Edgar pulls on the lid of the steel chest, unable to budge it.
Valore points out that the key is indeed what glowed with a magical aura when he was checking earlier. The runes on the key seem to match the pulsing runes on the devious looking metal plates that surround the keyhole of the red laquered chest.
The instant burning sensation as Ifran sticks his hand in the jar of acid makes him realize that perhaps this wasn't the smartest idea. He yanks it out quickly, his hand glowing red from the corrosive liquid. Opening his palm, however, he holds the jeweled brass key.
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"I was indeed looking for that!" replies Bugdip, "'Buggy' is an interesting name that you gave me, Iffy," the Grippli tries to adopt the Suli's naming convention, "I prefer to eat bugs than resemble them, though. But as I heard someone say: 'you are what you eat'! Is that what you meant?" Bugdip was still confused by the phrase, though he wouldn't admit it. Surely if you were what you eat then there'd be nothing left of you.
Shrugging, Bugdip takes the key from Ifran and tries it on the steel chest.
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"Acid! Did someone say that was acid! I must take a look."
Nugats rushes over to the glass jar that Ifran has thrust his hand in only moments before.
Picking up the glass, he studies it from every angle. Sniffing it, rolling it around, holding it up to the light.
"OI am sure that I can figure out what this is."
The pathfinders move about the small-ish room with a flurry of activity. Bugdip takes the offered key and Valore's suggestion, putting the key into the steel chest keyhole. As soon as he turns it, however, the key crumbles into dust in his hand.
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"Well... that was unexpected..." Edgar says exasperatedly, watching the key turn to dust in the steel chest. "It wasn't your fault, Bugdip. This whole place is a riddle."
"Some time you'll have to tell where your name came from, my friend," he adds to the grippli.
He turns his attention to the snake in the wicker basket, looking to see if it would be possible to quickly reach in, grab the key, and pull it out before the snake had time to sink it's fangs into him. The youth moves cautiously, rolling up his sleeve, but hesitates before reaching his hand close to the snake.
"I'd rather not kill someone's pet snake," he says. "I'd also prefer not to reach my hand in... Can anyone think of another way to get that key?"
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Bugdip slumps, unhappy with the outcome.
"My name comes from my scent, Egg-Duh - I smell faintly of dragonfly purée," he pauses for a moment, "But that is just how my tribe identifies me. We tend not to use or need names. They elude me somewhat. In any case, when I told a group of traders what I smelled like they decided that 'Bugdip' identified me just fine. I liked it, so that's what I use when around non-gripplis."
Bugdip puzzles away for a moment. "Do you think the Sapphire Sage would mind if we killed his pet snake? I'm not sure if pouring acid on the floor is the best idea at this point. We could probably just hold the basket shut and poke it," Bugdip draws his rapier and makes a mock show of how to do it, "No-one has a sleep spell?"
Tybian tosses the basket into the corner and lashes out with his foot, trying to kick the snake into the corner. Unfortunatly, the tiny little viper dodges out of the way easily. The angry snake wastes no time in defending itself, striking out impossibly quick at the masked brawler.
The snake's fangs bounce off Tybian's boot, and he tries one more time to kick it into the corner, separating it from the key it guards.
for
This time his strike is true, and the snake is flung into the corner with sufficient force. It lays on the floor, half covered in linens and unmoving.
Upon close inspection, it doesn't seem like the snake is dead, but likely will not wake up from it's forced slumber for quite some time.
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"Bugdip! What did you do that for? Now how are we going to open the chest? I guess we'll need to pour the acid on it." He takes the glass back from Nugats, and carefully pours some of it on the hinges of the steel chest.
"These puzzle things are hard... makes my head hurt. Or is that the fumes coming off of this chest?"
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Flushing bright green at Ifran's admonishment, Bugdip tries eagerly to make up for it.
"Well... we have another... key," tries to sound wise like Finarin, but hasn't worked out the pauses yet, "We could try... to put... it in the... red lacquer... chest. The blue key... matches the blue... lock... perhaps they... are... destined to be... together. Oh, and the Sapphire Sage! Sapphires are blue!" Bugdip forgets to pause because of his excitement of that last revelation and quickly picks up the key next to the unconscious viper.
"This has to work," he mumbles as he puts the key in the hole and turns it. Oh, if this one crumbles to dust I'm just going to cower in a corner!
"Bugdip! What did you do that for? Now how are we going to open the chest? I guess we'll need to pour the acid on it." He takes the glass back from Nugats, and carefully pours some of it on the hinges of the steel chest.
"These puzzle things are hard... makes my head hurt. Or is that the fumes coming off of this chest?"
The acid pours down the back side of the steel chest. Were there any blemishes on it, the corrosive liquid would have done a marvelous job cleaning it up. Alas, as Nugats had already ascertained, this liquid was designed for cleaning, not for eating through metals.
Luckily for Ifran, his elemental heritage and his own hardiness when it comes to the dangers of the elements saves him once again from unnecessary pain. The spilled acid does not harm him. His breeches, however, do not fair so well. Splashes from the acid eat a myriad of holes, leaving one to wonder if Ifran has a stash of moths in his closet.
Flushing bright green at Ifran's admonishment, Bugdip tries eagerly to make up for it.
"Well... we have another... key," tries to sound wise like Finarin, but hasn't worked out the pauses yet, "We could try... to put... it in the... red lacquer... chest. The blue key... matches the blue... lock... perhaps they... are... destined to be... together. Oh, and the Sapphire Sage! Sapphires are blue!" Bugdip forgets to pause because of his excitement of that last revelation and quickly picks up the key next to the unconscious viper.
"This has to work," he mumbles as he puts the key in the hole and turns it. Oh, if this one crumbles to dust I'm just going to cower in a corner!
The enterprising Grippli, eager to make up for perceived mistakes, slips the blue key into the red-laquered chest. The runes flare up, causing Bugdip's heart rate to rise for fear he messed up again, but instead the key turns over, and the lid releases its hold on the lock mechanism
Bugdip, Nugats and Tybian all hear a faint clicking noise of a complicated mechanism. Looking up at the source of the sound, they see a golden key dangling about six inches from the fifteen foot high ceiling. All are certain it had not been there before. Inside the chest is another key, forged onto the end of an exquisite jeweled scepter.
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"I have an idea!" Bugdip quickly takes off his heavy chain shirt and then climbs up the side of the chamber .
When he is a bit higher than the key, Bugdip leaps out towards it in a frog-like fashion. As he flies toward the key, flaps of skin open up on his arms and slow his descent. When he closes in, Bugdip quickly reaches out for the key and chain to grab on.
Bugdip, so soon after being admonished, is able to prove his worth to the group a second time, this time in brilliant fashion. As if it were no more difficult than a ladder, the Grippli climbs, leaps, and glides safely to the ground with the golden key in his sticky hands. He is positively beaming as he comes to the floor.
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Ifran looks at the key, grabs it from the offering hand of Bugdip, and tries to open the steel chest with it. Of course, before he gets the key to the lock, he drops it. Then he manages to hit his head on the chest when he is picking up the key. Eventually, however, the key is fitted to the lock.
He then has a brilliant inspiration. "Say, maybe we should compare teh two keys that we have?"
Ifran fumbles with the key and knocks his head, finally inserting the golden trinket into its slot on the steel chest. With a satisfying click, the tumbler inside turns with ease, and the Oracle lifts the lid.
The magical trap triggers as soon as the lid opens. A puff of blue spray billows out from the chest, forming into a featureless, laughing face before it engulfs the room. When the dust settles, Nugats, Valore, and Ifran notice that their hands have turned a deep blue color.
Inside the chest the curious pathfinders see the prize which they seek, the maps to Master Salhar's vaults below Sothis.
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"Oh, I wonder if Master A-Minor-Fee-Ass will take off points for that one," Bugdip wonders aloud, glad that it was not he this time who opened the chest, "Well, that was fun! Let's have a chat to the Sapphire Sage himself and see if he thinks we did well or not. Maybe the blue handed Pathfinders should hang back a little..." I hope the Sapphire Sage saw me jump off that wall to grab the key!
Bugdip gives off a faint smell that no-one had noticed before. It is a whiff of summer breeze with hint of elderberries. Later, those closest to Bugdip would come to associate this smell with 'smugly self-satisfied'.
Maybe the small grippli will end up like Finarin after all.
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"My name comes from my scent, Egg-Duh - I smell faintly of dragonfly purée," he pauses for a moment, "But that is just how my tribe identifies me. We tend not to use or need names. They elude me somewhat. In any case, when I told a group of traders what I smelled like they decided that 'Bugdip' identified me just fine. I liked it, so that's what I use when around non-gripplis."
"Egg-Duh...?" the youth says in a confused fashion. I wonder if that is the name his tribe calls him, after the dragon fly purée he mentioned. Or if 'Egg-Duh', is his way of saying Edgar? Best not to question him and possibly make him feel bad for pronouncing your name incorrectly... Maybe Rattus would be easier for him to pronounce?
The thoughts lazily come to him while listening to the grippli's fascinating story. He smiles as Bugdip continues the explanation, and Edgar finds the entire idea of a not having, or needing name, completely fascinating. I wonder if other races forgo names entirely, as well, he ponders.
"I didn't know that about your people," he responds to Bugdip. "Maybe one day, if I make it as a pathfinder, I can make it down to your homeland. As these visiting pathfinders did when you saw them. What a fabulous life of travel and adventure."
"One day you could find yourself inspiring the mind of someone on your travels, Bugdip. As this Finer-Inn, did for you."
The youth looks down at his hands, observing their natural color before turning to take in the startling blue hands of Nugats, Valore, and Ifran. In a fluid motion, though not nearly as sly as he would have liked, Edgar moves his own hands behind his back and looks unassumingly at the ceiling.
"That was one hell of a jump, Bugdip," the youth says. "And you can climb like I've never seen. We should all be so lucky to glide like you." He continues to compliment the grippli for a moment, trying to take the other's attention off their own glaringly colored hands.
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The blue cloud billowing softly in the room before settling into the lush carpet, Nugats takes his now blue hands and rubs them on his face. Always appreciative of more color, Nugats does not register that the blue smoke is a sign of his possible failure.
"Has anyone tried to just push thedoor open?" Nugats moves over and pushes then tries to pull the door open.
If that doesn't work he looks for a window to other means of escaping the room, possible using the chests to for a ladder or stairs up.
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Inside the chest is another key, forged onto the end of an exquisite jeweled scepter.
"Hey, we have another key! Maybe this key will help us to get out," Bugdip grabs the jeweled key out of the red lacquered chest, "It certainly seems like the sort of key that a Sapphire Sage might use for the doors around his house."
The grippli picks the key up with a single finger-sucker and then fumbles with it in the lock. He finally gets a decent enough grip to attempt to turn it. He tries clockwise first - straining visibly - and then anticlockwise.
Valore confirms that these are indeed the maps the group seeks, and hopes that the blue marking will be gone by the time they hand them over to Valsin.
Nugats looks around the plain stone room with diligence, while Bugdip takes the opulent jeweled scepter key and inserts it into the keyhole on the door. His luck with crumbling keys well behind him, the tumbler turns with ease, and the heavy wooden door opens with nary a creak on its well oiled hinges.
Cavendish stretches the corners of his mouth a bit as Bugdip proudly walks out of the room, as close to a smile as the emotionless servant will offer. He frowns with a heavy sigh when the three blue handed pathfinders exit, making a couple of tick marks on a palm sized piece of parchment before pocketing it, and leading the group to the front door of the manor.
"Master Amenopheus has left for the day. Should you require an audience with him please inquire at the grand lodge and an appointment will be arranged."
As the group leaves the manor through the front door, Cavendish drops a pouch in each of their hands containing 82 gold. He bids them farewell, and closes the door behind them.
With all of them slightly eager to visit the infamous Zarta Dralneen, the group makes their way out of the wise quarter to the neighboring Ivy District. Verdant trees line the cobblestone streets in this small, clean district. Artists, actors, and other minor nobles can be seen walking the streets with their well-dressed servants. The atmosphere is one of a quiet calm, and the pathfinders feel quite out of place in all of their armor and combat gear. Even the city guard in this district seem toned down in their style of dress, and visual display of weaponry. Crime is just not part of the daily life and routine in this area of the city.
The sun has just gone past the tipping point in the sky, beginning its descent into the western horizon. The heat would be oppressive if not for the cool breeze and ample shade from the trees and foliage which give this district its name. The trek is not long before the six pathfinders find themselves at the front gate of the Dralneen estate.
The three story structure stands out as unique in its gothic architecture, even in an area of the city as well off as the Ivy District. Massive ebon lacquered doors are trimmed with gleaming silver fixtures, and a prickly brass cone hangs from a chain, which appears to be the door chime.
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Bugdip is quite disappointed that Amenopheus cannot meet with them personally - and also at the diminishing likelihood that he witnessed the grippli's stunt. The scent of formic acid - as of squished ants - can be noticed near Bugdip as he sulks a little.
He brightens almost immediately as they enter the Ivy District. The buildings are fabulous, and the insect life is... delectable! Bugdips tongue darts this way and that, snagging quite a few of his favourites: dragonflies.
"Well... let's ring the... bell," he says between crunches, "Shall I?"
If no-one objects, Bugdip jumps up and gives the chain a good old yank.
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As the grippli pulls the chain of the door chime, the youth steps back and adjusts the brim of his hat so it will rest in a perfectly rakish, devil may care manner. Edgar also takes a moment to pull gently on the scarf wound around his neck, making sure it covers the lower part of his face, leaving only his piercing eyes visible beneath the hat's brim. "Thank you, Bugdip." he nods to his companion and thanks him for ringing the bell.
"Let's make a good impression now," he adds to the others.
That should be easier now that your hands are no longer garishly colored...
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"Would Venture Captain Valsin have sent us here if she was going to bathe in our blood?" asks Bugdip, more than a little worried about Nugats' rumor. The exuberance that led to his jumping bell-pull is all but lost now as he even lets a juicy blowfly pass by his head without so much as an attempted snacking.
A few uncomfortable moments later the ebon door swings open revealing a servant in loose, casual attire. ”Good day Pathfinders. Please, follow me.” It is clear that the servant was expecting them.
The straight-backed man walks at a comfortable pace through well appointed sitting rooms, ballrooms, and to a grand stairway that gives a view of an elaborate study. Finally, the group arrives at the third floor of the house, where the servant knocks politely on the door. ”The pathfinders are here to see you Paracountess.” He says before opening the door to the room and ushering everyone inside.
A large, intricate carpet dominates the marble floor in this sitting room. A chaise sits along the north wall and a desk spans the southeast corner, its chair positioned with its back to the southwest corner of the room. Three comfortable chairs are positioned around a small, low circular table. Behind the desk in the southeast corner sits the sultry Paracountess Zarta Dralneen. Straight, smooth, black hair falls down over her shoulders, blending into the dipping v-neck of her revealing blouse. A small charm on a necklace sits in a prime location to catch the eye, though whether it is the charm, or what it sits on that attracts the attention is up for debate. She favors the newcomers with a wry smile as she puts her papers away and stands up to greet them.
“Aldor, you are dismissed. Close the door behind you and attend to your other tasks.” She then turns her attention to the group. “It’s always so incredibly adorable when I see a fresh-faced batch of Pathfinders. I mean, look at you scrumptious little teacakes. I could eat each and every one of you up. Well, maybe not you.” Zarta points at Bugdip, to his relief perhaps? How far does innuendo go in a Grippli tribe one might wonder?
Suddenly in the background a cacophonous noise erupts from behind the double doors on the east side of the office room. The paracountess continues as if nothing is happening.
“I assume this isn’t a pleasure visit since most of you are terribly overdressed for that manner of occasion, so that must mean you are here for that trinket Valsin has been nagging me about. Seems I can’t get that man around these parts anymore,” she gestures, sliding her hand down her body and widening the gesture to sweep out and across the room as if her home were a secondary thought. “On the good side, he always sends me all the precious new recruits. The woman subconsciously licks her lips.
The banging and screeching noise from the other room continues unabated while she speaks, punctuated by the occasional sound of shattering glass.
“Many think we in Cheliax serve and worship devils, but that couldn’t be further from the truth. In fact, we use the creatures for their power. They serve us and we sculpt their power in our own interests. The world must come to terms with the order of things. People need to know their place and operate accordingly. It is the only way to make order from this world. Too many people stretch too far beyond their station, making waves and eroding the true order.”
An unholy hiss can be heard again, and then the room goes silent for a few, blessed moments. Before anyone can speak up, the noise begins anew.
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Bugdip is indeed glad he will not be eaten like a teacake by Zarta Dralneen. She looks like she probably could. He is doubly fearful of the woman when she mentions having devils serve her.
"Did anyone else smell the crushed flowers and shrimp?" asks the grippli, giving off his own nervous smell of lemon rind, "Also, do you think she is aware that someone is currently ransacking or destroying one of her rooms? Maybe I should ask..."
"Miss Zarta..." Bugdip begins nervously, "We would love to deliver the trinket to Valsin for you... but first, what is that noise next door? And devils are still evil, right?"
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'Ah Zarta! It is I, Tybain! Oh, how have I looked forth to meeting thee again!' He approaches the Paracountess with open arms, and enfolds her into warm embrace. The warmth of her bosom brings many sweet memories, from a different time. Spotlights of Chelish theatre, secret meetings dressing rooms. Passionate nights of Egorian summer!
In reality, Tybain's approach is all but gentle. Incomprehensible throat-sounds, along with scizore-clad hand that looks ready to swing, makes the approach look rather intimidating. But Paracountess Zarta does not flinch. Used to aggressive suitors, she merely steps aside from Tybain's path letting the man go fumbling past her.
Yes, the little frog-mask speaks true! Something bad is happening in the house of beloved Zarta! We must got to rescue!
Barely aware of having fallen down, Tybain jumps up, and rushes to the door leading to the strange sounds.
"Oh darling. I'm in to masks and things, but you are still not dressed for the occasion," she giggles as she moves gracefully out of the way of the fumbling Tybain.
"That noise, dear Grippli, is my servant. He is greatly misbehaving, and in order to get the trinket, you're going to have to deal with it." The Paracountess saunters to the other side of the desk she was behind when the pathfinders first came in and bends over at the waist to reach for one of the drawers. She lingers there for a few extra moments, allowing the boys to take in the view before drawing out an exquisite silver letter opener, shaped like a dagger.
"You might need this to get it to... submit." She emphasizes the last word while passing a sly wink to the coyly masked Edgar, holding out the dagger for someone to take.
"The trinket, you see, is a seven-lock iron case. I have been trying to bypass the protections to get to the juicy center, but alas I have been spurned." she finishes with mock swooning. "Unless you are into masochism, I would advise strongly against trying to get into the box. If you are, then perhaps you need to come back and talk with me later about joining m... my information searching faction." The temptress finishes again with a chuckle, and walks over to one of the chairs to lounge back.
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... and bends over at the waist to reach for one of the drawers. She lingers there for a few extra moments, allowing the boys to take in the view...
"So that is how humans feed their young," Bugdip whispers in wonderment, probably not soft enough to prevent Zarta Dralneen from hearing, "It seems so... unsanitary. I am so glad that our children draw their sustenance from within an egg. Still, those are very plump. I wonder if she is nursing..."
Bugdip seems a little uneasy at the prospect of a fight. The smell of lemon rind grows stronger as he says, "It is your servant... and it is misbehaving... and you want... us... to deal with it? What manner... of creature is... your servant? And I take it you don't... want us to... kill it..."
If no one else steps forwards, Bugdip will take the dagger... only to realize it is sized for a much larger person.
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The young man gulps awkwardly, making an exaggerated swallowing motion while observing the woman leaning over before them. He turns with a blush, his cheeks an embarrassing shade of red, though hopefully hidden from view beneath the wrappings of his scarf. "A seven-lock iron case..." he stumbles over the words trying to think of something to say.
What the hell is that? he wonders to himself but does not want to ask the question aloud.
He places his hand on the hilt of his rapier, adjusting his posture and visibly regaining his composure following her unexpected display. "Get the trinket and deal with your misbehaving servant," he repeats the request. "This sounds easy enough, but as you asked for our help, I have to assume it won't be."
"We will endeavor to impress you, my lady."
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"WellitisapleasuretomeetyouIdon'tknowifIhave Excuse me.". Nugats takes a deep breath. "It is a pleasure to meet you Paracountess. I will do whatever you need of me."
I want to be a pathfinder so bad. Please let me be a pathfinder. I can be her pathfinder. Oh my!
Nugats blushing as bright as his clothing, tries to shake the lust from his head and focus on the problem at hand.
"What are we supposed to do again?"
Zarta giggles again, enjoying the stuttering tongues and oogling eyes immensely, even from the grippli. Attention is attention, no matter from who it comes. The long-legged woman stands back up, standing between Bugdip and Edgar, placing a hand on each of their shoulders, ever so gently scratching the backs of their necks with her tantilizingly long nails.
First she whispers to Bugdip, "They give our young nourishment, and give the rest of us, well, a different kind of sustenance."
Then she leans to whisper into Edgar's ear, "Indeed, I look forward to seeing how well you handle your... rapier. I like it when pretty boys impress me."
With a gentle nudge, she pushes them forward to join Tybain at the door. She flashes a wink and purses her lips towards Valore, his wandering eyes unable to escape her observation. Bending down to whisper in Nugat's ear, she runs her fingers through his wild hair. "I just can't wait to see what you can do."
At last Tybain pushes open the double doors to reveal a room in upheaval.
Zarta’s bedroom is decorated in the colors of Cheliax—ebon black and crimson red. Silk, rare woods, and carefully carved marble compose every bit of furniture in the room. Goose down now litters the room, covering almost every surface and the silken shreds of the cushions that contained it lie about like flayed skin. A post on the massive screened bed is snapped in half, collapsed on the bed and drawing the screened curtains into a ripped slope of formerly fine cloth. Vials of perfume and crystal jars of other cosmetics sit smashed on the marble floor around the dresser. A prominent fixture in the room, a large “X” made of stout wood sits along the west wall, complete with leather shackles and chains. A table sits to its left strewn with various items intended for pleasure, but outwardly resembling implements of pain.
Standing on top of one of the corners of the disheveled bed stands an imp. The small creature sports leathery wings and a barbed tail that sprouts from his back. His devilish face is twisted in rage as he grasps a small, metal box in his hand. The box is dented and scratched, but otherwise intact.
The imp shouts again, banging the box on the broken bedpost. For all its apparent efforts, the creature cannot seem to get into the box. It doesn’t even bother to look up when the door is opened.