"Sounds good."
"Yeah, sounds like a plan. I assume you've also got us covered on acid protection? And anything we can do about poison gas, in case those kids weren't exaggerating?"
"I can help with the acid protection", Tanith offers.
"Yeah, I can even prepare one extra smaller air bubble in case I can't reach everyone when I cast the greater spell," Astraden assures Eben.
The snowfall is beginning to ebb as the party (sans Astraden) returns to the Deluxury. The entire city is blanketed in white. It is warm in the Deluxury, however, and exotic hot drinks are provided to all residents (alcohol optional).
It is chilly in the morning, and most of the snow has turned crunchy, but the party has little time to appreciate it as they travel through the city and to the eastern gates. There, they are subjected to painful banter with the Watchers manning the gates, two men with mean-spirited senses of humor who unfortunately recognize the members of Spiny's Six and decide to make friends.
Eventually, the party is out of the city and walking along the Crow Road. They pass by a strange, half-completed palace blanketed in lichen. Whoever tried to build this palace, they clearly had grand aspirations, but never managed to finish. A fungus-eaten wooden sign stands nearby, bearing the ironic invitation, "Welcome to Radalar City". There is a sour air about the ruins.
Something very large has been here. Just what, and how recently, he isn't sure.
Before departure in the morning, Eben performs the Arrowsong's Lament masterpiece to add shield to his known spells for the day. On the way out of town, he's once again buried in layers of winter clothing and muttering the whole way. "Huh. What is this place? Radalar City? Was that what Alhaster was before it was Alhaster?"
"Who knows?" Cuetzpalli replies, looking around warily.
"Ohh, you like jokes about uh, Rhenee and goblins huh? That's really funny," Astraden says, voice completely devoid of emotion. She looks to the party. "These boys really are a hoot, huh? A hoot."
"All that lichen is kinda pretty. Matches the fall colors."
"Some kind of huge....octopus? Came through here about a week ago. That's weird as Hells."
"Say again?" Cuetzpalli asks, not believing his ears. "Is that even possible?"
"I guess we should keep an eye out for... land octopuses?" Tanith asks following Farrukh's observation.
"Wonder if it's one of those things Zyrxog had..."
Before departure in the morning, Eben performs the Arrowsong's Lament masterpiece to add shield to his known spells for the day. On the way out of town, he's once again buried in layers of winter clothing and muttering the whole way. "Huh. What is this place? Radalar City? Was that what Alhaster was before it was Alhaster?"
[dice=Knowledge (local)]1d20+10
"Huh. What is this place? Radalar City? Was that what Alhaster was before it was Alhaster?"
"Some kind of huge....octopus? Came through here about a week ago. That's weird as Hells."
"Did Zyrxog have an octopus? Are you sure it's not the mind flayer himself?"
Astraden taps the sign. "Anyway, I don't think this place was built before Alhaster. Despite how old it looks. It was built by some other noble who wanted to build his own city. Stands to reason that either the Triad or Zeech put a stop to that. Should we check it out?"
Cuetzpalli takes a moment to come to his own conclusion about the land octopus, looking over the traces left in the earth.
"I remember Zyrxog having a decapus." Carina sighs.
"Oh, yeah, that's right. I remember hearing about that guy a couple times in town. 'Radalar the Addled-ar'. Yeah, probably a bad idea to try and start up a new city almost within the boundaries of your old, dictator-controlled, one."
Cuetzpalli takes a moment to come to his own conclusion about the land octopus, looking over the traces left in the earth.
[dice=Survival]1d20+16
Cuetzpalli shrugs. "Just smells funny to me. Guess we should move on."
"Alright, if you wanna keep moving, let's get going." Astraden straightens up from her leaning position against a tree and makes a grabby motion towards Eben. "Now's the time for that rod of extending."
"Out here, guys? Who knows what could be watching."
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"To be clear, I'm not particularly inclined towards handling that sort of rod. But that won't stop me joking about it." Astraden waggles her eyebrows.
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Carina just shrugs. "It gets easier after the first time, believe me."
"It gets easier after the first time, believe me."
Astraden casts her spells, and once again the party is walking on air. They set out toward the ugly brown island known as the Traitors' Graves as the green, brackish river waters rush below.
This low, sodden hummock of mud and rocky soil rises only a few feet above the dark brown waters of the slowly-flowing river. Here and there, tangled patches of wiry undergrowth grow, interspersed with muddy pools of water. Wooden frames in the shape of a Y protrude from the island here and there, and on some of them still hang the rotting bodies of traitors executed for heinous crimes. A startling number of crows perch on these frames or hop along the ground, where they hunt bugs and worms.
The crows stare levelly at the members of Spiny Six, seeming quite impressed at the adventurers' means of transportation.
Carina waves hello to the crows, but stops when she sees something out on the water...
"Uh... guys?" Carina points at the green puffs of mist in the waters. "I think something's coming towards us."
She draws her mutagen flask...
Eben hands the rod over to Astraden to let her do her thing. He just rolls his eyes at Farrukh. "At this point, I am so above working blue."
He doesn't bother casting any of his standard spells before walking into the air, planning to otherwise cast them from the more economical (time-wise) vantage point of the opposite shore before headed down. "Well, crapinksi," he mutters when his attention is called to the approaching mist puffs. "Well, better than nothing..." He casts good hope on the party. He also extracts his rod of quickening, casting cat's grace on himself with a flick of it.
"Let's spread out a bit", Tanith warns as he works a spell to bolster himself. "All this talk about dragons has got me thinking like Farrukh."
Carina drinks her DEX/CON Mutagen.
Cuetpzalli casts a spell on himself, and a shield of magical force appears around him.
With the roar of rising water, four sinuous, dark shapes burst from the surface of the water. Four black dragons have emerged—each the size of a bull and with the frame of a gnarled old yew, their forms knotted and emaciated. Each has a pair of twisting goatlike horns running parallel with their long, bony snouts, and their eyes are sunken pits that smoke with a glowing green favor.
The four clamber—none-too-gracefully—onto the banks of the island, and their great tattered wings unfurl as they do (save one with a crooked neck, who sees unable to fully unfurl them). They regard the party imperiously, letting out as one a low, rumbling hiss.
A moment passes as the mighty dragons stare at the six adventurers. Then, two of them speak.
"It is always a pleas—"
They both stop and glare at one another, eyes narrowing to slits.
One, a male with one broken horn, clears his throat. "It is always a pleasure."
"It is always a pleasure," hisses a female with a particularly tattered frill, giving a sharp, almost skeletal grin at the adventurers, "to have guests on this island. Tell m—"
"Tell me, brave heroes," hisses the third, a male with a sharp ridge of spines along its tail, "do you think yourselves—"
"Stop interrupting, Urlsane!" shrieks the broken-horned dragon. "We agreed I would deliver the ultimatum!"
"It's not an ultimatum, Dolbrane," lisps the crooked-necked dragon. "It's an offer!" She gives a closed-mouth smile at the party. "Hello, brave ones! We would be greatly honored to bestow upon—"
"We have an offer you can't refuse," cuts in the spiny-tailed male.
"Io above, Urlsane!" the crooked-neck dragon screeches.
Carina blinks, and then starts trembling.
Not from fear, exactly--the dragons' bickering is honestly rather amusing.
"Nice to meet you too." She offers a curtsy. "Now, folks? It's rude to interrupt someone when they're talking. Please--" She gestures to the frilled dragon. "Go on."
...Urlsane, Dolbrane--oh, dear. Are these Ilthane's children?
"We have an offer you can't refuse," cuts in the spiny-tailed male.
"Io above, Urlsane!" the crooked-neck dragon screeches.
"I highly doubt that", Tanith says dismissively as he adjusts the black dragonhide cloak draped across his massive shoulders. "But we're listening. For now."
"I doubt that too. I could maybe believe THREE DIFFERENT offers, but you guys don't seem like you could agree on a single pitch to save your lives."
Cuetzpalli starts shaking in his plate, but he grips his sword hilt angrily to stop it. Don't be scared, it's just magic, man! You got this! he thinks to himself.
"Um. Wow. There's four of them? Maybe this wasn't a good idea..." Eben says, starting to panic.
"Brave mammals!" hisses the crooked-neck dragon, weakly flapping her wings for emphasis. "You tread upon the cursed ground of the Traitors' Graves, where once the mighty Ilthane the Black held dominion. I am Silgane. The loudmouth broken-horn one is Dolbrane, and my sister with the tattered frill is Aulrane. Urlsane is here, too."
The spiny-tailed dragon hisses.
"We come to you with an offer of alliance. Our mother's home has been inhabited by a hateful monstrosity. It is immune to our acid breath, and quite a nuisance, as we are too large to safely battle without damaging the laboratory. If you could do us the small kindness of exterminating the pest for us, we would reward you handsomely!"
Astraden starts backpedaling in the air. "Uh. Tanith. I think it really might be a good idea to put that thing away. We should be respectful to these very uh, reasonable and amenable ancient beings." She inclines her head slightly. "Uh, but yeah, we'd be fine performing some sort of task for you, in exchange for not having to fight. I mean for a reward."
"Four dragons! Ilthane we defeated easy, but we barely have a numbers advantage on these ones," Astraden mutters to herself.
She looks up again. "We just need some sort of 'evidence' that the lair has been cleared 'of all hazards.' What's this thing you can't injure with your breath, and does it have recognizable body parts?"
Farrukh gives an amused side whisper to Astraden.
"I thought you were done with us negotiating with evil things?"
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Eben injects himself into the whispery conversation. "That was undead that are off the table for her. Dragons are scarier!"
the broken-horned "Dolrbane" demands, his eyes glowing with effervescent indignation.
"It is a tremendous beast," the tattered-frill Aulrane says, butting in front of her apparent brother. "Moth—Ilthane the Black had a wonderful treasure in her lair, a fabulous alchemical laboratory infused with the spirit of a genie."
"No, it was a marid," corrects Urlsane, bobbing his head rapidly.
"I know that, Urlsane," Aulrane snaps, scowling.
"You said it was a genie, though."
"Shut up, Urlsane!" Aulrane and Dolbrane snarl at the same time.
"The point is," says Silgane, with a wide, patronizing grin at Astraden, "the laboratory... was broken, and the spirit became corrupted by Ilthane's fabulous horde of alchemical supplies. It is some sort of necromantic monster now. It looks like... like an ooze dragon. It heals quickly when struck, and taints all water sources nearby. It's also very clever. We haven't the murkiest idea what it's been doing down there. We will reward you handsomely from our mother's lair in exchange for your assistance with this nuisance."
Astraden nods slowly, ignoring Farrukh's snipe but whispering back, "What's a marid?"
In the end, she shrugs. "Sounds great. Just one thing - what's to stop you from waiting until we've been softened up by a terrible ooze monster, then melting off our hair right as we're coming out? Can you give us some sort of security?"
"Genies from the Elemental Plane of Water. They're not evil, but they're stronger than all the other genie types and very erratic. There's no telling what a marid will decide to do from one second to another. I wouldn't bet on it being any more predictable or rational having been corrupted into some kind of abomination."
"Our word should be enough," Dolbrane declares grandly. "We are wyrms of our word, tiny green one."
"Indeed," Silgane hisses, grinning widely. "We will hold each other accountable well enough, I'm sure. If you do us this kindness, we will be happy to keep our word. We're not planning to betray you or anything."
"They were planning to betray them."