"I dunno. I wish I could think of something. I say learn about the eyeball in case it'd be useful."
The bard's attempt to dispel the feisty text was met with a q mooning him, as far as he could tell. In fact, an entire legion of q's formed something of an angry stick figure that stuck out its tongue at the halfling in question.
A look at the diary provided no insight as to the origins of the protean eye, either.
Nyota and Illyana joined anyone searching the ground, the former pulsing with energy around her wrist like a bangle.
There lay a hatch, barely discernible from the surface itself. The opening gave way to a glimpse of a small hollow beyond, just enough to let three medium humanoids stand side-by side.
The walls were slathered with infernal vows of revenge (specific to a line of wizards known as the Felhunters), vows of self-mastery, vows of returning to the womb and a set of scribbles in abyssal:
And he, that one (of weak ???), swore to take that where she would someday send an emissary, wreak, and to tear.
Walked upon G'lrion dear, only the points of ear in the world, infant, womb.
Scorched earth where water was, life stolen, land salted, as he stood against the legion with his. Fools of Castrovel destroyed on blasted terrain made fools of others, who called her name;
Battle, conflict, blessed death(genocide), she came, her footsteps (echoing in blood), cinder falling from skies asunder...
Too weak the sword, too weak, then fallen. Sealed. Why not destroyed?
Gone. I serve not the debilitated. Not the sealed. Not the Far-Fanged Father.
Sleeping, only sleeping. For he she did not kill, did not devour (in total). Won't go back. Will not forge the last dreaming. Will not join again.
Far-Fanged Father has no teeth. Far-fanged Father lies beneath.
"Well, I'm fairly convinced I didn't dispel the magic protecting the writing in that book. In fact, I think I made it mad at me. But if we're going to stay here and rest a bit to recover, I can try again before we do that."
Holding Uraffa's flute in his small hand, Haka looks at it studiously and adds, "I'm not much for wind instruments - hard to get them loud enough, I find - but I am curious about this one. What do you all say? Shall I give it a try, or would you prefer to wait until we can get a little more information about it? If I'm going to try it, I wouldn't say no to a little of Desna's blessing on me before I pucker up."
"Go ahead and try it, Haka. We don't have much else to do right now."
Haka begins to tap out a quiet rhythm on his drums, to help Drovya relax and focus his mind on the task at hand. He will also contribute whatever helpful observations he's able to make to Drovya's efforts.
Drovya concentrates, and relaxes. He clears his mind of extraneous information as he sits in lotus position with the flute in his lap. Once he is centered, he looks over the flute with arcane sight, his body swaying with the rhythm of Haka's drums. The aura of the flute seems to pulse with the beat, and he sees clearly through his trance.
"Well, I'm glad you magic types could figure it out." Hanethes says as he examines some of the gemstones they found.
The time spent in rest in the ancient chamber was punctuated with fluctuations of energy from the orb above as the steady dripping of whatever substance saturated portions of the ceiling gave it a backbeat that degenerated into something of a clockwork mechanism.
Ilyata wandered throughout the chamber as the casters were lulled to sleep by exhaustion rather than their internal clocks, her hair dragging behind her through the muck.
Nyota followed for a time before nesting down near Talon, engaging in superfluous-yet-sorely-needed sleep.
The cleric's dreams were full of the starlight she was denied, and visions of a happy and familiar couple sewing a quilt on the deck of a merchant ship by night.
When the rogue finally managed to drift off, he managed an ephemeral foray through an endless tavern, where he obviously had a limitless tab...
The magus had dreams of a hooded cabal surrounding him, blades identical to his own calling out to a bloodied Black Ivan, who thrummed in response to his brethren.
The half-elf felt a wretched elation as he realized the joyous inner voice of the sword and himself were one in their precall to victory, but he also couldn't help but feel that something was wrong...
Looking to his right, he could spy what must have been Talon and Haka, bearing the marks of the accursed rhoka and the charred flesh that accompanied its kiss...
Gaining a greater sense of foreboding, he looked behind him to find Hanethes lying facedown in the dreamscape of blasted ash.
There could be no reprieve; Rohini and Kanthuun marred the scene to his left. The sorcerer's colorful, morphic hair lay still and dull brown, and the cleric appeared to have been cut down while tending to him, her back stained crimson.
Ivan laughed and thrust the magus forward to the others, and the hooded figures met him in a glorious melee. He burst awake at the first parry.
The sorcerer dreamt that he was tossed to and fro in a warm sea under an unstable sky, flashing with as many colors as could be imagined. He knew he should be drowning, but he wasn't, and the colossal horse-like, tailed creature looming on the surface staring him down on the surface gave him reason to pause. Its many eyes stretched from its snout to the surface of its ears, though one in its upper left cheek was obviously missing.
It snorted derisively and morphed its frontal hooves into claws, which it used to poke the young man in the head, causing him to bob in the current. Seemingly satisfied and chuckling in a high-pitched woman's voice, the creature then saw fit to do it again, but this time it made a dinging sound.
Kanthuun awoke.
The fighter found himself in the Dry Wind, though it could hardly be recognized at first through all of the frost. The curtain that served as the front door moved in sheets, and beyond it something fell like snow...
ash.
There could be no mistaking it.
The sprawl was empty and rime-covered, though slicks of frozen blood marred the road, or, at least, what little he could see through the smoke. Any amount of travelling met with similar results, though from time-to-time he'd find an empty papoose or discarded toy, or fallen scrolls or books. The dream ended before his sleep did, however, and eventually the smoke led way to blackness...
The halfling dreamt of a scraggly, wizardly ghost playing off of a wall spire to a ruined Katapesh coated in ash and ice. The effects of the day's discoveries, surely, but the stillness of the scene was still alarming. However, before too long, the dream changed into one of assembling a one-man percussion suit using nothing but leather straps and sheep bones.
The party awoke without incident, and Haka's renewed attempt at dispelling the belligerent letters was met with success as the small army retreated back into proper place, forming a daemonic bestiary written in Protean.
Kanthuun looks at the book with a warm smile. "nothing is permanent except change...this is a gift from my many changing kin. If I read it I can discern the types of denizens we face here a little better. And..." he pulls out the protean eyeball, displaying it, "The owner of this paid me a visit in the lands of slumber. I shall study it after all."
[ooc]can anyone buff me up for a Knowledge History roll? :)[/dice]
Talon wakes up in a cold sweat, his breathing heavy, though he does calm down when he sees Nyota lying next to him. "I knew at least one of them couldn't resist. I still got my charm, even in this awful place."
The mercenary couldn't help but smile as he lays back down.
Later...
"He did? I had a weird dream too, not involving eyeballs. But certainly not my usual dream-works." Talon starts describing his dream.
Drovya awoke with a start, flailing his fists with an inarticulate roar of confusion. He stared wide-eyed at his friends, unsure for a moment whether he still slept, then slumped with a sigh realizing that it had all been a dream.
He stood and stretched before breaking his fast, then buried his nose in his spellbook, surly and uncommunicative, but occasionally glaring at Black Ivan.
After he prepared his spells for the day, he wandered over to Kanthuun. You said the owner of the book visited you? Who was it? Someone you know? I, uh, don't suppose there's anything about him he gestured subtly to Black Ivan, as though the sword might be watching him, in that book, is there?
When Talon describes his dream of icy Armageddon, Drovya's confusion grows. My dreams were strange too. Dark, and bloody.
"My dreams were quite pleasant, if a little unusual." Hanethes informs the group.
Shall we depart this place? I'm sure Gant would like to hear of our deeds here, and perhaps give some aid to our search. Drovya is careful to copy down the text under the hatch to the best of his abilities, unsure of its meaning. He also pries out the gem eyes from the statues.
When the group reaches he flume, he thinks for a minute then says, Those wraps that the suspiridaemon was wearing might be useful here. We could send someone up with a knotted rope, and the rest of us could climb up...
"I could go up first then if you want."
"I was spared the disturbing dreams that seem to have visited upon most of you last night. I dreamed of the warm embrace of my Lady's starlight... As I said yesterday, whatever comes of the rest of our mission we did real good here. And, yes, I am ready to move on, and I defer to the rest of you on how to proceed."
Haka awakens and sits quietly for some time, quite unusual for him. As the group begins to discuss their dreams, he comments "I too had strange, dark dreams. Like Talon, I dreamt of Katapesh covered in ice and ash and blood, and in mine the true owner of that flute played his sad songs over the silence. Then I dreamed of other strange instruments, made of bone and leather. Not a pleasant place for resting, this."
"Just dreams. Perhaps a malign influence. No, I didn't see your blade, Drovya. Worry not, my friends. Omens are broken, and we are freer for it"
He spits to emphasize, leaving a bit of acid to sizzle on the ground. His hair writhes slightly.
"Thanks for the boost, Haka," says Kanthuun, eyeing the protean eye (which eyed him back). "You know, this ring was handed to me, but perhaps it would be better worn by you, with all that, I presume, bardic knowledge. Not that I didn't enjoy reading Gnomish."
"Happy to help, Kanthuun. What does your ring do, that you think I'd be better suited to wear it? I have studied widely, it is true, that I think not as deeply as you on some subjects. I've been more of a dabbler than a delver."
The eye in the jar was a graft, much like those often provided to demoniacs in the service of some warped lord. It was a gift to an elderly sorcerer who made a pact with a protean lord, whose name Kanthuun hears but cannot pronounce properly without the use of outter sound effects, though his/her typical moniker is "The Nag" due to the fondness it has for the taking the shape of a horse when interacting with mortals.
The nag is assumed to be the one-time mate of the (ex) protean lord whose corpse Apollyon inhabits. This has made her a natural patron for witches, clerics, and other such casters looking for a staunch ally against the horseman of pestilence.
Her many eyes allow her to keep watch over her champions, thrill-seeking consorts, and (occasionally), her children. It has a tendency to wander into tribal territories and mate with a humanoid or horse every now and again.
Her alignment is CN.
Her domains are Chaos, Liberation, and Water
"I am all for getting out of this place. I've had quite enough of disgusting holes, and I'm sure our allies wish to find their own way home."
I agree, Han. But how shall we do it? We have these wraps of spider climb, and some of us can fly, and hopefully ferry the others out. Unless there is another way out, we had best get started.
Ilyata stared at Hanethes for a moment.
"How would you think we could get back? Perhaps we are safer within these confines than out, but-," the celestial being shook her head. "We've no way of returning on our own, and I do not overestimate our chances on our own."
Talon, equipped with both the spider-climbing spell and one of flight, provided the way back out through the frigid, filthy water-chute. Haka might have felt a bit cheated; this portal was likely much more fun to enter than to exit.
During the second trip, a lone fiendish wolf-like creature looked at the adventurers from further out in the forested marshland, but thought the better of a quick meal and trotted off into the sparsely-inhabited, sickly expanse, paws splashing in the muck.
At long last, the party all stood under Abaddon's sunless sky and sickened, gnarled trees. As before, the only natural lightsource came from reddish veins in the sky, which were dim, at best...
Somewhere in the distance, a bloodcurdling scream resounded.
"You all heard that right? I'm guessing someone's in trouble."
Someone's in trouble? Here? In Abbadon? I am shocked.
Drovya starts walking in the direction of the shantytown.
"You're not curious, at all?"