draws a broken rib from the lungs, there's a faint rattling noise, for but a moment.
Her work done, she does her best to explain to the big faithful wolf that the damage done to the body was too much.
Trying to slightly shift Túrions Head towards Nelly to show her his lifeless features, Mel is astonished to find the neck holding it in place, once more.
Before she has time to ponder further, the lifeless eyes blink, and the body starts to cough flatly.
Nelly happily wags her tail, then licks Tùrions face.
Still heavily battered, the body lay still on the floor, drawing some breath accompanied with a whistling noise.
A weak voice follows:"We won?"
Fyrtor stands there speachless wand in hand as Turion speaks. But... I SAW him die! After a moment of mental stuggle he speaks, "Turion! You're alive!"
Mel starts back in astonishment.
"I ... yes, I guess we did," she says to Túrion. "Now lie still, you're ... by all rights, you should be dead."
She examines him, unsure whether to be joyous or frightened.
A wide grins splits Muse's face. He was burned, and then crushed! How did he . . . ?
"Thanks to you and your wolf!" Muse jubilates. "I knew you were one hell of a wizard, but that nine hells of mangling you went through! How on the blue earth or green sea are you breathing?"
Mel is very perplexed by this turn of events! The damage to Turion's body was far more than anyone could survive.
You are not dead.
It seems so.
You should be dead with those wounds.
Yeah.
I am glad you are not.
Me too.
I wish to see you again.
I will make it happen.
Túrion does as Mel asks, laying still - his heart beats visibly, and he draws breath - flatly but regularly.
"I...don't think I could...move if I tried.", he smiles faintly - or attempts to, the wounds he suffered turning his face into a grotesque grin.
With some effort, the elven Mage continues: "It...hurts. Not to be too....much trouble - ...but do we have....magical healing left?"
As he recovers a bit more Tùrion, with some help, manages to prop himself up against the wall. One weak hand is scratching Nelly behind her ears, her huge head in his lap like an oversized dog, eyes closed.
He looks at his companions then asks, rhetorically: "I suppose I owe you an explanation..."
The elven Mage shifts a bit, lifting his cloak out from under him.
Cutting open the seams at the bottom, where it's weighed down to avoid flapping around in wind or when moving, he retrieves an object.
"I owe my life to a friend twice over, now...Balanos is a Dryad living close to where I made my home, back in Avinoax. We...are close friends. One day, before I left to defend the forest against an incursion by the Concordate, she gave me a gift."
Withdrawing his hand from the cloak, he presents a Wayfinder, then opens it. Inside, there's a cracked Ioun Stone slotted in the device.
Smiling a less intimidating grin with his facial features restored, he looks up at his comrades: "I told you I'm a fast healer. This is why - it also... prevents me from dying so easily. My second heart. I try to keep it a secret - please accept my apologies if not telling you before caused you to worry."
Algric looked over, his mouth agape. The elf...wasn’t dead? He listened intently to the conversation. A Wayfinder and an Ioun Stone? The elf was full of tricks, it seemed. And secrets too. Still, it was good that he wasn’t dead. He hoped. Now that the vault was to be opened, it would be time to see if Kazador’s trust was correct or not. Algric still wasn’t convinced that the Turion and Mel wouldn’t stab them in the back once they had gotten inside. And after what he had seen, he didn’t know if they could be stopped. Certainly not by that fool, Kazador. That dwarf would be lucky if his throat wasn’t slit in his sleep. The elven people had fooled his with false friendship before. Why would this be any different? He looked away from the battered mage towards Kazador, who was still searching the next room. With a sunken heart he stood there, not wishing to be part of either group. Rather, he offered a short prayer of protection from his former thane’s naivety and elven trickery.
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When Kazador pulls the lever, you hear a great grinding noise from the direction you came for about a minute.
"Mel save your strength, let's use this." Fyrtor pulls out another wand and holds it up to Turion and begins chanting, holding it there for quite a while while it does it's work. Then he moves through to each of the party members in turn healing their wounds.
Mel had already been kneeling by Túrion; she shifts to the side to let Fyrtor work.
"Well then, Balanos saved you today," Mel says, as Túrion explains the nature of his charm. "You owe her your life, for you were certainly far beyond whatever skill I have."
A thought occurs to her. "Oh, sweet Ostara, if we'd moved you into the null magic zone ..." She looks up at Nelly and strokes the wolf's heavy shoulder. "What a good girl you've been!" she exclaims.
"She guarded you the entire time," Mel tells Túrion, "And we could not have defeated that wizard without her aid. Shortly after you fell, he rendered himself invisible, and none of us had any good way to figure out his position -- except Nelly, who could track him by scent."
Nelly enjoys all the attention, stroking, scratches and pats she gets.
And above all the fact Túrion seems better, and she was feeling healthy again, too.
Only a short hunt and fresh meat could make the day better right now, but both seemed unlikely in these tunnels.
"Well, and you brought me back together...if not for you, who knows what would have happened. I suppose I owe my life to three women today."
Túrion lifts an arm, attempting the range of motion possible with it, then attempts to stand, unsteady at first, but quickly regaining his balance:"Thank you, Fyrtor!"
Taking Nellys head in his hands, he gives her a kiss on her forehead:"Agus go raibh maith agat. Rachaidh muid ag fiach chomh luath agus a thagann deireadh leis an turas seo!"
Turning back to Mel, he continues:"I shall make sure to thank Balanos properly when I return home. Twice now her charm saved me. For Nelly, her needs and wishes are simple, and I shall make certain she is rewarded. As for how to thank you, would you accept an invitation to dinner?" After a short insecure pause, he quickly adds:"For you and your parents, in Avinoax? I suppose you wish to visit them? I'd gladly arrange everything needed."
Mel smiles. "Certainly. If we happen to go to Avinoax, I'll be happy to have dinner with you."
"And you say this was the second time your charm saved you? What was the first?"
As the two bantered, Algric began looting the bodies of the two dead mages.
Aside from repeating the required words Fyrtor was quiet as he healed the group. He struggled to process all that had happened. He had gone from the relief of victory, to keenly feeling Turion's loss, to joy seeing the elf practicaly come back from the dead. It was surreal. It would take time for him to recover from the emotional whiplash involved in experiencing so much so fast.
Muse can't wipe the smile off his face. "Cayden's cup, but I'm glad you're alive."
"Scabb, I'm switching you out. I need to ask Omit something. Omit, that second heart of his - how unique of an artifact is it?"
"There're rings and ioun stones that can keep you alive even if pixies hollow out your innards and take to living there - but making them takes a boatload of rare components and more skill than you can shake a stick at. Turion's doesn't seem as powerful, my guess is it's broken somehow, which rather ruins the value. But I can't imagine it'd take any less rare components to make a flawed or busted ioun stone than it'd take to make a whole one. I'd love to be wrong here, but I don't think it's the sort of thing you could commission."
"That's a crying shame." Thinking about it makes him frown. But only for a moment, before his smile comes right back. "At least Turion's got one. If anyone deserves not to get burned to death, it's everyone. But him too."
Túrion returns the smile when his dinner invitation is accepted, but it quickly vanishes when he thinks back to the first time he depended on the Dryads charm: "Well, as said, she gifted it to me when I defended against raids coming across the border. I'd been pretty beaten up or seriously wounded a few times after those skirmishes, and she was afraid one time it would not end well. But in those Forests, I am safe. Not only are they watched over by a friend, Elaran, a Druid warden, but Nelly's pack has it's home there. I befriended them many Generations ago - you have seen what she can do - so you can probably imagine what one or two dozens of her packmates can accomplish. Apologies, I digress. Either way, I never learned if it really worked back at home - was not looking forward to testing it, either."
He pauses a moment, catching his thoughts and drinking a bit from his waterskin before continuing: "It was actually during my pursuit of Gael, the Druid on the ship with those two. As you know, he caused trouble in my homeland, including a murder he tried to blame on my wolves. We knew where the ship he left on was headed, but not where he went after. We stayed in the port, trying to find out, learn his whereabouts, or where he was headed. A breathtakingly beautiful woman at the harbor hinted at knowing more when we asked around. Claimed to be a nobleman's daughter, working the streets because her father would hate it if he knew - she had a refined courtesy about her - definitely possible her upbringing was upper class. Some family issues there, if the story was remotely true. She worked her charms on me - claiming that if I wanted to talk, I would need to buy her company for a night - at a premium since nobody else knew what she knows, and I admit, I was tempted. I told her I needed to fetch the money from the ship and was cautious - I had a bad feeling and did not come to the location she gave me alone. An Inn with a Tavern in the common room. All the same, things seemed to be in order, and I entered her rented room by myself, after booking another room for Nelly and the sailors that accompanied me."
Túrion takes another sip from his waterskin, shaking his head:"Can't believe I'm actually telling you that...she actually had the information we needed - she had talked with Gael, that was the Druid, and actually was with one of the ship's crew, possible the apprentice wizard, though he didn't stay the night. The reason they had contact, as I learned, was that she and some associates of hers had an operation going...she would wait at the docks, waiting and detecting magic, scanning new arrivals, then seeking their attention if they had items of value. She'd lure them into spending the night, then, when her customers were asleep and without their gear, her friends would enter and murder them - then they sold the magic items to a smuggler. Well, having learned of Gaels whereabouts, I had no interest in sleeping. When I thought she dozed off, I got dressed and wanted to leave - found the door locked and got stabbed in the back - attempted to shout and found myself in magical silence, with 2 thugs and the woman surrounding me. Well, Nelly heard my steps. Then she didn't hear me. Then smelled blood. Raised a Ruckus. They didn't hear it, because of the silence, but Nelly alerted the Sailors and raced to the door.
By that time, I was out cold courtesy of a few well-aimed dagger strikes and they were going through my valuables. When the sailors broke open the door, the thugs attempted to defend themselves while the woman turned to run, fleeing through a window the others likely used to enter, via a ladder outside. She got my rings, a magical Amulet, 2 spellbooks, ... one of the thugs was taken prisoner - the one Nelly did not attack first - that is why I know what their deal was. Nelly refused to leave or let me be moved back then as well. The tavern owner, the guard, and the captain were still in the process of deciding what to do about the murder and the giant wolf when I woke again. The woman had vanished, and Gael had a headstart - we needed to leave, and soon. So I explained to them there had been no murder, the wolf would be gone, and paid a bit extra for their trouble so that we could leave right then without more questions. So there's that. Foolish, I know. But then, my track record there is not exactly one to be proud of..."
He offers a forced smile, unsure how Mel would react to his story.
Fyrtor hears the grinding noise and mentions it. "Did you guys hear that? I would guess that it has something to do with that portcullis we saw before. We should go and see."
Mel stands, helping Túrion up. "I'm not sure if that charm is a blessing or a curse," she muses. "It keeps you alive, yes, but ... alive with some truly terrible memories."
"As for your adventure with the jezebel ... consider her an object lesson that nobility has nothing to do with social class."
She turns. "Come on, we should keep moving. The sooner we finish here the better. We've only been down here a couple of days, but I positively long to feel a fresh breeze on my face."
She heads down the corridor deeper in, finding Kazador standing beneath an enormous lever. "Kazador, Túrion's alive after all!" she tells him. "See?" She gestures at Túrion as he comes around the corner.
"There was this enormous burst of light, then an angel stepped out of the wall and granted him a new life in recognition of his valor! It was amazing, you should have seen it!"
Kazador’s eyes had indeed gone wide when he saw Turion. As Mel spoke he paused. At length he nodded. ”An angel? Well...ye wouldn’t lie to me. So. Turion. Good to see ye on yer feet!” He said with relief. ”Ye’ll have to tell me all about it when we’re on the road.”
Algric, who had been there looting the bodies, stared at Kazador in incredulity. ”An angel? Ah...and ye...” He looked at Kazador, his face slowly turning to that of disgust. ”Whatever.” He said, darkly. ”Let’s just go and get done what we came for. I’ll guard the rear as we go.”
Mel relents instantly. "Oh, I shouldn't have," she says. "I'm just teasing. There was no angel -- he has a charm that saved him."
She sighs. "I shouldn't try telling jokes, I guess ... I'm no good at it. Sorry, Kazador."
”Oh!” Suddenly feeling foolish, he said ”This must be that elven humor I’ve heard about. I’m a bit literal minded. Besides, with the way he looked I thought that nothing short of an angel would have done it.”
"I'll let him tell you about it, but it's a powerful charm, and useful. He's lucky to have it, otherwise we would definitely have lost him today."
"Anyway." She examines the lever. "I guess this must open the door? And someone has to stay here and hold it up so that others can go through. That explains the inscription outside. And why the wizards had such difficulty proceeding."
"Kelian, this is Kazador's home -- perhaps you could hold this up, so that he can enter the vaults and not have to wait here?"
Kelian quietly moves into position and holds the lever up.
Thinking back to his own cowardice during the battle, of how he had given up to the inevitability of death and of the displeasure of his god...Algric quietly said ”I’ll stay with him too. I can help should he grow tired. And we can defend each other, so if something does happen all of ye won’t be trapped.”
"Kelian, can we have a torch or two to take with us?"
"Of course," Kelian says. "In my pack."
He continues holding up the lever.
Mel retrieves two torches from his pack, sets them alight, and hands one to Fyrtor, keeping the other for herself.
"Let's go," she says, and leads the way back to the granite door that had blocked their way.
You walk back through the antimagic tunnel that was so nearly deadly for all of you, leaving Kelian and Algric behind to man the lever. You arrive at the stone porticullis that blocked your progress to find that it has been raised into the ceiling. You walk under it and the tunnel twists to the left. Your spells begin working again shortly thereafter.
You notice a small nook that appears to have something in it. Pulling it out, you find it to be a small book with odd writing in it. It mentions foods, dates, names, animals, and minerals without any coherent narrative or organization.
You decipher the code and find it to be the logbook of the master vault-keeper of Kazad Gravr. It details the defenses that you have just passed through and their upkeep. Very late in the logbook, it mentions the sudden orc attack. The vault keepers feared they would lose access to the other vaults so they brought all of the artifacts to this vault. In addition, the log refers to something called "the Heart of Kazad Gravr", which the vault keepers were drawing upon heavily and hastily to try to bolster the defenses. Apparently, this granted great power to a single weapon, which the vault-keepers intended to take to the master Rune Warden. The writing becomes a scrawl however, as the logbook describes the orcs blocking the exit from the vaults, which location the vault keepers were very loathe to reveal. "I fear we will not be able to leave the vault safely. We will have to make a mad dash in the middle of the orcs. What will happen to us? We cannot get out. We cannot get out. We cannot get out." The log ends.
The tunnel continues a ways ahead.
Fyrtor fails to notice anything.
Kazador was still nervous. What if there were traps ahead? Or more puzzles? Or a strongbox that needed a key? Or...his mind came up with a thousand and one ways that this could still end in disaster. While thinking of these, he watched his companions, trying to gauge their thoughts. As he did so, he followed Fyrtor’s gaze...what was he looking at? Walking over he noticed a small nook that appeared to have something in it. Pulling it out, he found it to be a small book with odd writing in it. It mentioned foods, dates, names, animals, and minerals without any coherent narrative or organization.
”...huh.” He muttered as he pondered it.