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Hamilton is quiet.
Then he approaches the body of the fallen Giant cleric and he strips if of everything of value or interest.
After, he's draws Brinya's Love from his sheath and is about to start gutting the body like a fish. He looks up as Vael and Whistle Pig start seeing to Ushyle and he stops. He hears his father in his mind, urging him to sate his rage and feed the forests with the giant's guts. But then he sees the roses.
The Roses.
That green git was always going on and on about roses and Milani.
Mom's voice comes to mind, and dispels his father's rage, and Honor helps him sheathe the hope knife. He goes to Vael, and gathers up Ushyle's equipment.
I will see to his gear. The Thorn will need cleaning and sharpening. His armor will need adjustments and patching. I don't know what you have in store for us, Vael. Ush has earned his rest, but if he... If his duty to The Rose isn't done, then he'll need his gear. I... Before you rest, I'll need patching myself if you're able.
Ham sees to everyone's gear and to Applejack. It seems to serve as a sort of prayer and meditation.
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Once Raen uses her protective magics to encase the group safely in a stone barrier, the shaman takes a moment to heal his allies.
Moments later, he's on his bedroll and fast asleep.
When morning comes, Vael is up early. As others rise they see that he has already used his spirit magic to conjure up the bland fare that they have been eating. The faint tug of life energy is also in play, meaning that he had performed the chant alone while everyone slept.
The shaman is hunched over, a pile of flower petals on his lap. The petals are actually familiar, being the ones the group had collected from the Vault of Thorns. He holds a handful of petals, mashing them to a nearly liquid form and collecting the oil from them into a canteen. A canteen that, until recently, had the last of his Oakfist Ale from Trunau.
"...Now when you feel the connection of your soul to his, it'll be disconcerting. But you're his guide, so stay focused," Tulia says, mid-lecture.
"I know, I know. It's just that-"
"Stop it, Vael. This isn't the time for doubt. The Heavens will either allow it, or they won't. This isn't up to you. Now it'll take several minutes to us, but for you it'll feel like a much longer journey. Follow the... trail? It's hard to describe, but you'll feel the sensation and know it's there. And-"
"This be the fourth time ye've walked me through it." Vael interrupts. "I ken what I ken."
"Very well then. You have enough oil. It's time."
Vael stands and walks over to the prone corpse of Ushyle. He sits down cross-legged beside to deceased friend, and rests one hand on his chest. He pours the oil from the flowers they found in the Vault, a place that feel like it was so long ago, onto Ushyle's forehead. Then the shaman's eyes go solid black, a darkness as deep as the Dark Tapestry itself. For the group, Vael sits immobile for ten minutes.
For Vael...
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He feels his soul float up and away, ascending at first slowly but with increasing speed. It stops abruptly thousands of miles above Golarion, in an area of inky darkness. A field of stars fills his view, and he scans for the right constellation. A series of distant stars forms that of a rose, one petal missing. He floats further, toward a pinprick of light at the apex of the constellation until... a flash of light, and he stands within Pharasma's Boneyard. A procession of souls, formless and nameless, wends its way toward the deity for judgement. But there is one. One that he must find. And so he searches, a search that last an eternity... until it doesn't. He calls out, wordless, and a soul appears. He nods, and it bobs in place, understanding. They float back the way he came.
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... he raises a hand after 10 mimnutes of time. Starlight floats gently from his fingers, swirling and collecting. The lights flash in various colours, giving a sense of various emotions. Solemnity. Apathy. Hubris. Sadness. Glee. Slowly, a form takes shape.
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The first blow from the flaming hammer was fierce, and the half-orc snapped his head back around just in time to watch the giant's recovery from his overhand swing blaze toward him again and then all was white and silent.
His eyes opened to see a long, winding queue, snaking out of sight ahead of him, leading to some place he couldn't see. To either side of the line, a passel of ramshackle buildings with colorful shops were visible, each with one or more mercenaries hawking various wares. Absently Ushyle reached for his coin purse and noticed, for the first time, that he carried no gear — no backpack, no blade, nothing but the simple clothing on his body...clothing he didn't own and didn't recall buying.
A small shove came from behind; he turned and then looked up to see Urathash directly behind him in the queue! Ushyle, alarmed, took a defensive stance, which made the giant crack a thin smile. I'm already dead, insect. Just like you. What d'you think you are gonna do to me now?
The words washed over him like wildfire. Already dead. Just like you. His mind buzzed and raced all at once; he felt his legs try to buckle beneath him as he tried to grasp the meaning. Already dead. But what of Trunau? And of Whistle Pig and Vael? Doxon and Ham?
What of Raen?
He looked behind the giant, seeing a handful of newcomers, but no one he recognized. With a modicum of relief, Ushyle turned back to Urathash, swallowing hard. Uh, what do you mean...already dea—
Yeah, you're the only one I managed to git before your friends finished me, Urathash snorted. Some mighty general I turned out to be.
He nodded silently and turned back around. The buzzing in his head began to subside as Ushyle started to grasp what had happened. So I am no longer alive, he thought, and this is the line to Pharasma's Boneyard. Not at all what I exp—
came a high-pitched voice to his left. He spun to face it and saw one of the merchants to the side, clutching a sheaf of papers and staring at him intently. The man was short, balding, almost greasy in appearance, but also clearly out of patience. Are you or are you not Ushyle of Trunau?
A heartbeat passed as the half-orc processed the question, then: I am.
The oily man let out an exasperated sigh. Finally! You, come with me. Without much thought about it, Ushyle followed him inside a drab building dressed up with faded red and white colored bunting and banners. The room within was cramped but tidy, with two couches and a bare desk. An unadorned door stood behind the desk where the smaller man sat. Call me Deetz. The man shuffled through the pages and plucked one of the last ones out, offering it to the Ushyle. Here. You're being reassigned.
Ushyle blinked. Excuse me? Reassigned?
Yeah, Deetz said. Word came from outside that you're not to go in just yet. With this he motioned vaguely toward the line. Got to send you back.
For the first time, Ushyle felt a bit of...something. Hope, maybe? Well...thank you very much, that's very ki—
Now here's the thing, Deetz said impatiently. Can't go back like that, they haven't paid full price. So we have this for ya. He waved the parchment at Ushyle, who took it and read it as quickly as he could. Whereas the party of the first part...
He stopped at paragraph three. A goblin?!? I'm going back as a goblin? I can't go back as a goblin!
Deetz looked something besides annoyed for once. You don't like?
No, I don't like! Ushyle said, tossing the parchment back on the desk. I'm ugly enough now. You think I want to be uglier?
Deetz appeared a bit flustered. Well, look, I don't make those decisions...
The half-orc grabbed for the pages. You've got to have something besides a goblin in there!
All right, all right! Deetz said, snatching the parchment away. We'll come up with something. Here, we'll do this instead. He grabbed a different sheet and stamped it, then handed it to Ushyle. Now get out of my office!
The half-orc took the paper, and as he did all was white and silent again.
His eyes opened to see the concerned face of Vael, Tulia atop his hat, looking over him. Vael scratched his head as Tulia speaks. I thought you said "elf." This is clearly a "half-elf." In Ushyle's mind, he heard Deetz's voice fading away. Ah, crap, that was supposed to be an elf...gods-damned bureaucracy!
Vael leaps to his feet, grabs his blanket, and drapes it over the naked-as-the-day-he's-reborn Ushyle. "Easy thar, friend. Ye're nae goin' ta feel completely like yerself. But ye be still ye, whatever ye might think at first."
The dwarf grins, a single tear streaking down his face. "Welcome back."
Raen watches, still and silent, huddled in the darkest corner of the alcove. The shadows hide her face, but if one could see they would be challenged to find any emotion in her stony vigil. Even the rise and fall of her breath seems lost in her motionless stare.
When the dwarf is done and the new body wrought forth, Raen wordlessly rises and steps past the spectacle, bending the threads of stone back into their former places and walking away, back toward the scene of death the day before.
In truth, she is terrified. The ritual that Vael has performed is... unnatural. Alien. Sacrilegious. Wrong. She is desperate to have Ushyle back, but... not like this. This is not Ushyle.
She walks, absent of mind, towards the western staircase, and gazes up into the curving well. She leans against the door jamb, and pictures Ushyle as he was atop the steps, smiling bashfully at her. Tears stream down her face and drip into her robe. A moment later, consumed by grief, she releases a single echoing sob and collapses into a crying huddle against the stair.
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Even as WP is absorbed by the magical ritual, and the shock of Vael calling this elf that appeared out of nowhere,"Ushyle." He easily catches Raen slipping out of the alcove. Seeing the rest of the group don't seem to need him right now, he pads after the Varisian. He hangs back curious to see what she does. Would be be some neat bit of magic? maybe some sort of scrying spell? As Raen splumps to the floor, WP snaps to full attention. He nearly lets loose his high trill warning whistle thinking they are under attack. Then, he hears Raen's sob. The sound nearly cuts him in two.
Pig rushes to the illusionist's side. Raen is crumpled on the floor with emotion wracking her thin frame. They are so intense, Pig thinks she might fly apart. The halfling isn't sure what to do, but he whispers, "You aren't alone. I'm right here with you." WP wraps his arm around her as best he can. Squeezing, trying to keep her in one piece.
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Ush?
Ham wanders over to the half-elf and stares intently at the stranger. He holds Ushyle's gaze for a long time, not breaking the stare even for Raen's cry.
Then, suddenly, Ham punches Ushyle on the bicep.
Ham stares at Ushyle again and nods slightly, a couple of times. Getting what he needed, he snorts.
Let's go., he says, clapping the half-elf on the shoulder.
When you grow me a new body, Vael, make mine prettier than that.
Raen starts at the halfling's unexpected touch, but relaxes a moment later and clamps down on her grief. She knows that she must be strong for him, and not the other way around. She hugs him close and moves to stand. "Thank you, little one," she says, a tearful smile peeking from between wet cheeks. Her tears dry quickly, helped along with subtle magic weaved by her unseen fingers, but the redness around her eyes is harder to dispel. "You must be careful, little one. Do not wander so far ahead alone. We cannot let Vael do... do that. Not to you."
She holds him tight.
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WP feigns wounded feelings,"What?!? I'm always careful." Then gives Raen a quick hug. He collects himself and stands up. "You know, being something else wouldn't be that bad."Pig giggles at the thought of being something else. " Maybe a Gnoll or a gnome? Yes, what about a gnomish wizard? That could be interesting." WP grabs her hand and leads her back to the group.
"I am serious, Whistle Pig," Raen replies, resisting WP's tug back to the alcove. "Those magicks are dangerous. Unnatural."
She grasps his small shoulders with both hands and looks him full in the face, a small and tired smile inching across her lips. "Please. Be careful."
She lets go and walks away to occupy herself with looking over the dead giants.
Vael catches bits of Raen and Whistle Pig's conversion. His expression is one of hurt, which Tulia picks up on.
"Nevermind them. Ushyle is here, focus on that," the familiar quietly whispers to Vael.
He nods, then helps Ushyle into his armor.
To Hamilton he tries to find levity. He grins. "I cannae make promises. Though it should be easy for tha Spirits ta improve upon yer mug."
In the middle of the adjustment period, the party finds time to search through
Ushyle finds this odd, unfamiliar form — tall and lithe, so unlike the hulking, brutish body in which he had always lived — does not feel awkward as he tries to move, and this makes his head hurt; shouldn't it?
Vael fussing over his armor and him strapping on his equipment feels right, even as it hangs slightly differently than usual. Adjusting a buckle here and a strap there makes things more comfortable.
Not much to be done about the voluminous clothes, however. Ushyle cinches and tucks, trying to make do until he can find new attire. It is not until Ham's wisecrack about his appearance that he thinks to consider it. This skin is not green, but almost bronze in color. He asks for a mirror from Doxon, trying not to appear hurt that Raen is ignoring him, and hopes against hope that it is not forever.
His face is the same bronze hue, with the kiss of Milani still resting on his left cheek. The oversized bottom teeth are absent. Pointed ears, but softer somehow — not as sharp or angular as before. Still the same sewage-brown eyes, though. He sighs aloud. Some things even the gods can't make better, he reasons.
With the new standing ready Vael takes his blanket and drapes it over the body of the old Ushyle. There's a notable lack of colour to his eyes, as if that one thing had been stolen from it. "Thar'll come a time ta deal with this," he says. "But it's nae now."
He gestures towards the stairs. "Up?'
Sneaking upstairs, Whistle Pig gets a better feel for the room. Carved into center of the floor of this chamber is the symbol of a mountain and a giant anvil. Mystic runes painted with a fine, glittering dust sprinkled over what appears to be blood encircle the carving. Six iron cages stand in a circle around the floor carving, interspersed with stone braziers burning small coke fires scented with smoldering pine cones. A few tables holding a variety of iron implements stand against the walls nearby. The walls are windowless and covered with lines of carved text. Staircases at opposite ends of the room lead to floors above and below.
Four of the cages contain gaunt and mutilated humans, each one curled into a fetal position. Long strips of flesh and muscle have been torn from the corpses. Wait! They're not all dead. Two of the bodies have the rise and fall of breath.
Whitsle Pig finds two unconscious human men. They look like they've been tortured and are on the verge of starving to death.
Doxon spends the night by himself. His emotions roil inside him, failing to amalgamate into a proper alloy of calm and certainty. The pain of losing Ushyle is still fresh, but tempered by the knowledge that Vael will soon return him to life, if in another form. He can see his friends in various states of distress, but doesn't comprehend how he can help them in their time of need.
Best to let the others find solace in each other or seek it through their own meditations. No need to add unnecessary weight to their burdens. Heated steel is fragile. Better a gentler hand than mine to handle it, lest if be twisted or corrupted.
Doxon finds a quiet corner to contemplate the last battle and Ushyle's fate. He reflects on the teachings of Torag.
"All errors can be reforged into lessons. No setback is insurmountable, not even death itself, so long as the soul is dedicated to the task."
Ushyle is not done yet, I don't think. Trunau still needs him. We still needs him. Torag will see him reforged anew, stronger than ever. I'm sure of it.
With the new day, Doxon says his prayers, praying for the strength and mettle to continue their journey and for Ushyle to be returned to them with Torag's blessing.
Raen ascends the stairs after the halfling. She notes where WP's attention has gathered.
"Vael."
The name is spoken with urgency, but otherwise flat of emotion. The Varisian herself occupies her expertise with deciphering the ritual in this room.
Vael comes to the call, quickly seeing why he was called forward. He moves close to where the survivors and grabs hold of the divine symbol of Desna. "Spirits of Life, aid these people..." A now familiar pulse of energy flows from the shaman, washing over the prisoners.
"Free them if ye can, Whistle Pig."
The channeled energy immediately restores the two men. "Thank you! I'm Berner, and this is Forder. Thank you." Despite the succor you've provided, they desperately require food and water.
Raen takes but a second to figure out this room's purpose. The carving on the floor is the holy symbol of Minderhal. The carved writings on the walls are scriptures in Giant espousing Minderhal’s teachings. The cages and equipment tell the rest of the story. This is likely where Urathash performed inquisitions.
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WP moves over to the group and grabs some of Vael's food and water and passes them out to the two caged men. He knows what it's like being a cage. A captive. He asks questions in a soft voice as he gets to work on the locks.
"Where are you from? How did you get here? What were they doing with you and this room? Do you know what the giants are planning?"
Whistle Pig has no problem opening the cages. The men voraciously (and gratefully) down the provisions.
Berner, "We're prospectors from Shinnerman’s Fortune. That Urathash has kept us as playthings. We were snatched up in a raid."
Forder, "The body over there is.... was Tarram Shinnerman, the speaker of the council. I don't know what happened to the others, but if I had to guess, they were just straight up eaten."
The men stop their eating to give a thought to those who have been lost. "If you've got spare equipment, we can make our way home. We won't go through the camp, we'll bushwhack through the peaks proper."
Ushyle pulls Ham aside before he rest of the party heads upstairs, drawing his well-used, well-crafted cold iron falchion and offering it to the Ranger, pommel first. Everything else seems the same in my hands for some reason...except this, this feels awkward and clumsy.
He reaches to rub a very different forehead than the one Ham knew well and continues. The ability to use it must have come from my orcish blood. It is foreign to me now. But I know you can put it to good use.
Ham takes the thick blade from Ushyle and smiles.
Aye. I can use one. Never liked them much--they can strike a wicked blow, when you get lucky, but heavy as a bear and I can't use a shield. But this is exceptionally fine workmanship, and will definitely come in handy if we meet any more fey. Thanks, Ush. I'll keep it handy for any close encounters of the weird or magical kind.
Ham points to the stairs.
Up?
"What do you need?" Raen asks calmly of the men.
"Weapons and armor if possible. Barring that, we'll hide out until you leave, and if it's okay with you.... escape at your side."
Raen nods. "Weapons we can supply, but the armors we carry are not sized for you and I, excepting only those we wear ourselves. Hiding for the interim may be prudent."
She reaches into her bag and removes the iron spike of safe passage, holding it out to Berner and Forder. "Use this. Drive it into the ground and illusory barrels and crates and such will spring up all around you. Innocuous enough that any wandering giant will not take notice of you." She pauses, considering. "The floor below may be the best place, and I imagine you are eager to leave this place of pain."
After seeing the men off, Raen nods to Whistle Pig, avoiding eye contact with Ushyle or Vael.
"When do we meet back with you. And where?"
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"go to the floor below and wait for us there. We will find you when the time is right."
WP will take a quick snoop around the room for anything of interest (any more info on the plans of the giants or of anything of value).
He will then pad up the stairs
He will listen for sounds of activity
and then poke his hear in if it's safe
The only thing Whistle Pig hears is the wind. The top of the tower is destroyed. Cold mountain winds howl wickedly through the shattered stonework of this chamber. Almost half of the tower’s floor and outer wall has crumbled away, exposing the inner chambers to vertiginous heights and the battering elements.
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As the intrepid hobbit looks about, he spies the glimmer of gold in the northern corner.
That's when the crimson colored dragon swoops in and lands on an anvil across the way. A crown of cruel horns surrounds the head of this elephant-sized dragon. Thick scales the color of molten rock cover its long body.
It speaks with a crackling voice full of brimstone and heat, "I DON'T RECALL SMELLING YOU BEFORE..."
It's obvious that the dragon can't exactly see Whistle Pig, but is acutely aware of his presence...
Whistle Pig also looks over the edge. The tower is higher up than he thought.
It's a five hundred foot drop.
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WP is well shocked! a DRAGON! he has heard of tales about dragons but never thought he would see one in person! He's at a loss for words for a moment or two.
he speaks softly as to try and not give his position away.
"Greetings, oh scaled One. I did not intend to trespass. I am a mere Pig. Who might you be?"
Whistle Pig's knowledge ends at "this is a red dragon" unfortunately.
"I am Jahlvoraz Pig. I like pork. Why shouldn't I just simply eat you? I'm sure you're well decorated too. A halfling can't simply walk into this fortress without that stultifyingly useless Urathash performing one of his inquisitions on you. You must be a pig of means."
He snorts some acrid smoke, "A meal and prize. Perhaps today is my lucky day."
There's something.... wrong with the dragon. It's under the effects of a compulsion of some type.
"Impudent Pig! Your questions grow tiresome. My stomach grumbles. I.... I..."
you can tell that line of questioning is pressing on the compulsion.
Hamilton offers his backup armor--a suit of studded leather--to the survivors.
MY HOARD?! It's here you impudent whelp! I'll show you what it means to be a pet!"
The dragon casts a spell, but does not attack....
Yet.
Hearing the exchange and starting to worry, Raen splits into intershifting images.
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"being a slave to these weak giants must have made you weak. Did they take your hoard? That's it isn't it. You are a slave to this silly little band of giants. A tool for them to use as they wish." Pig let's out a sigh."I see the halflings of Cheliax has more spirit than you do. You are the first dragon I have ever talked to. Pity..."