"Wyam, the Lamia can wait until morning. We did good work today. It is time to rest."
Wyam stopped and looked at the rest of the group. His group now. It was easy to forget that others weren't as used to or as willing to be pushing themselves as he was.
He considered there words and suddenly realized how tense he had become without realizing it. All the things that had happened today, the stresses, the planning, the fighting, anticipation and anger when things happened that he couldn't fathom. It had slowly built up to make him into something that he did not want to be. Slowly, he nodded acknowledging their worries and his own. They're right, I'd gotten so wound up, I was willing to forgo everything else. Including their needs. Some Captain I'm turning out to be.
"Alright, the clock tower can wait until tomorrow morning. I don't think our enemy is planning to move tonight and hopefully we've not tipped them off. Let's go back to the temple for now and rest. We'll take stock of our situation in the morning and move out in the early hours."
"You've given Ironbriar twelve hours it should still be safe to move before that time is up and the guards are sent after him, tipping the enemy off. You'll want to keep the acolytes—even if Ironbriar has destroyed any evidence in exchange for the information, they are still corroborators and witnesses. We don't know what else they've done." Isme turns to look at Kejal. "I think you would have a better understanding of such things. In any case, I'll need to go see to Chaise. He might also know more about lamias, and if not there is time to do research and prepare ourselves."
Mustering her local knowledge, Kjell proposes a place to spend the night. A small alehouse run by a former Pharasman priest, one known for its wakes. It also stands atop the immense cliff dividing Magnimar, and has a small but powerful telescope for stargazing; it can be directed downwards, providing a fair view of the Shadow Clock.
Spectrum looked through the telescope, noting the damage to the clock structure.
"That tower is clearly unsound. I wonder if the city is in the market to have it demolished..."
Kejal shrugs at Spectrum. "Unlikely. Dangerous as it may be, it's something of a landmark. Besides, Magnimar isn't exactly in the business of fixing up the Underbridge." With a sheepish smile she continues. "Magnimar may be home but it isn't, you know. It still has problems."
"Like that business with the Justice today." She adds with a sigh. "I cannot believe that a man of the law would run rather than stand for what is right." Cocking a head she looks at Wyam, narrowing her eyes for a moment as if to study him. "It would be like if you did such a thing, Sir Marshal."
"Still, I am glad that we are closer to unraveling this. I would like for there to be less of this nonsense in my city."
"From what we have uncovered so far, this business is far reaching, highly corruptive, and working in many different fronts simultaneously. In Sandpoint it involved a Tien family, a goblin tribe, some kind of demonic cult, and a local nobles house. I would not be surprised if this is only the beginning of what we will be facing in Magnamar."
"True, it is highly corruptive, but it also seems to be containing itself in close proximity to each area. Rallying points, I suppose. Near Sandpoint it was the Thistletop ruins. Here in Magnimar it seems to be the clock tower. At least I hope it is." Wyam said with a crease of worry in his voice.
"This seems to be a main staging ground and hopefully we'll be able to find evidence of any other activities that may have come from here."
After a day of battle and stress, sleep is greatly welcomed; each retires to their bed and lets night's caress eke away the stress and pain from their tired limbs. Most dream of peace, and calm.
The morning brings calmness, though with a susurration of horror and death. High on the cliff the air is heavy with the smell and fog of burning ash. Retiring to the back of the tavern to use the telescope, its source is clearly identified. The Seven's Sawmill is in embers, still burning after a night of heavy flame. The sight of crumpled forms can barely be picked out.
Inquiring after news brings it quickly enough; it would seem much of the town is speaking of it. "It's a massacre; fifteen or so men, burned, dead! Some of the scorched seem to have been wearing orange, seems like they all have blade marks on them, killed then thrown into the blaze. And who did it? This is the most incredible bit."
"A city justice! Iron-something, he was seen leaving the scene, and fled the city on horseback not long after. Guards didn't know, let him through; some've gone after him."
"Quite a turn up, eh?"
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Kejal stands next to Wyam and stares out at the fire, narrowing her eyes for a moment. Without turning her gaze from it, she speaks aloud, softly at first, but louder and with more resolve as she goes. "When I was a young girl," she begins, "many, many, many years ago... some friends and I found a bird that had been wounded in a storm. There was always a lot of wind in the mountains, and it had been slammed against some stones. Broken its wing. We went about trying to set it, not knowing, and certainly not caring, that it was a roc."
Pausing, she smiles, "Even young as it was, the poor thing was as big as any of us, and even wounded, it could have done some real damage to us if it wanted to. But it didn't. It seemed to know, to somehow understand, that we wanted to help."
"None of us were old enough to know how to use magic, so we were making a splint for it that it would grow out of in time. Still being in pain, the Roc was crying out these shrieks. Which brought its mother. And she... she was not an animal who understood that we were trying to help."
"Despite what sounded like the child's vocal protests, the mother roc went into a rage and attacked us. You ever seen a fully grown roc? Cause I sure hadn't. It was only luck that we all made it away alive. My father was furious. He had seen the entire thing and declined to get involved." She sighs. "That was common for my people. But my father, he would tell me that night that 'No good deed goes unpunished'. He was another animal who did not understand, that even when it is dangerous, even when it may not be appreciated, we are obligated to help."
Turning from the fire, Kejal looks Wyam in the eyes. "I don't know if your faith is wavering, brother, but we have done the right things here. We have offered second chances, choices to those who have felt like they did not have any." She nods to the fire. "In some cases, this will happen, and we may get better about being able to predict it, and knowing who is genuine and who is not. I'll never stop thinking that it is worth the risk," Shaking her head, she turns from the scene. "because sometimes, just sometimes, we will help a bird to once more fly free."
Wyam looks at Kejal, meeting her gaze as she tells him her story. The news about Ironbriar was only troubling to him in the slightest, and he was honestly touched that she was worried about his faith wavering.
Letting out a smile he glanced at the burning wreckage that had been the mill. "I have to say, I wasn't entirely certain where you were going with that story until the end. The truth of the matter is, I believed that Ironbriar was truly regretful of his actions. It's why I let him go in the end. I'd have liked to speak with him directly, maybe help guide him to a better resolution. Who knows, life is strange that way. Maybe I'll meet him in a tavern some day."
With a free hand he rubbed at his chin, which was now beginning to roughen with facial stubble. The dark thoughts that had been nearing the forefront of his mind seemed like just a bad dream now that he had gotten a good nights rest.
"I thank you for your concern, I really do. I am sorry if my frustrations began to get the better of me towards the end of last night. I may have said and done things I might not normally do. But what can be said about that, I'm only mortal."
He let out a genuine smile."When it comes to helping those who are the least likely to be able to help themselves, the risk is worth it every time. On that, we can certainly agree. Now, let's see about getting ourselves to the clock tower. Ironbriar's exit was far less subtle than I had been hoping for."
Dressing and eating quickly, the group make their way to the final redoubt of evil in this city; the Shadow Clock.
Hidden beneath the grimy blackened goliath that is the Irespan, the lesser works of men huddle like weeds at the foot of the great trees that are the ruined bridge’s stone supports. Near one of these supports leans a decrepit and sagging clocktower, a dying structure of weathered stone, wood, and rusted metal supports that teeters to an unlikely height of nearly one hundred and eighty feet. High above, near the tower’s roof and barely fifty feet from the Irespan’s stony belly, a tangle of scaffolding sits near a section of the structure that has fallen away. The tower’s clock face is frozen in time, defiantly (and falsely) proclaiming it to be three o’clock, while above, a stone statue of an angel, her wings crumbling, leans precariously, almost as if she were preparing a final leap from her decaying perch.
"Glimmer, Isme, scout please. Any cracks or windows in the tower that you can see through will give us an idea of what is inside."
Right!
Shortly before Spectrum sends Glimmer off, he recalls Ironbriar's detailed description of the tower's dangers.
Level 1; the Scarecrow, a powerful golem
Level 2; a staircase with a falling bell trap
Level 3; three faceless stalkers lying in wait
Level 4; messenger ravens
Level 5; assorted clockwork
Level 6; Xanesha, the lamia.
Levels 4 and 6 contain windows through which Xanesha likes to enter and leave.
"Hold." he said to Glimmer as he thought further. "This is going to be a difficult challenge. Magic is notoriously poor against golems."
"A way to just skip to the sixth level would be ideal but rushing through the tower may work. For the scarecrow, Wyam and Kejal should be enough to fight it while we support them. Hmm."
Isme attempts to recall anything she knows of flesh golems.
"I can disable the trap on the second floor, but the faceless stalkers on the third may be tricky if given the advantage of surprise. I can enter from the fourth floor and scout their positions beforehand."
She hums a magical tune, thinking about the opponents that lay in wait.
"After that, Xanesha will be waiting, hopefully not alerted. But those messenger ravens… I think I'll talk to them first, see if they have any information or knowledge worth knowing. Unless any of you have objections."
Isme flaps her wings and readies herself to fly to the fourth level, to first observe and then, if there seems to be no danger, speak to the messenger ravens.
A flesh golem is a ghoulish collection of stolen humanoid body parts, stitched together into a single composite form. Its cadaverous flesh has a sickly green or yellowish tint. A flesh golem wears whatever clothing its creator desires, usually just a ragged pair of trousers. It has no possessions and no weapons. A flesh golem stands 8 feet tall and weighs 500 pounds.
A flesh golem cannot speak, although it can emit a hoarse roar of sorts. It walks and moves with a stiff-jointed gait, as if not in complete control of its body.
Isme peers into the rookery.
A timber cabinet with a mesh door sits against the southern wall of this room, while a boarded-up door stands in the wall to the east.
A single black messenger raven sits inside the cabinet, working at some birdfeed.
Isme waits outside the window for a moment and then twitters, making a semicircle with her left foot.
She then flies into the room and approaches the cabinet, reflexively checking it for traps.
Isme assumed her fellow raven would be capable of speaking another language but still switched to bird speech. "Hello there."
"I suspect that Xanesha will be alerted well before we get to her. But regardless we should be able to get through this." wyam said, hefting his long-sword in a few practice swings.
Busily pecking at some bird feed, the raven turns an inquisitive eye. "Whaddayawantotherbird?myfoodf*$~off"
"Your food," Isme agrees easily. "Just wondered what you were doing in here." Isme waited for the raven to respond, ready to steer the conversation towards what messages the raven delivered and anything the raven could tell her of who was sending messages, to whom, and why, as well as the tower itself. Despite disliking such stereotypes, the bird did seem a bit simple and could be bribed with some food if it came to it.
"Waitingforgosomewherewithannoyingweightpissoffmyfoodeatingmyfoot."
"Answer my questions and I'll leave you alone. Go where?"
"Who tells you to go where? Who puts on weight on foot, what do they look like?"
"Who do you give weight to when at somewhere?"
"How long have you been doing this? Any other birds before you?"
"Know anything about tower? About lamia, snakelady?"
"Placesmellikewood."
"Manthingsmallwoodskin."
"Manthingbigdoublepointhead."
"Sincelastfoodmealgonnagoawayyet?"
"Towerhasfoodtowerhasmethisistowernowf~+&offyouf@%&er"
Isme rolls her eyes and says goodbye, flapping out the window… but not before subtly prodding at the raven's fortune to lean towards the worse.
She flies back down to the others. "Didn't know much of use," she says, then adds dryly, "Or much of anything at all, really. Only useful thing was that they gave a message to a "man thing big double point head" which could point to a goblinoid or a variety of monstrous humanoids.
Isme shrugs. "So shall we enter? I can cast some supportive spells before the battle with the scarecrow, if you wish it, but know that I can only cast them once so they'll likely wear off before we face Xanesha."
"Double point head? Horns?"
"Go ahead and cast one of your defensive spells. I'll take the lead here."
"Wyam, you are far too direct. We have the advantage of information. Why waste it on a frontal assault."
"I propose a trip to the market." the elf said with a devious smirk.
Wyam blinked several times as he realized the thought had not actually occurred to him.
"The Market then." he said, slowly nodding and looking away from the tower to the rest of the city.
With stealth and magic, the prepared team swarm their way up the outside of the tower, fingers and toes magically finding anchor-points as they pull themselves up, floor by floor, brick by brick.
The group near the upper storeys as they begin to hear ranting and raving in a furious feminine voice coming from the roof amid the gusting wind. Spectrum dislodges a brick, sending it clattering to the ground as the ranting stops. After a moment, an intricate mask made of gold-plated iron with eyes of dark crystal peers over. Golden snakes emerging from the mask merge with the woman's wild untamed hair as she lets out a furious cry of anger. "INTRUDERS! DESPOILERS! FILTH! BARTIMAEEEUUSSSS! COME TO ME, MY SLAVE!"
Init
From her position flying around the tower, Isme spots the head of the angel statue shimmer and change, resolving into a small boy with dark skin and a white loincloth sitting cross-legged atop the statue. He waves a deadpan hand to the little bird. "Ohhh blimey, this is going to hurt..." He takes a deep breath as white ghostly chains appear, binding him to Xanesha, letting out gasps of pain as she screams. "HOW DARE YOU DISOBEY! STRIKE! ATTACK! DESTROY THEMMMMM!"
"Oh, this is just great!" Wyam says glancing around the tower for other possible trouble, suddenly wishing they had shelled out for the flying magic.