“Well this looks like a good time.” Leon says with no hint of enthusiasm. Stepping towards the lip of the cliff the big man looks out to the ground below, fighting the dread that high places stirs up within him.
Taking a moment to let the dread dissipate and mull over what to do next, Leon decides to make a hail-mary. Striding into what he assumes is line of sight with the giant toad, “Hullo there big boy!” He booms through cupped hands. “I know you’ve got bigger problems than we could know but we are in desperate need of aid. We too are victims of the Warden and his kind, playthings for them to poke and prod." As he says this Leon motions to the pillars that subdue the creature. "Though I suspect my friends and I are part of a small group of lucky few who have escaped the prison, we won’t survive much longer if we go without the support of a creature of such immense import such as yourself!” Plastering on his most diplomatic smile, Leon then mutters “Gods, I hope you can talk.”
After a sticky dismount from the toad's tongue, Melfoil lands on the ground with an undignified splotch. As he brushes himself off, he looks up petulantly at the gaping toad.
"You know, it's a well known truth that the simplest explanation is always the most correct one." He continued, resting his forehead in his hand, "Which, of course, would explain why we were inside a GIANT BLOODY TOAD!" Melfoil was still a little bit grumpy from missing the last meal. The visions hadn't helped his mood, either. The words Leon had spoke were still lingering in his thoughts:
"What the hell was that knife-ears? Do you know each other?"
Do we know each other? I'm sure I would remember such miscreants...
His angry consternation soon dispersed as he took in his surroundings. The landscape was sick with despair, the rolling wave of dark eyes casting an ominous shadow over the landscape. This was not the time to be brooding. Melfoil heard Leon's entreaty to the toad and chimed in, offering some advice.
"I don't think you'll get much out of him" Melfoil raps a knuckle against one of the metal spikes. "Not until we get rid of these, at least."
Taking a step back to examine the spikes and applying some of his explosive nous, Melfoil tries to find any structural weakpoints in the spikes that could be exploited to, perhaps, give the toad some room to move his mouth, or to make the spikes easier to extract.
Shortly after, however, Melfoil's mind wanders again. He meets the Toad's eyes with a covetous gaze.
"But I do agree that the toad could be a very useful ally indeed..."
Melfoil approaches the Toad's body, brandishing the blue scimitar and an empty vial, his thoughts comfortably returning to its well-lived home of animal violence.
Leon takes a tenuous step over to the edge of the bluff, pushing his fear down into a deep, dark place where it could only taunt him, not distract him.
The big man, returned from his scouting, approaches the toad with a handful of... comments. The toad's human eye swivels back down to study the group. Before this moment, you'd never known that one eye could be filled with such intense disgust, and yet here it is...
Melfoil takes a few moments to study the spikes driven through the toad's mouth, seemingly unperturbed by the black horde of horror advancing upon them. Though perhaps he might have a better chance with some tools and the right amount of explosives, he figures that for now the pillars are impossible to move by hand and, if we're being honest here, likely sealed by some sort of magic. Instead, he decides that if he can't take the whole thing, he'll just take a little.
“Yeah screw you too, stupid frog!” Leon barks petulantly at the silent toad. Matching the disgust in its eyes, he continues "Hope you enjoy being the demons' trash can of choice." Putting his back to the toad Leon walks away, before calling to Melfoil, “Oi Knife-Ears! When you finish your scraping, I say we all book it for that city. Before night gets us.” Leon starts to jog down the ramp he saw earlier, not waiting to see if the others follow. "It will definitely be safe there." He laughs.
Leon takes off down the path and, with no time for discussion, the rest of you are forced to follow after. The ramp, curiously, gets steeper as you reach its bottom, but with death so close there's no chance to slow down.
Maldrek heel skids past where it should have stopped, sending him head over heels as he reaches the bottom of the ramp. His years of experience teach him to roll as he lands, mitigating any serious damage, but still costing the group some time to get him back on his feet.
Back on your feet, you continue your mad dash to the walls of the great city - to safety. Yet, perhaps in a ploy to take advantage of your curiosity, you spot a strange looking mailbox just up ahead. A wooden sign hangs stiffly from its pole. You've only a second or so to decide on your next step.
"Ooh, a box!"
Melfoil, again, is distracted by finding out more about something's insides, even at the cost of his allies' personal safety. He slows his sprint down to a jog as he approaches the mailbox and has a peek inside.
Melfoil, without regards to his friends wishes, slows down to inspect the mailbox.
The black wooden sign hanging from it reads as follows:
"XEPHUS, THE CHAIN WARDEN
DO NOT VANDALIZE MY MAILBOX! I SWEAR IF I FIND YOU I WILL--" The rest of the sentence is vandalized in such a way as to implicate the warden in multiple vulgar activities that are too inappropriate for the Paizo roleplaying forums.
The elf, in his best impression of the cat, opens the door of the mailbox. He finds two, big white eyes blinking back at him from the darkness. The creature surges forward from where it had compacted itself into the darkened space of the box. The monster, for monster it must be, swells as it extends out of its little space, becoming wider and taller than Leon twice over. Its skin - no, its very essence - is that of shadows, silky and undulating, so deep that one could be lost staring into it. Only its eyes - pure, untainted white, were noticeably different. The shadowbeast grows one great, clawed arm from the right side of its body and takes a swipe at Melfoil.
Melfoil, experienced in the dangers of the things he likes to study, jumps back just in time. The shadowbeast gives a horrible, warbling cry, though not in frustration. It's flesh - flesh? - bubbles, boiling in the fading light of the sun. It looks at Melfoil for a moment, hesitating, its hunger palpable and intensely powerful, before retreating in a rush back to its safe space. It glares at the elf, nursing its wounds, until Melfoil decides to shut the door once more... not before snagging a sealed envelope, at least.
You can still make it. If you run. Very, very fast.
Feeling an instant connection to this feral beast Leon throws open the mailbox, paying no mind to how it had tried to savage Melfoil. “Great beast, I see you have been imprisoned by the feeble Warden. We have defeated him and I, Leon Gadran, have claimed his weapon as my own. Creature of shadow join with us, the truly strong, and we will do great things!”
Tempted once more, the shadowbeast can not contain itself. It launches forward at Leon's face, unfurling itself with two mighty claws this time.
The beast's second claw rips straight through Leon's body, sinking straight into his flesh and ripping through his heart and out through his back. Leon gasps, looking down, only to find not a single scratch on his body and, he assumes, his heart still in one piece. Still, he feels incredibly weakened - as if a part of his very soul has been drained away. He feels like a lesser man.
Already weakened by its previous assault, the shadowbeast can no longer find the strength to withdraw. It collapses to the ground, its essence boiling in the light of the sun. It writhes, screams, trying to claw its way back into the blessed shadows of the mailbox, but it can't find the strength. It screams until its final waking moment, evaporated into nothingness by the relentless, merciless burning.
Though physically weakened, Leon’s true pain is at seeing the beast felled so easily. “I guess I was wrong,” says Leon, turning away as the last of the Shadowbeast’s essence dissipates. “You were as weak as your master.” Breaking into a slow jog he stops after a few steps, breathless. After a few deep breaths he gasps “Someone else lead the way. I'll watch the rear.”
Something in Leon's dejected look stops Melfoil mid potion quaff, leaving the vial resting just short of his lips. The sight stirs a memory in Melfoil, to a time when he may have conducted some research into animal husbandry or some such; it was a bit hazy. He offers Leon his best consolatory shrug before continuing to pour the contents of the vial into his mouth and gargling loudly.
"It's probably for the best, Leon." Melfoil says, spitting the contents back into the vial and smacking his lips. "Come on, somebody grab Clarice and let's go"
With a surprising spring in his step, Melfoil's thin legs lope ahead of the party toward the city.
lvl 1:
Cure Light Wounds x1
Expeditious retreat x1
Reduce Person x1
Targeted Bomb Admixture x1
lvl 2:
Invisibility x2
Prepared Mutagen: Strength
Bombs p/day: 8
Clarice emerged from the giant frog, with a loud "BWAHAHRGHHGHELBLBLB" she slipped while walking down its slimy tongue, face first on the floor as she slides down to the ground.
She looks up in horror realizing what she just came out of. "A-a shower... I... I need a shower She stands up and collected herself.
Clarice looks towards her comrades... one of them seemed to aggravate a strange creature. " LEON NO!" She screamed out But alas it was too late... Leon was attacked by the beast, and she was left to stand with her face resting on her palms. "Let's head out before we DIE out here. We just got out of that... thing... and I don't know about you boys but I would really like to be well inside the safe confines of a giant wall and utilising the comforts an inn can provide"
She starts running towards the city, hoping to never come back of the wretched place.
Melfoil, through some alchemical magic, sprints off towards the city twice as fast as the rest of you. The first thing he notices are the lack of guards - the second are the two paintings layered into the front of the gate. Two jesters, one facing upwards, sword drawn and laughing is joined at the hip to the other, which faces down, shield held forth, frowning.
"Jeez," spoke the top one, "cuttin' it close, a'int ya? Ol' Graxxy'll be gettin' some shut-eye any second now."
"Hush," hissed the bottom, "look at him, he's distraught. He wants the gate open, you dip."
"Yeah, yeah, I'll open it in - hey, funny story. This reminds me of that time back in Jesterville - or Clowntown, as it was called back then - they changed the name because..."
Leon, Maldrek, and Clarice speed along with the swarm of nocturnal hounds hard on their heels. The curious shape of the disappearing sun has resulted in a thin wedge of sunlight to form, with the group stuck in its zenith. Shadowbeasts hound you from all sides but north, barely twenty paces away. Every now and then one slashes a claw through the barrier only to bring it back, screaming, bubbling. One can't contain itself - it launches itself at Clarice, mighty claws extended only to evaporate into shadowy dust mere inches from her face.
Clarice spins to the left to dodge the attack, but her foot catches on her ankle, unable to dodge and maintain the necessary speed, and she pitches forward, arms flailing. Leon leans down mid-stride, not slowing in the slightest, and slings his arm under Clarice's armpits. He swoops her up and swaps her with his magically diminished axe - with goblin in his left hand, weapon in his right, he continues on. Leon and Maldrek press together, slashing left and right at the increasingly aggressive shadowbeasts, felling the light-weakened creatures before they can cause any damage. Even Clarice, bundled up as she was, flings globs of acid and frost at those closing in from behind.
One false step, one mistake, and they would be swallowed by the sea of black death.
"...which is how I came to end up here, stuck in this wall. I'd always wanted to prove to my father that I could get a steady job, but this? This isn't quite what I had in mind... anyway, I-"
Melfoil simply shook his head, having long since resigned himself to death.
"Look, you blithering idiot, they're going to die because of your unequaled lip-flapping. They need the gate open!"
The top jester looked at the coming flood as if noticing it for the first time. He made an 'O' of understanding with his mouth, then shook his head.
"Ah, yes, well too late for that now. You should have said something sooner. Y'see, if we open it now, we won't be able to shut it in time, and then they'll all get in and - well - that'd probably get me fired."
Leon, Clarice, and Maldrek arrive just in time to hear the bad news. Despite their heroics, despite their hard work, despite their perseverance, Fate had forsaken them.
Yet, Fate was a fickle mistress...
A lone, cloaked figure appeared at top of the wall. Seemingly female by its figure (though, truly, who could tell in this world), tall, yet unrecognizable and shrouded by the darkness of her cloak. She brings forth something small from her hip - a vial filled with some shining liquid - and hurls it off the wall at the group. The vial sails through the air - whoosh, whoosh, whoosh - and lands fifteen paces past Leon's shoulder, at the head of the horde.
The vial shatters and the entire area is instantly bathed in brilliant, white sunlight. The light burns so bright and fierce that you find yourselves forced to shut your eyes or be blinded. The light fades in a few seconds, and as you open your eyes you see in a wide arc behind you the ashen corpses of a thousand shadowbeasts. The explosion had obliterated the beasts up to a solid fifty paces out. Glancing up, you see the figure is gone.
"Oh, well would you fancy that! You lot must be important if someone could justify wasting a sunbomb on saving you. You know, this reminds me-"
"OPEN THE !@#$ING GATE!"
The jester grumbles, giving the group annoyed glances, but finally sighs in acquiescence.
"Fine, fine. No need to thank me, I'm just doing my job. Welcome to Purgatorium."
The gate creaks upon, just wide enough for you all to hurriedly squeeze in, and promptly slams shut right behind you. You hear the gate-softened sound of the jester behind you.
"Enjoy your stay, you're here forever..."
As soon as the gate slams behind him, Leon doubles over once again trying to reclaim some air into his lungs. He reaches up to wipe the sweat from his brow with the back of his hand not realising it is now clasping Clarice’s ovoid head. Eventually Leon’s eyes meet Clarice’s and without a word he puts both hands either side of her ridiculous cranium and places her back on her own two feet. “Sorry ‘bout that.”
Putting his back to a nearby part of the wall, Leon slides down it. Resting his arms on his raised knees he looks to Maldrek and says, “Nice moves out there Tiefling. Glad to have had someone watching my back out there.” He shoots a disapproving glare at Melfoil. “Maybe pass the bottle round next time, eh Mel?”
Gadran then turns his attention to their new surroundings. “So where are we fellow runaways? And what kind of stupid name is Purgatorium?” He practically shouts the last part hoping the obnoxious painted clown hears him on the other side of the gate.
|
Maldrek stumbles inside the doors, falling to his knees as he covers his eyes "What the hell... WARN US BEFORE YOU THROW DAMNED SUNLIGHT THINGIES IN FRONT OF THOSE WHO SEE PERFECTLY IN THE DARK, FOR F#!#'S SAKE!"
Blinking multiple times as he tries to focus his gaze, the tiefling discovers the unknown female saviour has disappeared "I mean... C'mon, that could have blind me..." he adds, trying to recover a modicum of dignity after his rant.
Standing up, Maldrek offers Leon his hand for a handshake "Well, you did a hell of a job too, human... Even if I'm not sure you are completely human after your display against the Warden."
Observing the surroundings, Maldrek cleans his clothes off dirt (?) and shadowbeast's goo before smiling "First thing shoul be obvious, my burly raging friend... I want the biggest drink this city has to offer."
Leon rises to take Maldrek’s hand, clapping his large mitt around the Tiefling’s forearm. “HA! And with that you are now my new favourite. Don’t tell Knife-Ears though, it'll break his heart.” Chuckles the big man, with a wink and a purposeful boom in his voice.
Leon extends his axe to a good crutch length, and rests his considerable weight upon it as inconspicuously as possible. Though he'd never admit it, his encounters with the Warden and their beast have left the big man quite worse for wear. With a shaky bravado he bellows, “Let’s drink ourselves into a new oblivion!” Brandishing a finger towards a random direction, Leon begins to walk off, or more aptly shambles off clinging to his axe, in search of inebriation.
The intensity of the chase, the adrenaline-rush pumping of blood in your eardrums, the heart-constricting though of impending doom - it was all loud and fast, which only meant the juxtaposition to the current silence was more powerful.
After gathering your breath, you take a moment to drink in your surroundings. Where the major gates of your home cities tended to be bustling with people, here there was nothing. An odd person here or there, hurrying along quickly and quietly, and refusing to heed whatever calls you may make towards them. It was a ghost town... out of the frying pan, and into the freezer.
As the group decides to move, you find the place to be not only seemingly deserted, but also perhaps even stranger than you might have originally thought. Architectural styles from different centuries stand side-by-side, bridges connect the upper stories of different buildings at random, and some buildings appear to have no entrances what-so-ever. The city made no sense - and it didn't seem to care.
After a few minutes of wondering, you come to clearing in the urban jungle. It springs upon you suddenly - one moment you're drifting down dead, silent streets, the next you've turned a corner and the buildings that have hedged you in now line a clearing, forty foot wide, avoiding its center as if frightened.
The first thing you notice is that the center of the clearing contains a large, dead tree. Not a single leaf still stands upon its withered branches - in fact there is a whole ring of the brown, rotted leaves on the ground. The second thing you notice is that the tree is weeping and moaning. The third is the that the tree is surrounded by almost thirty mutant crows.
The monstrous crows - each three times larger than normal, each with six blood-red eyes, and each with thick talons and jagged teeth protruding from their beaks - are taunting the tree-man, jeering, croaking, occasionally stabbing him with their beaks. Despite the bullying, they don't seem to be attacking the tree - instead they are watching, waiting, for something... you can't quite guess.
The face in the tree opens his eyes at last and, upon seeing the group, gives an enormous, relieved sigh.
"Heavens above, earth below," his voice, battered by age, has the texture of growing bark - and moves at about the same pace, "Fresh souls. Chained souls, but fresh none-the-less. I can see it in your eyes - the excitement for life as only the unbroken can possess. You've questions, many questions, I'm sure, I'm sure, and Old Tarvash has answers, many answers - hopefully, the ones you are seeking. Wouldst you, blessed Walkers, consider a trade? The wisdom of age for the strength of youth." Old Tarvash, finally coming to the end of his words, wheezes and then coughs, spitting up a wad of sickly looking sap.
The first of the giant crows notices you at last. It turns and croaks, and is soon joined by many of its allies. Thirty crows cawing simultaneously, flapping their wings, raining oily, black feathers upon the ground and bearing their wicked fangs in warning. Despite the aggression, those nearest to you give you a wide birth - shifting and hopping backwards at the slightest of motions.
"These elixirs require special training to handle..." Melfoil pouted, under his breath. Though, watching the others celebrate being alive together, he did feel a deep shame that he couldn't, or didn't, help them. However, after a quick huff of the noxious gases rising from his alchemical brace, this remorse had dispersed with the exhaled fumes. The familiar warmth of blood welling in his nostrils returned and Melfoil whistled merrily as they walked down the streets.
***
Hearing the wizened tree's offer, Melfoil steps forward, flinching slightly as the crows screech and flap at him.
"Speak the terms of your trade, tree. We are in large supply of strength and - oh for Findeladlara's sake!" Melfoil raises the sole of his boot to see the viscous strands of sap he had just trodden in. The crows' raucous cawing taunt Melfoil like a jeering crowd.
"Look, just drop the mysticism and tell us what you want." Melfoil taps his sticky foot impatiently.
Old Tarvash looks at Melfoil, then at the birds, then back at Melfoil. He tsk tsks, as if to remind himself of the foibles of youth and to not be so harsh for their presence.
"Young one, these thrice-damned birds torment me daily. I've not been able to keep a leaf in... in..." he trails off, muttering, "If you were to take care of them for me I wouldst be forever indebted. Even if you scare them away for just a day...just a day..." His voice creaks under the strain of a years-long torment. "They're a craven lot - only the mightiest of them might contest you -and should you destroy their toughest, the rest would scatter as leaves upon the wind. It would be a mighty kindness..."
A haughty smile creases Melfoil's face.
"All you need is for us to play scarecrow for a day? Hah!"
Melfoil turns to the rest, listening for echoes of confidence. Instead, he sees a battered, sorry lot, wearing the trials of the past few hellish days in the dried blood under their fingernails and the viscera tangled in their clothes and hair. Leon especially looks like his vitality has been wrung out of him; trying hard to hide wounds that had not healed. A much overdue sobriety weighs against Melfoil and presses his smile flat. He was tired, too.
"I think, tree, your eternal suffering will have to be endured for another day. We are in no shape to be tending to the needs of others...right, comrades?"
Leon weathers the long awkward silence for quite a while, unwilling to admit to his frailty. Finally, it becomes too much and with a roll of his eyes the weakened warrior shambles forward. “Sorry to say strange, talking tree thing but the Elf speaks true; We’ve got our own problems. If you’re still alive tomorrow, maybe my friends will lend you a hand.” And with that the big man leans on his axe and begins to hobble forward once again, though he does throw a kick out at the nearest bird.
Clarice nodded "Would you be able to endure one more day, Wise Old Tarvash, sir?... Promise that we will come back and help you! Even with the strength of youth, some of us will not be able to withstand more suffering."
Clarice bowed to the old tree out of respect. "I've no indication of how strong these crows are and I've used most of my better spells. I think it would be ill advised for us to fight until our next rest." Clarice looks up at the crows above, her eyes tired and stressed.
"But... if it REALLY comes down to it..." A slight expression of panic appeared in Clarice's face for a micro second as she imagined another gruesome fight with big scary crows " I- I'm sure a couple of us would still be able to fight, but not without great risk..."
She looks over to Maldrek "...Right?"
then over to Melfoil "...M-maybe"
then over to Leon "okay yeah....maybe not.."
The fleeting, drooping, flicker of hope that sparkled in the old man's eyes gradually dimmed as each of you spoke - soon becoming as dull and bleak as the world he lived in. He let out some small whisper of a moan - a resignation - and hacked up some more brownish-green sap.
"Very well." he hummed, trying to keep the disappointment from his voice "What's another day? Fair-thee-well, chained souls. May you walk in the light..."
The vicious crows, as if understanding what had transpired, didn't even wait for the group to withdraw before cawing and jabbing Old Tarvash's bark skin once more.
***
You leave before the tree's creaking moans can disturb you, stepping out of the clearing and back into a dead alley chosen at random. Left, right, then left, and just like that you find yourselves stepping into a flood of... people. Creatures of all races jostle by, most seemingly in a hurry to get to their homes before the dying light of the sun completely disappears.
It might have reminded you of a typical, populated city... if it weren't for the disfigurements, mutations, evolutions, and plain weirdness of the people passing you by. Though you can typically tell their original race, the majority of citizens are marred by physical blights, each distinct and unique. Some small few are relatively untouched by the changing - a malformed mouth here, or glowing amber eyes and drooling fangs there. Some fall to the other extreme - completely and utterly unrecognizable to their original selves (or, perhaps, simply of a race as of yet unknown to you).
A small lane along the right side of the road, closest to you, opens up. Along it rush a few men and women in guards uniforms (some still in the process of donning such armour), running past back into the direction that you've came from. The stream of anxious warriors is inconsistent, one or two passing by every ten minutes or so. Each of there bears, somewhere on their bodies but always clearly visible, a symbol of a golden shield, lined by twinkling stars.
No one pays you any attention.
Clarice couldn't help but feel a deep sense of guilt as they walked away from the old tree.
"I'll come back for you... I promise" she thought.
*****************************
Clarice, looking dishevelled, quickly moves on to one of the guards. Desperate to get their attention, trying to compensate for her small stature, she starts hopping while flailing her hands in mid-air.
"H-HELLO! YOOHOOOO~ OVER HERE HELLOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!!! she shouted towards the guards. "W-WOULD ONE OF YOU BE ABLE TO TELL US WHERE WE COULD STAY FOR THE NIGHT?!
Clarice, as is to be expected, chooses precisely the worst possible time to do anything. As she yips and hops about, she stumbles into the path of a monster. Thundering around the corner comes a beast of a woman, eight foot tall and covered in glittering crimson scales. Her right eye socket is filled with a sticky green liquid which sometimes dribbles down her cheeks in rivulets, down to where her lower right jaw (for it split four ways) melted into the flesh of her neck.
Her visage, already darkened by some nuisance, turns to murder as her rampage through the crowd is interrupted by Clarice's insistence. Almost without stopping, the woman snarls as she scoops Clarice up, clawed fist clasped around her neck, turns on one foot and slams her into the wall to her left.
She draws her right arm back and flares her claws, splattering the Clarice in green goo as a flurry of minor claws and wicked-sharp bones pierce through her hand and forearm like some murderous pine cone. Poor Clarice blanches as she realizes that her innocent request has resulted in her imminent death, unable to unclasp the hand that wraps like iron around her throat.
The guard-woman's thrust is suddenly stopped dead, having pistoned towards Clarice's face only to be held still in mid-air. The woman turns her head only slightly, staring knives from eye and socket alike at whatever was brave or stupid enough to get between her and her target.
Leon stood right by her shoulder, hand and forearm wrapped around her bicep in a death-grip, holding her still. His arm is crimson up to his elbow, black death swirls in his eyes, and the beginnings of horns are already protruding from his forehead, though the rest of his body remains as of yet unchanged. The two warriors glare at each other - each knowing the other to be as near to physical perfection as mere mortals could get, each respecting the others strength, yet unwilling to back down. No words need be uttered - the bulging and trembling of biceps said all that mattered.
Then, as the tension of the situation reaches boiling point, a skinny young elvish man, diminutive, rotted bat-wings protruding from his back, comes hustling towards them, arms flailing in exasperation.
"Hold, hold! Put your weapons down," he says, gesturing primarily to Maldrek, who had - completely unnoticed by anyone - positioned the tip of his blade in the center of the woman's back. Maldrek glares at the man, but doesn't withdraw. "Watch Captain Tisis! Watch Captain Tisis! Let them be, the wall needs you! Do not forget your duties!" The man - another guard, as identified by the shield symbol bandanna tied to his upper arm - realizes how fatally close he had come to commanding Watch Captain Tisis even as the words sputter from his lips. He looks aghast, as if he'd just made the worst mistake of his life.
Tisis nostrils flare in anger. She growls, spits a wad of green muck into the dirt, and then she promptly drops Clarice, rips herself free of Leon's grip, and is thudding off down the street.
"THAT'LL BE TWO LAPS, LIEUTENANT DANNIGAD," her voice is like gravel, dipped in superiority and wrapped in a cocoon of expectation - an expectation that she were to be obeyed. Curiously, she pronounces the word "lieutenant" as the scholars of old might - 'leftenant'. "AND TELL THIS MOTLEY CREW OF LOSERS THAT IF THEY GET IN MY WAY AGAIN - I'LL..." The end of her sentence is made unintelligible by the sheer distance she managed to put between you and her... but it can be surmised.
Lieutenant Dannigad lets out the breath he had been holding for so long, relieved and a touch surprised at the outcome of the situation. The relief is then replaced by disappointment, like a boy being told he must clean his room.
"Well, that could have gone worse," he says, letting out a short, nervous laugh, "normally I don't make it in time. And I'm always the one stuck with the subsuquent paperwork... better laps than paperwork, I suppose..." The lieutenant scratches at his stubble, studying Leon. "Props to your bravery, big man. Without you, your friend here would be a red smear on that wall. But... do try to perhaps be a little less... noticeable, should you come across her again in the next few days. Her memory is short as a pumperfish, but twice as vicious.. say, uhh..." He suddenly looks sheepish, his little, vestigial wings flapping lazily. "I don't suppose you could just forget about all this, eh? Let bygones be bygones? Anything I can help you with to convince you not to file a complaint? It won't change anything - it just means more work for me... Besides, they won't notice me at the wall anyway, I can afford some time." Lieutenant Dannigad gives his best winning smile which, while awkward, is also at least somewhat charming.
Melfoil was pulled through the streets like a fish on a line, buffeted constantly by the dervish of sights and smells of the manic Purgatorium. Faces snarled into view and disappeared as quickly as they came. An 8-foot tall scaled woman assaulted Clarice and was beaten back by the party before Melfoil could scarcely quiver an excited lip in lascivious awe of her improbable physique. Then, again, yet another new face stepped into frame. Introduced as Lieutenant Dannigan, Melfoil finally found a place for his eyes to comfortably rest, feeling at ease in the presence of Dannigan's elvish features. A compulsion to answer Dannigan struck Melfoil, spurred by a faint, but nagging feeling that he was being written out of his own story.
Stepping over Clarice and squeezing past the still tightly coiled and testosterone swollen duo of Maldrek and Leon, Melfoil comes face to face with Dannigan, "I think that, perhaps, we could come to a mutual understanding, no? We, downtrodden and weary travelers that we are, could use a roof under which to spend the night. Otherwise we might be more compelled to spend the night at the complaint...desk."
Melfoil extends a hand out to Dannigan. "Do this for us and you have my word, elf to elf, that we can let such an obvious transgression of Purgatorium protocol go unreported."
"Elf?" Lieutenant Dannigad mulls the word over in his mouth, as if yet to decide whether to savor it longer or spit it on the floor. He looked at his hand, turned it over, studied every curve and contour of his long, bony digits, then nodded. "Elf." The word, now swallowed, was filed away for later use - somewhere, somehow simultaneously, next to his mother's maiden name and his existential ponderings.
"Yes, yes, though I might advise dropping the word travelers from your descriptions. One doesn't travel ones home, one merely inhabits it... however wide it might be." He shakes his head, mentally veering back onto the track of pertinence. "It can be tough for freshlings to, err, fit in at first. It would be immoral for me to impose the hospitality and safety of the Atemni," he gestures to the shield symbol upon his upper arm, "upon desperate souls, however much I may think it a good idea. You need time to get to know your true selves before you are ready to make such a commitment. Instead, I give you this: Mad Maddy's. The owner, Maddy, is... eccentric," he snorts, "but she's known to have a soft spot for the downtrodden and destitute. Like you! There are many other taverns, of course, but her's is your best bet. It'll take many, many years before your application for personal housing will even be looked at, let alone accepted, so you'll be confined to taverns 'til then. Or the streets, I s'pose." The disgusted quiver of his lip suggests all you need to know about his opinion on that idea.
Lieutenant Dannigad scratches once more at his stubble, stretches his diminutive leather scraps, then snaps back to reality.
"Regardless, that's all I can offer you at this time. Should you require anything further, and should my schedule permit, I'd be happy to help where and when I can. Simply request an audience with Lieutenant Dannigad at any Atemni station... well, most Atemni stations. Some." The elf gathers his bearings and begins skipping off before any of you can get a further word in. He turns to face you before he leaves you sight, raising hands to lips to call out one last time; "Mad Maddy's, Mad Maddy's, Mad Maddy's!" The words are repeated, like a mantra, and then he is gone.
The moment passes, and like an over-large bubble finally being popped, your focus fades back into the thrum of traffic and nightly commerce.
|
|
Maldrek repeats the bureaucrat guardsman's mantra out loud "Mad Maddy's, Mad Maddy's, Mad Maddy's!" to test something going on his mind.
After a couple seconds waiting for anything to happen he says "Mad Maddy's won't come to pick us up, so let's find her and the booze."
And so the tiefling starts walking.
Melfoil jogs to catch up with Maldrek then turns to the rest of the group, shrugging.
"I'm sure Mad Maddy isn't that mad. Surely that'd be a tad too obvious for this place, which seems to really revel in its own obtuseness. It's probably just a marketing trick, an embellishment to stand apart from the other taverns in the area."
Melfoil continues on and keeps pace with Maldrek, shoulder to shoulder, as he moves forward through the crowded streets. His strides are strong and deliberate, carrying with them a real sense of purpose. It was a refreshing sight, considering everything up until this point had been utterly chaotic.
Smiling, Melfoil leans in and whispers to Maldrek, "You have no idea where you're going, do you?"
Melfoil then scrutinises the streets, letting loose a sharp whistle and holding his hand out in an attempt to hail the nearest vehicle, or monstrosity, that could ferry them to their destination.
"Mad Maddy's, anyone?
The throng moves past Melfoil, unperturbed, and prompts him to alter his approach: "I'm willing to pay?"
Too intent on watching for anymore assailants Leon nearly gets left behind by the group. Forgoing the walking axe, he rushes up to his allies just as Melfoil begins his hollering. “Be careful Knife-Ears. Who knows what payment they'll take.” Says Leon with a wry smile, motioning to his finger that mirrors Melfoil’s lost digit.
Leaving Melfoil to ponder that, Leon moves next to Clarice. With the support of his wondrous axe the tired brawler crouches down next to the Goblin, ensuring he is in between her and the bustling crowds as much as possible. "Oi, 'Clarice'. You keeping it together?" Leon chuckles as he raps his knuckles on Clarice's giant noggin. "I'm gonna need you all fighting fit if you're going to carry me out of this mad place." He addresses this to the group with a strained smile as he plants a strong hand on Clarice’s back and pushes her closer to Maldrek and Melfoil. "And I AM getting out of here. Just so I don't spend eternity in a place with that she-beast." Leon shudders as he recalls the face of Tisis.
Rising back to his feet Leon moves to stand close behind them all, extending his axe and planting it down onto the path preparing himself for any more aggravated monstrosities wanting to make their day worse.
Mad Maddy's. Mad Maddy's. Mad Maddy's.
By now night has fully descended upon the city of Purgatorium, swallowing all but the most stubbornly lively streets in shadows. The sun, having finally shut is fiery eye, seemed to at once open anew. A milky efflorescence tingles somewhere beneath the sun's surface, expands, and covers it entirely. Where once stood a sun, now was a moon, huge and round and pale and white. Despite its enormity, the light it shed on the world was that of a half-shuttered lamp; dim to the point of uselessness.
Mad Maddy's. Mad Maddy's. Mad Maddy's.
The group stumbles along, hedged in by the gradually thinning traffic of creatures - though the sight of Leon's gnarly axe convinces the throng to give you a wider birth than most. Then, at last, seemingly prompted by Melfoil's offer, a gap forms in the sea of limbs.
MAD MADDY'S!
The sign, written multiple times in languages uncountable and unknowable, hangs low from the already low-hanging awning. On the street, just outside the door, stands a hitching post. Four curious mud-coloured beasts are tied to it; each with many slitted, black eyes running down their snouts, manes of plaited moss, and six furry legs, and each huddled together at the far right end, stamping their hooves and snorting nervously at the fifth horse tied to the post.
It was clearly the most beautiful horse you've ever seen. Stout and powerfully built, it stood as tool as Leon at its shoulder (thus dwarfing the other frightened beasts). Its entire body was coated in short, unmarred, brilliant white fur, which only deviated along its glossy, well-combed mane. Its golden eyes belied an intelligence greater than your average beast, and though it had no qualms in using its commanding presence to intimidate any who looked to harass it, it was not unnecessarily cruel. The stallion preferred to be left alone - and left alone he was.
As the group ascends the front steps to the porch (with Leon, Maldrek, and Melfoil all having to duck under the sign), the sounds of alcoholic merriment, bawdy tunes, and general chatter spills out from behind the saloon doors. Stepping through, you come upon a world of laughter and comfort - a place to forget ones sorrows, even if only for an afternoon.
Inside is, aside from its patrons with their varying degrees of limbs, what one would expect of a busy tavern in one of the poorer districts of town. Many tables full of arguing, cheering, singing, and laughing men and women of all shapes and sizes, a large bar running along the entire left wall, with doors leading back towards the kitchens, and two stories of rooms for customers towards the back of the establishment.
To the right, in a booth in the far corner, a man in full plate armour sits alone, his golden-white lance propped up against his seat. He seems to be left alone by the other patrons, and stares daggers at any who dare to come close. Curiously, you can't seem to detect any kind of mutations about him - he appears entirely human. If you could have one guess as to who owned the stallion out front; it'd be him.
Clarice delighted at the sight of the tavern, quickly burst through the door "BATH! WHERES THE BATH?! she exclaimed as she looked around the room, looking for the so called "Maddy".
As Clarice scoured the room with her huge eyes, she did a double take as she sees a perfect vision of her future ex-husband/prince. What a sight to behold! (compared to the other mutated creatures around her anyway) .
Clarice was taken aback, as she entered into a daydream...
The man radiated a warm gold and pink glow, his hair blowing in the wind as his sour expression turn into a dreamy, sultry smile, as she imagined him beckoning her to his embrace. She goes to him, and they meet with a kiss. The days pass as they watched the cotton candy clouds above them turn into petals as they walked down the aisle, Leon crying on one side, Maldrek singing beautiful wedding songs, and Melfoil tossing bits of rice and petals into the newly weds. Everything fades as you hear soft cries in the distance, and suddenly, she finds herself on a hospital bed, with him on her side and their beautiful baby boy was born. They looked at each other, peaceful and happy, an image of a beautiful perfect family...
Clarice snapped out of it, quickly realising her predicament. She was not well dressed or clean for such a momentous meeting! Clarice hurriedly tried to find Maddy, hoping to get a room, a hot bath, and a chance to mend her muddied and tattered dress.
"And so I says to her, I says: Molly, if ye can't stand the heat, then get outta th' kitchen!" The mob of burly men sitting together at the bar erupt into laughter, clanging mugs of ale and being generally over-loud and obnoxious. That is, until, they are interrupted by the authoritarian screech of a woman's voice.
"Amadeus Voltus Jr, you can take those words and shove them back in that bunghole you call a mouth! You wouldn't have a damn clue how t'feed yourself without a wonderful wife like Molly. How that flamewitch hasn't burnt the rudeness out of you yet speaks only to your idiocy, not her inadequacy! And I'll have no more nonsense from you!" The man, Amadeus, becomes sullen, sulking back into his stool from where he had been standing. The woman's judging eye passes over them all, forcing each man from a quiet mirth into admonished silence. Then she cackled. "'sides, Amadeus wouldn't know a pan if I thunked him over the head with it m'self! Probably wouldn't feel it, either." Thus, like that, the mood immediately returns to joviality and excessive teasing.
The woman, having said her piece, motions to another barman to cover her position as she clambers over it, knocking over a mug or two along the way. Mad Maddy, for it could only be her, stands in front of the group, hands on her hip, somehow giving them a questioning yet understanding look simultaneously. The witch, as she was, seemed to be of half-elf descent, yet her skin was covered in bumps and warts and held the texture of bark. Most notably of all was her hair, which boomed out in all directions from her skull, fall thickly and darkly to the floor, where it held tight around her bare ankles.
"Oh, look at you," she says, gesturing to the lot of you, though primarily to Clarice. "Freshlings, I take it? I know every odd sort that comes around these parts, and I've never seen you before. You must be starving, tired, scared..." The woman tut-tuts, shaking her head and finger metronomically. "Well worry not. Mummy dearest will take care of you! Baths first. You stink of blood and guts and..." she sniffs at the air, deducing one smell from the hundreds of others, separating it like a single thread from a ball of yarn, "...shadowstuff? Fresh and irresponsible, I see. Not to worry! You're here now, off you go, off you go, there'll be time for discussion over dinner!" Maddy gently smacks the lot of you upon the rump, herding you over to the back wall, through a doorway, then a series of twisting halls, until you finally reach another door.
Now opened, a sigh of steam escapes the room, and she hurries you all in so as not to let in the cold air with you.
"Do take your time, freshlings. Let the warmth ease you're worries. You're safe! I'll come back to collect you when dinner's ready!" Beaming, she shuts the door behind her, with you all in side. A second later, a click.
The room is sparsely furnished - containing four baths, already full of steaming water; a rack from which hung a multitude of towels and such; and a bench along the back wall. Nothing else. There was no privacy to be had here.
As soon as this ‘Maddy’ ushered them into the baths and left, Leon walks the perimeter of the room inspecting it for the usual trickery; hidden doors, peep holes, the works. He knocks on the walls with the butt of his shrunken axe, pulls on the rack and kicks the bench away from the wall.
Turning to look at his assuredly confused allies he shrugs, "I like to know when I have an audience."
"One should always perform at their best, regardless of an audience."
Melfoil may have completely misunderstood Leon's comment, but no one corrected him. Attention was instead drawn to the fact that he, with his gear balled up to the side, was already stark naked.
He dipped a finger into one of the baths, "Ah! Still a bit hot."He sat obscenely on the edge of the bath and bent over, retrieving the longish-shortish container from his belongings.
"Perhaps while we wait, we should investigate our haul?" Melfoil said, beaming. He gave the box a customary rattle and then pried it open, revealing the contents for all to see.
Clarice was shocked as they were all ushered in the bath TOGETHER. Did the madam know that she was of the female persuasion?! THE CALAMITY OF IT ALL! How can she take a bath with all these men around?! She looks around, and shrieks as she saw Melfoil already showing off his birthday suit. "H-HAVE YOU NO SHAME?!
Clarice curled into the corner and cries, she just wants to have a nice bath BY HERSELF.
With a copious amount of courage, she stands up, takes off her armour, leaving only the white cloth undergarment dress on her self. She moves carefully towards one of the baths, grabbing a towel along the way, the mixture of tears and her strong effort to squint her eyes as much as possible, was enough to blur her vision as to not see anymore nakedness. Clarice chooses the bath furthest away from Melfoil and fully dipped herself in there, for an uncomfortably long time.
After taking a moment to chuckle at Clarice’s embarrassment, Leon then drags the bench over to the door. “I don’t want any unwanted guests.” He says, directed more to the Fates than to anyone in the room, and jams the bench up against the door. Moving to the bath beside Melfoil, he pulls off his chain mail and sheds his battered clothes. “Sorry Maldrek, you get stuck next to the prissy Goblin.” He chuckles wincing as it makes his sides hurt.
Lowering his scarred and tired form into the hot water, the exhausted warrior can’t help but let out a satisfied sigh and begins to sink down deeper, resting his feet over the edge. Melfoil’s talk of treasure draws Leon’s attention though and he turns to see what is inside Melfoil’s precious purloined box. With a groan he immediately turns away from the unashamed Elf and says “How about you just tell me what’s in there Knife-Ears, because I don’t think I can ever look at you again.”
Leon's excellent perceptive work reveals... a basket of soiled clothes and, folded behind an exposed piece of plumbing, a crumpled old note between star-crossed lovers.
***
Melfoil, long, delicate fingernail scratching at the opening mechanism, manages to slip the cover of the box free. Within the longish-shortish box Melfoil finds another shortish-longish box, wrapped around which is a scroll.
Melfoil's eyes widen as he reads over the runic symbols on the scroll.
"Oh Leon, stay your curiosity." Melfoil sinks his nudity into the bath.
"This is not for your eyes. oh no, no, no..." he trails off, leaning into the back of the tub, holding the scroll with both hands and devouring it with his eyes. He breaks his gaze only once, with a start:
"Do you think it would be impertinent to get some alcohol in here? I could really use the purest spirit they have on shelf." Without an immediate answer to his questions, Melfoil returns to the scroll again.
|
|
As soon as the group entenred Maddy's place, Maldrek was enraptured. The ambient, the mutated patrons, the smells... it was almost home.
Hell, the full-plated guy silently screaming 'knight in shining armor' could be count among the things he used to be used to.
With a huge childish smile the tiefling was about to approach the 'knight' when Maddy caught them. He kept his smile and nodded as only a fool or a kid can, following the witch through the passages until they reached the baths.
"Oi Leon, don't try to disguise any peeking as alertness or guard duty, it's okay to be curious but trust me... I'm almost human down the waist." joked the tiefling as he whispered something in Infernal. Darkness covered his bathtub and him as he took his clothes and entered the warm water, the act revealed only by the sounds he made. A moment later he dispelled it. "Did any of you see Mister Golden Lance? He seemed too... mundane... another newcomer perhaps? I'm considering chatting him up after dinner, see what he knows and who the hell he is."
"HURGHBLBLBL blblbbblblburgh" Clarice almost forgot that she was underwater hiding her shame as she tried to speak to Maldrek. She peeped out of the water, staring intently at the wall, trying not to directly look at any of her companions. "If you're talking about that gorgeous hunk of a man that was, yes I definitely saw him..." she sighed staring into the mists, her eyes in some sort of trance.
She snaps out of it immediately. "He seemed out of place from the rest of the creatures around here... He's just so... clean a-and...and HANDSOME"
"But yes, I suppose we can talk to him. But let's not screw it up and make a bad impression, yes? Clarice said, ever oblivious to her own manners.
“I will try to control myself Maldrek.” Leon says dryly, flipping the bird to the Tiefling as he becomes shrouded in darkness.
“Oh yeah, the guy with the lance up his butt. You want to talk to him? Oh this can only go poorly. Can I watch?” Leon says as he begins to chuckle, picturing Clarice bumbling up to the knight and shrieking in his face. “That was probably his horse outside yeah? The pretty, white one? Wonder if he’d be willing to trade it for an enthusiastic goblin.”
| 1 person marked this as a favorite. |
"“I’ll be glad to be HIS horse if you know what I mean” Clarice quickly collected herself from such unpure thoughts “Oh! Dear god Clarice, what a very unlady like thing to say!!!” she exclaimed as she sprinkles hot water on her face.
At Clarice’s vulgar statement, Leon’s face falls. Then slowly a smile begins to form. It becomes a grin. Chuckles slowly start to slip from his lips then they crescendo into a booming laugh. “HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHRBLBRBLHRBLBRLBL!” The laughter becomes muffled as Leon, unable to help himself, sinks beneath the bathwater.
A moment is passed by another and it by another. Everyone starts to lose interest and then finally…“HA!” Leon breaks through the water’s surface and begins gasping for air. Calming himself, he leans back into the tub and looks to Clarice. “That was really gross Clarice. Learn some damn manners.”
"UGH! E-EXCUSE ME I AM A LADY THANK YOU VERY MUCH! I-I am the epitome of m-manners!" Clarice blushed shocked at her companion's remarks."L-lets all forget I said that, yes? Oh dear..." she covers her face with her palms.
"But CHASTITY?! Dear lord, that would be dreadful! she whispered to herself.
Clarice climbs out of the bathtub, both her and her soaking wet under-dress now clean and spotless. "Well my skin is starting to wrinkle, I'll be off to our quarters." She proceeds to cover herself in a towel, while tactically removing any traces of clothing off her, without a lewd skin to be revealed. She washes her armour and outfit quickly and leaves to their designated bedroom to fix and sew any damage to her once beautiful dress.
Clarice stomps over to the door, almost slipping on the water-slicked floor in her haste. As her knobbly fingers reach for the handle, however, the door slides right open in front of her.
"What are you layabouts still doing in here? Come on, out you get, out you get!" Mad Maddy flicks a switch next to the door. You hear a slight whine from below, and then the beautifully warm water you're relaxing in promptly turns to ice water instead.
"Chop chop!"
After gathering all of your things, Maddy sends you all up to your room. It's a cosy thing with four beds, each with their own chest for storing things. A wash basin with a cracked mirror. A small table with two chairs, and two windows, both looking down upon the alleyway that runs alongside the inn. Leaning out, you can spot some of the main road to your left. A line hangs between your window and the opposite wall for hanging washing.
A quick meal of warm oats is sent up to your rooms but otherwise your night is uneventful.
After an indeterminate amount of hours, you step down into the common room. The place is almost exactly how you left it - leaving you wondering whether you even slept at all. How much time had passed...?
“Well this doesn’t look half bad. I’ve certainly seen worse.” Remarks Leon, as he inspects the room, wearing just his towel which he promptly hangs over the line with his garments. Claiming the bed closest to the door, he then secures his mail and pack in the footlocker. Jumping under the sheets, Leon takes up his axe and shrinks it down to its smallest form and secrets it under the pillows. Sitting up in the bed Leon looks around again and nods to himself. “You know I could get used to this set up. If it weren’t for the whole being stuck in Purgatory thing.” He says, looking to the group as they make their own preparations before they rest.
Before falling off to sleep, Leon unfurls the crumpled love letter he found in the bathroom and begins to read. Quickly he comes to regret it as the words birth existential questions; how can love exist in this place of torment? Is it truly love? Is anything True here? At what point did these creatures give up on escaping their fates and gave themselves up to it? These questions swirled around Leon’s mind until one thought settled them all. I won’t be here long enough to need the answers.
***
Waking from an unsurprisingly restless sleep Leon sits at the edge of his bed for a moment. With a weary sigh, he pulls himself to his feet and clothes himself. Going through the rites of donning his gear takes little time as he has perfected them after many long years. However, when it comes to taking up his axe Leon falters for a moment expecting the weight of his old companion. Pushing back the strange pang of loss, he slips the axe through a loop in his belt.
Looking to the strange folk that he finds himself stuck with, Leon smirks and shakes his head. “I need a drink.” Walking through the bar Leon sizes up each patron, trying very hard to hide the disgust that some of these creatures evoke. Searching among the entities, there are two that he seeks; Mad Maddy, to thank her and see if her hospitality extends to free drinks; and the knight in shining armour, hoping that he hasn’t left so Clarice and Maldrek can still embarrass themselves.