"Hey, Bucknard teleported in. We at least know that there won't be teleport defenses."
"Well, I mean, unless that's the reason he didn't come back."
"Hey, Bucknard teleported in. We at least know that there won't be teleport defenses.""Well, I mean, unless that's the reason he didn't come back."
Farrukh comes back from the huddle everyone was presumably having in the "other room".
"I think we've come to a consensus: We'll let you take the Rod Fragment off our hands. That Pit Fiend would probably just take it from us anyway."
"Hmm. Why are the shadows long, do you think? Is it close to the Plane of Shadow or something?"
Astraden eats some more goose. "Okay, so anti-insanity, anti-death, anti-undeath, teleportation . . . think that covers the spells, apart from the ones we normally prepare."
"Maybe it was just late in the day?"
Manzorian doesn't hide his pleasure as he takes the fragment. "A wise choice," he says, smiling.
"Just don't go doing anything crazy with it, okay? If we hear some mad archmage is trying to take over the world a few years down the road, we'll know where to come looking."
"Now that we've got that squared away..." Carina clears her throat. "...thank you very much for the help, sir."
Astraden's earlier trepidation returns upon seeing Manzorian's expression. "Yeah, uh, if we need that to save the world, I really hope you'll loan it out . . ."
"Well, look at the size of that... thing... on top of the ziggurat. Sun hits that, it'll cast a huge shadow across the land..."
Astraden eats some more goose. "Okay, so anti-insanity, anti-death, anti-undeath, teleportation . . . think that covers the spells, apart from the ones we normally prepare."
"Can you cast any of those Astraden?" Tanith asks after considering his own Kord-granted spellcasting.
"I can get us protections from undead and death effects. And Manzorian's giving us teleportation scrolls. But we're gonna need to buy some scrolls that can do the same thing that rod fragment does."
"Right, then." Cymria moves ahead. "Right this way to the vaults. Hey, Manny, should I assume by 'an item of your choice', you don't mean any of the Big Ones?"
Manzorian rolls his eyes. "Naturally not."
"Right, then. Right this way to get your pick of non-artifact-level curiosities!"
In this grand hall of stout hardwood, hundreds of thousands of Kord's faithful eat, drink, carouse and brawl at every second of the day.
Sometimes it seems as though time has barely passed for Cuetzpalli. Other times, it seems a thousand years ago that he met Astraden, and Tanith, and the rest.
Currently, the hall has erupted in a surge of wrestling matches. Before he even knew what was happening, Cuetzpalli found himself tackled by an immensely strong human with a wild dark beard and equally wild eyes.
As he struggles to gain the upper hand, Cuetzpalli is suddenly stricken with a divine flash of realization.
"Well met, Cuetzpalli!" Kord hisses, giving an almost insane grin. He flips Cuetzpalli over and smashes the mighty warrior through one of the yew chairs. Bits of splinter and board fly everywhere.
Farrukh quickly gets lost in the almost museum-like arrangement of Manzorian's "Vault".
"This isn't just a vault, there's a whole building under here!"
He wanders around, looking at the various crystal balls, demonic hands and piles and piles of magic amulets until something catches his eye.
"Wow, that's a great shield..." he says, reaching his hand out to touch it.
And then it grows an evil dog face and tries to bite his hand off.
"No! Bad!" he cries startled, and moves quickly away.
Finally, he settles on another marvel: An amazingly light, cobalt colored suit of armor.
As he puts it on, it bonds to his skin.
"That's weird...but not bad. This is even lighter than my breastplate, what is this stuff?"
"Oh, yeah, I think I was also supposed to warn you about the cursed stuff." Cymria looks around, frowning, then shrugs. "Don't touch the cursed stuff," she explains.
"That? That's the horrible behirhide suit. It melds to your skin and turns you into a behir over time. Wicked cursed. I can't believe you just put it on without asking first."
"Oh."
"Are behirs strong at least?"
"They're a subspecies of armadillo, actually."
Cymria stands stock-still a moment. Her face cracks. She bursts out laughing. "Okay, okay, no. That's...I don't remember if it had a name. Manzorian—Tenser, actually, I think—took it off a paladin who was really bad at being a paladin. It causes a minor healing ability, fuses to your skin (it does come off, though) and is layered with celestial enchantments that will deflect attacks in little showers of sparks. I'm told it's really pretty."
"Sounds exactly like what I need, actually."
Tanith looks around in wonder at the shelves and shelves of powerful magical equipment lining the wizard's vault.
"So Manzorian just hoards all this stuff? Why doesn't he equip an army or something with it?" the big man asks as he picks through a literal bin filled with strength-enhancing belts similar to his own.
"Is it just about the collecting itself? I knew a girl back in Diamond Lake that was crazy about collecting these little toy animals stuffed with dried beans. She had them everywhere."
"Who had the money and space to actually COLLECT something in Diamond Lake?"
"They were tiny", Tanith explains while using his thumb and forefinger to illustrate. "But they were really expensive."
Making his way past one... two... three... different elaborate greatswords, Tanith stops to inspect a small jar on a padded pedestal seemingly filled with slowly crawling ants. He picks up the jar only to find that the container is not filled with insects but with a dark jumble of animated script. His curiosity getting the better of him, Tanith taps on the glass with a dirty fingernail, a stimulus that seems to agitate the jar's contents until it resembles an angry swarm of bees. "What's this guy do? Is it some kind of word golem?"
"They look kinda mad. Be careful you don't drop it, they might attack."
"And as we all know, words cut as deeply as any sword."
Despite not understanding the metaphor, Tanith laughs loudly.
"Maybe we could use it as a weapon like one of Red's bombs!"
Carina follows Tanith over to the strange jar and looks at its contents with an arched eyebrow. "Um... can't say I've ever seen that before. At least it's--"
"Maybe we could use it as a weapon like one of Red's bombs!"
Carina purses her lips and scratches her head. "Well, except I know what all my bombs do and I have no idea what that even is."
After looking around some more, she spies an armour rack bearing a particularly shiny suit of bluish-white chainmail. "Hold on--what's this now?"
The suit looks remarkably thin and lightweight, and it's polished to a mirror shine. The back of the suit is engraved with images of angelic wings. "Ooh... I wonder if this fits me." She takes the suit off the rack and holds it up, comparing it to her body.
"Right--lemme give this a try." She starts taking off her chain shirt and changes into the chainmail. "Wow--this feels a lot lighter than I thought it would."
"Bet it's not as light as mine!"
"Why? How much does it weigh?" Carina finishes putting on the chainmail.
The suit seems to shift and change in plain view of everyone--within the span of a second, it turns from a practical (if form-fitting) suit of chainmail to what appears to be a chainmail sports bra and vambraces over her regular explorer's clothes.
"...what?"
"Sold."
"Why? How much does it weigh?" Carina finishes putting on the chainmail.
"I dunno, like a pound?"
"Of course it's not a bikini..."
"Hey Cymria you think you can teach me how to make mine a bra and thong too?"
"Huh?"
Carina looks down at her new armour and blinks in surprise. "Oh. Um..."
She sighs and glares down at her chest. "Alright, now how can I get it to look like a suit of armour that will actually stop a sword?"
Tanith looks around in wonder at the shelves and shelves of powerful magical equipment lining the wizard's vault.
"So Manzorian just hoards all this stuff? Why doesn't he equip an army or something with it?" the big man asks as he picks through a literal bin filled with strength-enhancing belts similar to his own.
"Is it just about the collecting itself? I knew a girl back in Diamond Lake that was crazy about collecting these little toy animals stuffed with dried beans. She had them everywhere."
"Wizards tend to be hoarders," Cymria says, nodding. "Which is weird, since we don't need—" She goes silent as one of Manzorian's invisible servants goes by, carrying a broom. "Since we don't need as much stuff as non-casters," she continues, quieter. "That said, Manzorian uses these items for research. Some are here as backup in case he loses his normal gear out in the field. Some have historical significance. Some are here as bartering tools for other major players—you'd be surprised what you can get a high-level adventurer to do or not do if you have the right incentives." Cymria winks. "And some are so powerful or obnoxious he keeps them in here specifically to keep any random idiot from running around with them."
She watches as Tanith starts poking at unidentified jars. "Oh, you might like that one, actually. The Living Tattoo of the Fortunate Brawler. That was back when Tenser was really interested in designing the perfect set of magic items for tavern brawls and stuff. He always wanted to put his name on the item and make a bunch to sell, but people talked him out of it. Not good for the brand, know what I'm saying? Really peeved him off. Or so I hear."
"Anyways, he wasn't too happy with that one. It'll harden your skin. You might notice some loss of sensation in the places the tattoo is currently on—call a cleric if the sensation doesn't return within an hour—and gives you a little element of luck. He really wanted to power up the 'luck' angle, but..." She shrugs. "Otherwise, it makes you really nimble on your feet, adds a very slight boneless quality—call a cleric if the bones stay rubbery for more than twenty-four hours after use—and makes punching you in the face slightly less effective."
Cymria looks over and can't help but grin as she sees what Carina put on. "Oh, geez. Manzorian hates that armor. It always has that as the default, no matter what. You should be able to will it into something less stupid, though the protection is the same regardless. Except from the cold. It'll be great if you take it. He'll hate that it's back out in the wild making people question basic rules of armor design."
Astraden spends a while poking through collections of rapiers, flipping through old books, and trying on some of Tanith's belts. She tightens on one (incredibly expensive) belt with an ant sigil on the buckle. "Whoa, I feel like I could wrestle Ilthane now." She lifts a golden tower shield with one hand for emphasis, then takes off the belt and shoves it back in its bin. "But not what I'm looking for."
She wanders into a side room, where several ioun stones are floating around a stone bust of a woman with her eyes closed, almost as if she were sleeping. Beside the bust is a tall wardrobe made of ironwood, and inside the wardrobe is a sea-blue robe with silver threads running through it in spiral patterns. When she touches it, something in the wardrobe makes a strange chuckling noise, so she checks its magical properties. And puts it on.
The priestess comes back into the vaulted central chamber with a blue robe draped over her arm. The robe appears to be faintly giggling. "So, I found this robe dedicated to Zagyg. I think it'll still work for me, but I haven't worked out how to stop it from laughing, yet. Any ideas, Cymria?"
"Oh, geez. Manzorian hates that armor. It always has that as the default, no matter what. You should be able to will it into something less stupid, though the protection is the same regardless. Except from the cold. It'll be great if you take it. He'll hate that it's back out in the wild making people question basic rules of armor design."
"Oh, thank Fharlanghn." Carina breathes a sigh of relief. I thought the silly thing was responding to some odd subconscious desire or something.
...which would say a lot about me if it were true.
"So, does this armour do anything else? Other than making me look like I put my bra on outside my clothes this morning?" The alchemist pictures the chainmail as it once was, and wills it back into a more practical form.
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Astraden spends a while poking through collections of rapiers, flipping through old books, and trying on some of Tanith's belts. She tightens on one (incredibly expensive) belt with an ant sigil on the buckle. "Whoa, I feel like I could wrestle Ilthane now." She lifts a golden tower shield with one hand for emphasis,
"Uh, no, " Cymria groans as the gold tower shield explodes in a hail of golden-scaled lizards. "He really needs to clear this place out."
A lizard lands on Astraden's nose and stares quizzically at her.
The priestess comes back into the vaulted central chamber holding a blue robe over her arm. The robe appears to be faintly giggling. "So, I found this robe dedicated to Zagyg. I think it'll still work for me, but I haven't worked out how to stop it from laughing, yet. Any ideas, Cymria?"
"Oh, nice eye. Makes sense you would identify with that—Olidammara is one of the few gods that can reallystand Zagyg. Which is weird, considering I think Zagyg basically turned him into an armadillo? Wow, I can't believe armadillos have come up twice in one day. This is weird."
She pauses. "Okay, the laughing is getting annoying. I think yelling at it usually gets it to stop. Or hitting it. Manzorian says you can ask it politely, but I'm pretty sure he's full of it." Cymria shrugs. "Not sentient. Just...how it's made."
"Oh, geez. Manzorian hates that armor. It always has that as the default, no matter what. You should be able to will it into something less stupid, though the protection is the same regardless. Except from the cold. It'll be great if you take it. He'll hate that it's back out in the wild making people question basic rules of armor design.""Oh, thank Fharlanghn." Carina breathes a sigh of relief. I thought the silly thing was responding to some odd subconscious desire or something.
...which would say a lot about me if it were true.
"So, does this armour do anything else? Other than making me look like I put my bra on outside my clothes this morning?" The alchemist pictures the chainmail as it once was, and wills it back into a more practical form.
"Glamered armor that can take any form, powered by celestial energies, makes it hard to cast spells on you. That can be good or bad. Part of the reason I stopped wearing it is you only need one incident where you nearly bleed to death and nobody can heal you before you say 'enough is enough'."
"Oh, wait." She blinks. "That's what it looked like before? Okay. Totally different glamered celestial armor I was talking about. This armor's glamer is a more subconscious dealy—very closely attuned to your insides in more than one way. It sort of shifts the inner bits around. Makes it harder to stab the necessary bits on a lucky strike, which is nice."
"Don't forget it lets you fly, and if you don't wanna turn it into something that looks like normal clothing you can wear it under your clothing, too," Astraden says, examining Carina's armor as it transforms.
"Oh!" Carina looks down at her new chainmail with a smile on her face. "That's pretty neat!"
It's just a shame that it defaults to looking like some pervert designed it.
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Rodrigo slips away when the others go to collect their items from Manzorian. He walks out of the keep, and then flies back to his room. Am I really up for taking on a demigod? A simple bone devil almost killed me! I got into this for the money, and now I’m rich. Why should I keep risking myself? The others are much more brave than me anyway. No...I think it’s time to retire to the free city and take care of my property there. They will just have to get along without me in the field.
The winged summoner tracks down some paper and a pen. He scribbles out a letter to his team.
Dear companions,
I find myself too frightened to continue on this mad journey of ours. My recent brush with death has shown me that I’m not cut from world-saving cloth. I will be returning to the Free City immediately to retire. If you ever have need of something from the City, or teleportation services, feel free to contact me via sending or to drop by. To my shame I am even too cowardly to deliver this message in person. I’m sure you all will think the worst of me, but I hope that eventually you can forgive my weakness. I will pray for your safety every day. May Fate and the gods guide and protect you. We are all relying on you to save us from the creeping doom whose ebon shadow falls heavy onto Oearth.
Yours,
Roddy
He finds a messenger and pays them todelivervthe letter to the half-orc priestess, or the foppish archer currently in Manzorian’s keep. After spending a minute to summon Sombra, he motions he into his sleeve. Come on luv, let’s go home. Rodrigo flies ourside the city, and then teleports himself to his apartments in Greyhawk.
** spoiler omitted **
Tanith silently Oooooos the jar of agitated tattoos as Cymria describes its history. "Most of that stuff sounds useful and I do tend to take a punch to the face now and then."
Satisfied that it's not going to eat him, he twists open the container releasing its contents. The tangle of animated ink bursts forth, knocking the lid from Tanith's hand and immediately starts crawling up the big man's thickly muscled arm. The sensation is strange but not unbearable, like slightly painful goose-flesh. It moves up his arm and over his shoulder, across his upper back and then down and around the ridge's of his abdominals before making its way back up into the thick hair on his chest. The living tattoo expands and contracts on the Kordite's skin until it touches his other tattoos, the star of Kord on his left pectoral and the roaring bear on his right shoulder, both of which it seems to recoil from.
A moment later it settles, becoming almost completely immobile, in a shape similar to a sash or a bandoleer diagonal across Tanith's bulging chest and back.
"That wasn't so bad. I think it likes me!"
Kord grabs Cuetzpalli by the shoulders and shakes him violently, his voice thundering in Cuetzpalli's ears. "The strong and brave are made to lead the weak, boy! That's why they need you! A good, strong, handsome young man with his whole life ahead of 'im!...Well, relatively speaking."
Eben follows Cymria to the vaults, and finds himself lagging behind the group as he inspects various items along the way. Noticing that he's by himself, he hurries to catch up, and finds himself passing into a section of the extensive vault-labyrinth that's less like a museum and more like an old grandmother's cluttered attic. "Funny, would have thought archmages were better housekeepers than this. Or at least summon things to keep the dust off." The fact is, though, he actually finds himself much more at home here than in the more formally laid out rooms he passed through before. He always enjoyed poking around attics; while he never had a fussy old grandmother, the orphanage he spent his earliest years in did have one that was positively packed with strange things. Completely off limits to the orphans, of course, and his explorations usually resulted in a beating if he wasn't quiet and sneaky enough, but curiosity demands an answer. "Though I can't imagine what the archmage equivalent of a beating would be if he has the same policy Headmistress Tania did..." he mutters as he picks up and inspects a blue laquered vase.
Unfortunately, most of his youthful attic inspections turned up nothing but junk, and he quickly finds the same to be the case here. Inside a heavy trunk he finds a threadbare wind-up monkey with cymbals stitched in its hands which he neglects to inspect further due to inherent creepiness; a wooden locker which he finds himself unable to open due to a locked chain being tightly wound around it; assorted sheafs of paper tucked inside a dresser drawer that he glances briefly at before dismissing them as unfiled paperwork, and an interesting deck of cards he shuffles briefly before setting them back in the cigar box they were stuffed in. "I mean, I already have a couple decks of cards, and they're nicer than that one..." he says, looking around and not for the first time in his life wishing he could cast detect magic. "Maybe I should find the others and have Astraden do some checking for me..." he says, ready to fall back to his default plan before he suddenly nearly stumbles over a mannequin standing in the middle of an aisle. "Huh, nice belt..." he says, pulling the sleek green leather girdle off the mannequin's middle and wrapping it around his waist. He immediately feels as light-footed as he does when casting cat's grace on himself, but also gets a taste of what it would be like to be Tanith or Farrukh as his arm muscles suddenly grow much tighter and dense. "Ohhh, this could be useful..."
"Useful, yes, but really, you don't look like the type to do a lot of brawling..." says a lyrical voice to Eben's left and above him. Jumping, he turns around looking for the speaker. Was that a low alto or a high tenor? Hard to say... and sees nobody. Just a a dangling bit of braided hair that's been tied around a rafter, its end hanging near eye level. He's about to look elsewhere when the braid suddenly shimmers with a glow of opalescent colors running up and down its length...
...
Some time later, he stumbles across the others in another part of the vault. "Hey guys, look what I picked out for my share of the artifact swap!" he says excitedly, holding aloft a length of dusty, somewhat dingy looking string.
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"String is...very versatile Eben. Good choice?"
** spoiler omitted **
"Um..." Carina looks quizzically at Eben's choice of gift.
"...okay?"